Pop!

(Not the sound of fireworks)

Things have gone pear shaped after all. Today is New Year’s Eve. We’ve fought, I can’t say anything right at all. Only a few hours after everything seemed just fine, suddenly I am consumed with rage. I am thinking of leaving, planning how I could manage without him, how I will tell him that it’s over and that I can’t do this anymore.

We drove home from the shops and I almost jumped out of the car on the way, or I fantasised about it anyway. I held my bag in my hands and was waiting until we hit a red light. I just wanted to run as fast and as far as I could. My heart was beating quickly and I was sweating.

We learn dances, brand new dances

I’m knackered. I was out walking this morning before my son woke up (part of the resolution to start looking after myself) and accidentally fell into an exercise routine – or the start of one at least.

I’m a bit out of touch with things generally but luckily I work with a whole bunch of people in their early 20s and one of them put Fantasyze With Spod on my mp3 player (never mind the subtext of their message, let’s stay positive).

It’s a jogging fitness program set to bad dance music with a weird robotic voiceover telling you when to walk, run and jog. (Said young people also mentioned something about avante garde DJ blah blah and so on etc.)

Anyway, I had my player on shuffle and it just so happened to play week one of the program first off. So, having been well trained by the nuns to do what I’m told, I started to walk. And jog. And run. And walk.

I thought I heard the echo of Iggy Pop’s Nightclubbing but it might have been the lack of oxygen to the brain at the time. (Busy panting heavily – managed to hit the steepest hill in the hood in tandem with the “now run” command.)

Anyway, just thought I’d document the beginning of this taking-care-of-self thingy. Maybe if it’s in writing I might be more motivated to stick with it.

Is anyone else out there embarking on a routine to look after themselves better? What are you doing in the new year to build more of a life for yourself (and have a few more laughs)? I’d love to hear about it.

Flo

Let's get metaphysical

In the spirit of documenting the diamonds as well as the pearls, I have a momentous announcement to make – yesterday I had a turn at being down.

I don’t know why I couldn’t shake it. We took our son to the museum and the park, and the whole time I felt sluggish and irritable. Maybe it was accumulated weariness from the year or the constant, nagging, low grade pain in my gut.

And as I was going through the day, doing what I could to try and make it lift, I kept on wondering at what point my melancholy was going to have to compete for air time.

Usually what happens is that if I’m sick or unhappy, my partner feels worse. He cannot hold up the team, take over the helm, whatever tired cliché you can think up. It’s me bailing/steering/some other nautical metaphor or we’re sunk.

Once upon a time in a land far, far away...

My partner made the effort to get through Christmas. He played with all the kids, talked to my brother-in-law and only drank half a beer through the whole affair.

It’s really difficult to write a post when things feel so good. I guess it’s just like, for example, keeping up treatment when depression is at bay. So here I am, because it’s good for me and hopefully not tedious for you.

We did have one moment where he was a bit overwhelmed. It was awkward because we were at my sister’s house, miles from civilisation. There was nowhere for him to retreat so he was forced to talk it through with me. (We got a bit of privacy - very hard to find with five little boys running around - by hiding behind the bins in the backyard.)

In the beginning...

This is a very quick post because I'm trying to get a salad made and pack bags for everyone, get the laundry in, wrap presents and manage a couple of meltdowns. I wanted to take five minutes just to check in though.

Christmas Eve is when my family celebrates Christmas, so this is the big one. I'm really trying hard to be conscious about how I handle things this Christmas.

So far what I've been conscious of is how difficult it is to control my responses. He's already gone back to bed twice (it's 9:50am now). The first time was when I mentioned that we had to take pillows to my sister's place for tonight. It seems he hadn't realised we were staying the night. I know we've discussed this many times.

This happens a lot where he doesn't realise something is happening and I think I've mentioned it. Usually I get angry because I feel that he doesn't listen to me and is so wrapped in his own thoughts.

Today I just thought, well, he didn't know. The reason for that is not relevant at this point. Not much I can do about that now. We just need to go forward from here and see what happens.

So I tried to do that. I let him go back to bed. A little while later he got up and I asked him if he still wanted to go, said that he didn't have to. Luckily he said that he did want to go. I don't know if that's because of anything I did.

Of course I really want him to go and I'm afraid of what will happen if he's here alone feeling down on Christmas Eve. I'm not sure how I would have reacted if he'd said he wanted to stay home.

Long before I met my partner, my friend's husband committed suicide on Christmas Eve. I am more afraid around this time of year than at any other time. I know his has nothing to do with him, but it makes me very aware that this time of year is harder.

Anyway, we've gone from salad to suicid in five minutes. I think I need to slow down!

Flo

Fantasia

I have this fantasy of lying on a cool, pale blonde wooden floor, in an almost-empty apartment in the middle of the city, looking out through a wall made entirely of glass and watching the highrise windows around me light up as dusk falls.

It is quiet.

Except it wasn't a fantasy. That is what I did last night. Instead of worrying and running home to make sure that my partner was okay, I made a deal with him to be in contact at 8pm and I went ahead with the plans that I'd made for the evening.

Down the rabbit hole

“I need to talk to you about something,” he says this morning. I follow him into the bathroom.

“Actually, I’ll just email you later.”

“No, please, tell me now,” I say. His eyes are flat and a paler blue than usual. He has that heavy gait he gets when things are bad.

“I can’t go on anymore. This is not a life. I never feel happy about anything. I’m not going to make it.”

This morning he doesn’t say, “I want to die. I want to kill myself.” Sometimes he says that.

Instead he says, “I’m going to call someone and get into a hospital somewhere. I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to live.”

Down down down…

Here we go and here we are. Angry, inert, eyes closed, arms closed, overwhelmed by spending two hours alone with the toddler (early in the morning, I’m home by 10:30am).

Dismissive, defensive.

I am trying to feel no guilt and no responsibility and above all no anger. I am going to give him time to be alone if he wants to be and I am NOT going to be angry at him because once again I am spending a Sunday without him. I will not resent him for the fact that my life is not what I want it to be, that there isn’t the kind, sensitive, funny, strong man that I met by my side. I won’t let disappointment poison the day.

(I am yelling this in my head, fighting the acid rising from my stomach, up into my throat.)

This is the battle front. This is the part where he suffers and I fight against the unassailable. My battle is not to battle. It is to turn aside and take a different route. It’s not easy because it requires a rewiring of my brain circuits.

It is usual to interpret certain behaviours in a particular way. I can’t do that here. I can’t say that when he is depressed and he ignores me or finds issue with everything I do or withdraws totally that he is trying to antagonise me or that he hates me.

The new wiring needs to take me to the conclusion that he is depressed right now. He is not capable of engaging or responding positively to anything. It does not involve me at all.

It hurts a bit to be irrelevant too. To have no impact on a thing. But this is what I must accept.

Then I’ll have all that energy that I use on burning up inside to do things with the day, to spend on my son.

That’s the theory. Now I have to practise. What a good opportunity for that today has turned out to be.

Flo

Tide is high

It’s Saturday morning. He’s still in bed. Granted it’s only 8:09am. (How’s that for jumping the gun?)

The thing is, I’ve been seeing little signs over the last couple of days that things may be heading south.

He’s avoiding being touched. (He flinches if I brush his arm or go to get something out of his hair. His body tenses if I try to hug him.) He’s been irritable. He hasn’t been taking his Chinese herb treatment on the nights that I’m working and can’t prepare it for him. (We used to take turns.)

But his eyes haven’t turned that red rimmed, icy pale blue with the tiny pupils yet. Or the purplish bruised look on the surrounding skin.

And of course there are mitigating factors like the intense heat we’ve been having around here lately and the last minute end of year work stuff.

So he could be just hot and tired.

I’m just going to sit here and drink my cup of tea and watch the sun get higher and higher and maybe try and think of something to do with the day that doesn’t involve waiting. Just in case.

Are there signs that you read like that? That help you predict the emotional weather to come? I’m curious to hear what other people use as markers.

Flo

Regrets (I've had a few)

So when things are really bad* I start berating myself for not getting out when all the signs were there and when I didn't have a child to consider.

I'd like to say that it's not fear that kept me in this relationship. I don't think I was afraid to be on my own. In fact I left my first marriage. It was hard but I did it. So I know that I can do it on my own and furthermore I know just how much fun that can actually be.

But maybe there's more to be afraid of than being alone. Maybe I was afraid to fail again. And maybe I was afraid that I wouldn't be lucky a third time in falling so deeply in love with someone. Or maybe I was even afraid of being left in the but-these-are-my-child-bearing-years lurch and not find someone in time to have kids.

Phoning home

I rang home tonight from work and I heard the flat tone on the other end of the line (my partner's voice, not a busy signal, though that's not an unhelpful metaphor).

He said that he wasn't feeling well. He says it's physical.

I was a bit worried that today might be stressful. Usually he drives our son home from his office on Tuesday and I go to work. But he didn't have the car so he had to take him home on the bus at peak hour. Peak hour transport isn't fun at the best of times so I can really understand why it would induce some anxiety when you include a three-year-old in the mix.

We made it easier by meeting him at his office at 4:30 and then I accompanied them to the bus station and waited with them and saw them onto the bus before peak hour truly hit. It wasn't a crowded bus either and my son had slept a bit so he was a in a good mood. So the stressful nature of the experience was I hope mitigated by all these factors.

Diamonds

I need to share this incredible event that’s just taken place.

Last night my partner cooked dinner.

When I pretend to be someone else looking at that statement it’s hilariously banal.

In my world it’s a bit like saying that a man who was wheelchair bound had suddenly stood up to answer the phone and didn’t make a big deal of it.

Maybe he’s always doing this sort of thing when I’m not looking (like the character in Little Britain who behind his carer’s back stands up from his chair to get what he wants).

I could have cried with happiness though you wouldn’t have noticed amidst the hormonal overload.

Cooking signifies so much. Cooking requires energy. It requires confidence that you can get it right. He wasn’t overwhelmed by the details which is what usually happens when a thing has more than one or two steps required to complete it.

On a deeper level it’s an acknowledgment that he’s part of us, that he has a role to play in our day-to-day survival.

And he did it with generosity, without complaint. He did it well and with a matter-of-factness that blew me away with its sense of normal domesticity.

I am just so happy. And I’m going to be happy without reserve because being circumspect with happiness doesn’t really save me anything down the track. I don’t get a softer landing or anything.

Flo

Secrets & Lies (Part II)

This blog is a secret. It’s a bit like having an affair. None of my friends know about it and of course my partner doesn’t know about it. I love having this thing that is all mine and yet at the same time I feel like it’s a betrayal because I’m not sharing something which is making me feel so good, which I feel almost compulsive about, and which is really telling-out-of-school.

Secrets & Lies (Part I)

Here's how it goes. he feels worthless, hopeless, useless and ashamed. He stays away from people. You don't go out socially together. People aren't invited over.

"He's got the flu," you say. Or a migraine. Or work is full on, wearing him out.

You don't go either because he feels worthless and interprets that as abandonment: You'd much rather spend time with other people than with him; you'll find someone else. You're planning to leave. You're having an affair. (Why wouldn't you?)

Your friends drop away, annoyed or upset that you don't turn up to things and aren't hospitable, hesitant to commit to anything, leaving early when you do show up.

Here's one thing I did right - I told people my partner was depressed. I told them even though he didn't want me to.

Chinese medicine

Has anyone had any success treating depression with Chinese herbal medicine? I ask this because my partner, after deciding to go off his medication and to stop going to counselling has begun seeing a well respected Chinese medicine practitioner.

Having some kind of treatment was part of the deal we made. (Is it a deal when it’s one party meeting the demands of another?) If he wants me to stay he has to get treatment of some sort. No treatment and I go. (Obviously there’s a whole lot of issues worth discussing here but another time.)

All about my mother

One of the sure-fire things about therapy that never fails to make you feel like someone in a Woody Allen movie is the way it always comes back to your mother. At some point, whether you went in to address your fear of knitwear in tight spaces or incontrollable rage brought on by free-to-air TV playing Scrubs episodes out of order, it's going to be your mother's fault.

Little Boy Blues

When my son was born my partner went into a severe depression. We hadn’t anticipated this at all. He was incredibly supportive during the second half of the pregnancy, having just started on meds and therapy at the time. He was fantastic during the birth.

Then we took the baby home.

My partner had two months off work. He’d saved his holidays and taken parental leave and it was going to be a supportive, shared experience.

Instead what happened was that he went almost immediately into a deep and prolonged depressive episode.

Early Christmas presents

Our Christmas tree has a poo under it. I just found it. The 3-year-old is having some toilet training issues.

Fortunately it’s the only crap associated with the tree so far this year.

Christmas is just not the best time of year for many people with depression. Holidays add so much extra pressure to enjoy yourself, to be happy, and to socialise and drink and be generally a whole lot merrier than you can quite pull off.

Between Parent and Child

I’ve been reading the revised Between Parent and Child by Haim Ginott (originally published 1965).

I bought it in a moment of sheer and spectacular defeat. The three-year-old was having tantrums that involved throwing himself down in the middle of the road (we were crossing it at the time, I don’t let him play there, not yet that defeated) screaming “I don’t like you! I’m not coming with you!” And this is out the front of his day care centre as I’m trying to take him home.

Buzz Lyper to the rescue!

Well, we rode out that episode.

I think he's on the up again. Although his eyes were still flat yesterday afternoon, he talked on the way home and made what must have been a big effort to come with us to the park after picking our son up from day care (although once there he needed to lie down on the grass and rest).

One little girl was pointing at him and understandably asking questions about why that man was lying on the grass and what was wrong with him.

My three-year-old was unexpectedly ferocious in his defence.

"That's my dad!" he shouted in the Napoleonic tone that he uses for barking orders at his underlings (parents).

"Don't ask about him! Don't look at him! You're not allowed! He's my dad!"

The Good Life

Is it legal to self-administer CBT? I've been trying to remember some of the things that constitute living the good life; less in the Aristotle sense and more in the Felicity Kendal sense. (Though perhaps the two aren't really that different?)

Following this morning's silent journey in the car to work I hopped on the first bus from the city to the beach. I made it there with 45 minutes to lap up the sun, dip my feet into the sand and enjoy a quick breakfast before starting my shift.

It's really much more achievable than it sounds. The joy of it was breathtaking.

Maybe it was the combination of caffeine and fresh air or maybe it was that lovely feeling of optimism. Whatever it was, not asking too many questions today. Just enjoying it.

Flo

Eureka!

I've had it all wrong. I kept thinking that the point of all the effort is to make things better, to change how it is. If I do this or that it's going to reduce the pressure on him and therefore make him happier and make it alright between us and our lives will be wonderful forever more amen.

In fact (and here is where the breathless Eureka moment comes in) the point is survival; it's getting on with it. If I do certain things it's because those things constitute living the good life without waiting for all the components to be right.

What Katey did next...

Dear you,

After our incident this morning regarding the dirty dishes and the burst of free expression on my part and the storming out the door to go to work and the me-not-chasing-after-him-to-try-and-repair-things-even-though-it’s-futile, here’s how the day has unravelled.

Dirty dishes

Dear you,

Today I indulged in a bit of risky no-holds-barred honest anger. It was about the dishes. I am tired of being the only who does them. Common enough source of contention between people that live together.

You know that tingly feeling you get when you do something a little dangerous? When you’re thinking – hang the consequences! I’m doing it!

And some days are pearls

Dear you,

I’m just so frustrated (useful word that the 3-year-old has just learned and is practising putting into context, not difficult to do in our house).

I can’t bear to hear another word in that flat, monotone voice. I miss a dynamic voice; some kind of indication that he experiences emotions, some of them positive.

There are so many things that I dread raising in conversation: events, work that needs doing around the house, bills, plans of any kind that involve leaving home.

I am always scheming to find ways to avoid placing extra pressure on him at all and I’m anxious all the time that I might fail.

I know, this is so selfish. It’s invariably worse to be the one who’s depressed, to feel nothing, to struggle with basic everyday life.

I don’t have the illness, but I have the symptoms.

It’s not that today is worse than many others. I just realised that it is in fact boringly familiar. We go down, we go up, we go down.

So hello to you out there if you’re reading this and you’re living a similar kind of life, if your partner is depressed and you find some days almost impossible and you’re screaming to get out of your head, if you feel like you can’t explain why you stay (sometimes not even to yourself).

Flo