Coming down

I actually wrote this post a few days ago. I carry a little notebook around with me and write my posts on buses and trains - in those very rare moments alone.

Then of course I have to find a time when I can punch them into the computer (I sound like such a luddite) without anyone watching. As a consequence posts which are of the moment tend to lose their truth a little bit.

But I'm going to post this anyhow because of a comment to my last post about going to see Henry Rollins. In her comment Sleepless in New York expressed beautifully how I feel quite a lot of the time:

"Lately, I find myself fantasizing about what it would be like to be with a nondepressed, more optimistic and life-loving partner. ... I fantasize about an optimistic lover the way other women might fantasize about a good-looking lover."

It's like that for me too. Perhaps there's a market here for optimist porn (which sounds awfully like the name of a Transformer or something, but that's what happens when you spend most of your time with a 3-year-old boy).

Sleepless in New York asked me how I felt when I got home, after the rush of optimism I'd experienced. And what happened is that I crashed terribly. I went home and the contrast was stark and painful.

So without further ado, here was the come down, the Henry Rollins fallout:

I can feel it happening again. I am tired early but can't stay asleep. Tears make an appearance with little provocation. I cry on public transport. (Well, I live in New South Wales so perhaps that counts as extreme provocation).

Everything defeats me - the housework most of all. So I've just given up on it. Clothes lie abandoned wherever they happen to fall. Laundry hangs on the line for days. Dishes. Dust. Stovetop. Compost bin. Towels. Bathroom. Weeds.

My paid work is the easiest, more comforting part of my life at the moment. One foot in front of the other. No choice but to do it.

I am relying on playdates to keep my son engaged and happy. Less time alone together means less effort on my part. And I'm too spent to feel (very) guilty about that. Every hour to fill feels like a day.

I just want to sleep for a few days. I don't care where or how.

Flo

Rollins (better than a dose of Vitamin B)

I went to see Henry Rollins speak as part fo the Sydney Comedy Festival this week.

He talks (and talks and talks) about his thoughts and experiences which are often funny in themselves and certainly his observations highlight what is funny in a situation if it's there.

Henry Rollins sees many things wrong with the world but he is not crushed by that; he is driven by it.

I don't go to see motivational speakers. I don't like most self-help books. I have a deep, unsheakeable mistrust of people who proclaim to have answers to the so-called big questions.

I like discussions not sermons. How shall we live? Well let's talk about it, let's figure it out, let's reach our own conclusions.

I think I'm also a little bit afraid of my tendency to get carried away by charisma, wit, charm, intelligence. (Do you see what I mean?)

As a younger lass I was much taken by Rollins' music and strident delivery of very personal lyrics. I still am. Yes it's possible to like Rollins Band and Simon and Garfunkle. Mr Rollins admitted to liking Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam. But here I am getting swept away by admiration again.

I think what hit me so hard about the performance this time around was the optimism. It's not a passive everything will be alright optimism. It's a forceful, active, driving, Super Jumbo A380 optimism. You stand there as it's taking off and the momentum lifts you right off the tarmac.

It's not an ingnorance is bliss thing either. He is well informed of what's going on. He's on top of the media and travels all over the world to see for himself.

Life is hard and many terrible things happen. But he thinks change is possible and it's in our capacity to effect it.

For me it was an incredibly refreshing experience. Like opening all the windows and breathing in deeply. And I was surrounded by a theatre full of people who looked as if they too had just expanded their lungs.

Flo

The Heart of the Matter

In Graham Greene's The Heart of the Matter I came across the following lines:

"If I could just arrange for her happiness first, he thought, and in the confusing night he forgot for the while what experience had taught him - that no human being can really undestand another, and no one can arrange another's happiness."

In the confusing night I also forget even though I too have been learning it for many years.

I wonder what makes some of us feel this mistaken responsibility and others not. Is it something we learn as children? A combination of factors from our childhoods?

For instance I am the eldest of three. I was charged with looking after my siblings, particuarly as migrants in a country where they didn't speak the language (I was six years old and so the only one old enough to have learned before arriving).

My mother was shy and didn't like to make phone calls or interact too much with people. She was very unhappy, isolated, having left her warm, southern European home for a cold climate without the comfort of friends or family.

Maybe I learned early that it was in my power to make their lives easier through my efforts; that it was my duty to do so.

I don't think that responsibility for others is a bad thing. I lean more towards community than individualism. I value support networks. I have benefited greatly from the care of others and have not felt like my contribution has been out of balance until now.

But there is a line which some people see clearly. On one side of that line you can interact meaningfully. Less a line than a kind of common zone, a Checkpoint Charlie (without the uniforms and, hopefully, the weaponry).

Beyond it is the unkown other; that foreign land which is another person. Bureaucracies of the mind that baffle outsiders, laws of obscure etymology, subject to change without notice.

What an arrogance to presume that I can navigate that territory without an insider (and there's only one) to guide me, or worse still without permission.

But the border isn't obvious to me. I'd go as far as to say that we're all actively encouraged to forget about it, to feel that we can get inside the skin of a loved one, become one with them; that it's our duty to know someone inside out before being able to claim that we love them.

Maybe it's a confusion of aloneness with loneliness.

I feel like my whole life has been a process of learning to see what's in front of me. (And forgetting again and learning again.)

Flo

The road to hell...

I think his intentions are good. Then again, maybe not.

That's the thing with being around mental illness, whether your own or someone else's. It makes you second guess yourself. It makes you wonder if you've missed something that happened or if you've imagined something happened when it didn't.

Did I really forget to mention that I was doing an 8am shift tomorrow? Was I hallucinating when I saw that lip curl? Did it mean something?

Lately he's been making quite an effort to communicate. Perhaps it's because I've disengaged to such an extent. (Or because he's afraid that he's losing control of me and he's reeling me back in.) He's made an appointment to see a therapist on Monday. (But will he actually go or is this just a way to look as if he's trying?)

He's making an effort to interact with the world again; to be part of things that interest him. (So why is there not enough energy to deal with my requests? Why am I still doing all the housework?)

Just as things look like they might be getting better I find myself to be more cynical than ever.

Or maybe it's just a tired Thursday night, a long day at work, a tempermental, weary toddler. Maybe I'm just too tired to care. I wonder if there's an easter egg left over somewhere. That and a glass of vermouth and a good lie down might just tide me over until tomorrow.

What's yours is yours

Sometimes when my vision has become so blinkered, so focussed on how this illness is affecting me, what I have to do to work around it, hussle this way and that; I get a chance to remember exactly whose illness it is.
Yesterday I had an email from J. I wish I could post it here but I feel that's one step too far (an anonymous blog about my thoughts is one thing but that's quite another).

J expresses himself far better in writing than he does face-to-face. He explained how lonely he feels; how he misses his old circle of friends who have dispersed across the country. He talked about how trapped he feels by this downward drive, the inability to act and to feel happiness.

He apologised for his angry outbursts. He admitted that he was jealous of my happiness, of my social network and most of all of the fact that I seem "find my joy elsewhere these days."

I could taste his pain (a metalic taste, acidic). And this time I knew that I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't feel like I ought to or needed to change anything about my behaviour in an attempt to ameliorate his suffering. I know now that nothing I can do will really help. And I also know that making sacrifices will hurt me and probably end the relationship.

In my response I expressed love and sympathy. I told him how much I would like him to be by my side in enjoying life.

I also framed his suffering (succinctly, without too much feeling) in the context of a treatable illness. I wasn't glib about the difficulties of medication or therapy, but I suggested them as the only way to address these matters.

I didn't discuss at all my socialising; didn't address any specific circumstance. I don't need to justify or explain my actions. I've done it many times before.

I didn't mention his apologies. It's not worth remarking on intentions any more.

Flo

A practical question

The question of freedom and independence is pivotal. The survival of my relationship with J depends largely on whether I can be with him and still feel free to enjoy my life in ways that don't mean compromising who I am. I am a social being. I love to be around people, to go out and see music and film. I need time with other people outside the house.

I saw old friend last weekend who recently came out of a 10-year marriage with a man who has depression. He was very controlling and I hardly saw her for the last few years.

And she said to me, "I was starting to worry that you're doing a lot of tip-toeing around. You're always trying not to rock the boat. You seem afraid all the time."

It was quite a shock to hear that's how others see me. I guess she knows just what it's like to be in that situation so she can easily recognise it when she sees it.

Still, I thought I had it together a bit better than that. Although when I look carefully I can also see how carefully laid most of my plans are - how controlling I am to the last detail of how things will proceed.

So here's a procedural question I guess.

If I plan to go out and J is depressed, what do I do about my son? Do I leave him at home with a sick man? Someone who doesn't need the work of looking after a feisty, tempestuous, contrary 3-year old? Do I leave T in what is surely an unhappy environment? How can I possibly enjoy myself in those circumstances?

Or do I organise for baby-sitting with someone else? I can't know ahead of time how J will feel on the night. If he's well that's a lot of wasted effort and credit used up for nothing. (You'll know what I mean by credit if you've ever asked anyone to look after a toddler who doesn't sit down from dawn 'til dusk - it's like there's guarana in his veins. I can only call in the favour so many times.)

It just feels like so many details. No wonder I'm a control freak. What do you guys out there do? Any suggestions?

Flo

Optimist frayed

Today is a low tide kind of day. Nothing terrible, just low on energy, tired. The kind of day where my walls are down a little, not so sure of myself.

To be fair he said that he wasn't referring to me when he talked about "mindless optimists".

The conversation went mostly like this:

Me: I'm having lunch with Cathy tomorrow. I really like being around her. She's very funny.

 J: I like her too. I like her cynicism. She's very aware of how things work and what goes on around the place. She's not a mindless optimist about things.

I am an optimist. I am a ridiculous Doris-Day kind of optimist a lot of the time. Some of that is just the way I like to be generally but some of it I feel I've been pushed into as a foil for the constant negativity that comes from J.

I looked out the window for a while. I was hurt because I thought he was referring to me. He asked what was wrong. I said, "I think you're referring to me" (no more mincing words round these here parts).

J:  I'm a bit pissed off that you think I meant you. I wasn't talking about you and your thinking that I am is not very nice at all.

Flo (not so optimistic now)

It's not easy being green (or Deadly Sin 6)

Like I needed another reminder of how small minded I can be; how my better nature lives cheek by jowl with my less-than-stellar twin.

Has anyone ever watched Peep Show? The comedy treats us to the world of Mark and Jeremy through the lens of their thoughts - mean spirited, self serving, arrogant pricks that they are. Not that I'm all of those things at once (or indeed at all) but I have my own little pantheon of a character flaws that must never be revealed. (And so now I will proceed to reveal one because that is one of the joys of anonymous blogging.)

My friend recently had a baby. Her husband refuses to allow her to cook or do any housework at all when he isn't at work. He encourages her to sleep between feeds while he takes the baby out for walks. And the baby is now three months old.

And is my initial reaction one of joy for my friend? No dear readers. My first reaction is straight-from-the-gut envy. I am sad for myself that it wasn't that way. It's tears and an acid in my stomach not unlike the aftermath of a rich curry that precede the warm happy feelings which follow shortly thereafter (I am not a monster after all).

I don't devote too much time to these thoughts, but I would love to disown them. I wish they weren't me. Now here they are live on the web. Perhaps it's an exorcism of sorts that will leave room for better things.

Flo

Moving

I have to admit, I get the itch to move every couple of years. It's probably hard-wired from moving around a bit as a child. Absolutely mind-rippingly painful the first time but thereafter quite bearable.

Now I seem to need it. I get to the point where no amount of moving the furniture around the house will quite do. And here's an admission about the depth of this weird need for change: I sometimes sleep with my head at the foot of the bed just to get that where-the-hell-am-I feeling when I wake up.

It was fine to flit about like this when I was on my lonesome but quite another thing to drag a little family around with me. At this point in particular it would mean lugging around the mountain of toys that have accumlutated around us.

I also don't want to do it on a whim. As mentioned before, moving is a huge thing for J - an overwhelming mountain of tasks all rolled up in one one rumbling avalanche of change. So there has to be a bloody compelling reason to move.

I think there are very good reasons to do with my own happiness. I don't drive and we're stuck out in the suburbs at the moment - something we did when T was born because we couldn't afford to stay where we were on one salary. But now it means we use the car too much and we don't walk as much because there's nothing we want to get to that's less than an hour away (a big ask from three-year-old legs).

Mostly for me it means a loss of independence. I hate relying on J to get out (and he hates the pressure of it as well).

So I've been plotting and scheming and trying to figure out how we can do it financially. The only answer I can come up with is downsizing. We could only afford to go back to where we want to be and still save a bit of cash for that possibly-never-to-be-fulfilled-pipedream of buying a place to live if we live in a one-bedroom flat somewhere.

I know how weird that sounds - one bedroom for three people. But right now we all share a room and I can't see that changing for a couple of years (quite long enough to make moving worth it I think and I quite long enough to save some cash). And I value my freedom above my stuff.

I raised the subject, knowing it would be met with resistance and shut-down. Interesting moment though when I said the words "I feel trapped here." I got a rolling of the eyes and, "How do you think I feel all the time?"

There are ways I could have been deeply hurt by this statement but I chose to take it as a geographical trapped rather than a relationship trapped. At any rate it gave me the opportunity to say, "Well I don't want to stay trapped and I'm going to do everything I can to get out of here. Nothing's going to change if we keep doing everything the same."

We were on the swings at the time at the local park, so kind of trapped in the conversation (not all bad is it?). He said talking about money reminded him of his past relationship (a marriage where he lost his business and savings). I said that my past experiences hadn't all been good either, but he's not that person and this is not that marriage.

That was really pushing things as far as addressing things goes. I know that there's no point in trying to talk about things when J is depressed. It can only end badly. But at the moment I'm finding it hard to tell the difference between when he's depressed and when he's well. It's like four seasons in one day. So I had to take a chance.

I can't say if it's paid off or not. We still haven't really taken any concrete steps towards making anything happen. I'm going to send an email and make an appointment with him to talk about our budget. I was thinking maybe lunch on a day when we're both working. I wonder if that's a good idea?

Sorry for the slightly rambling post but I'm a bit obsessed with this idea at the moment and feeling more than little optimistic.

I'd love to hear any comments about your own experiences with involving your partner in big decisions - how to engage without overwhelming, how to move forward without it falling, crashing into a big stinking heap.

Flo

It was the best of times... (Friday night)

Take 1:

I went to see a band on Friday night. My body throbbed to the bass rhythm. My head hummed. My feet locked in synch with the drums. Everyone was smiling, so pleased to be creating this dome of sound and furious joy.

I am still smiling, grinning at the world outside the train window. Now it's my ear that's humming and my stomach is still protesting over that single beer. But I'm still idiotically giddy with happiness.

Take 2:

T was spending the evening at a friend's house so J and I could go out together and see this band at a local pub. We used to love doing this and pre-everything that is our life now we used to do it a couple of times a week.

J had a cold and slept during the day to shake it off. But still, as we all packed into the car (with T's pyjamas, favourite books, toys he wanted to show off and irrepressible excitement) it was easy to see that J's heart wasn't in it.

I won't dwell on the details except for the ones I think you might relate to, and the ones that sound so crazy that anyone else might not believe them.

In the end (meaning less than patience on my part) it was decided that we'd drop T off at his friend's place, me at the pub and J would return home to rest. I'd then find my own way back to T and call J to pick us up from there.

I'd been at at the pub about an hour with an old old friend who was luckily there as well. And we'd bumped into someone that I'd known a long time ago. So we joined him and his friend at a table and were talking when (cue music) suddenly standing quietly fuming behind me was J, waiting for me to notice his presence, which I would not have done if my friend hadn't pointed him out.

He'd left his keys at home and so had no way of getting into the house. He looked angry, refused to acknowledge introductions. I thought he might have come back to see the band and admittedly I wasn't all that happy about it given his countenance. Still, I encouraged him to stay.

He was silent with rage though because I apparently "didn't need him around", referring clearly to the fact that I'd found myself new companions easily enough.

I was a little embarrassed. A little angry. I told him if he wanted to stay it would be great. He refused and turned away. I went back to the table and proceeded to have a good time anyway. It was a bit awkward.

But I did it; I managed to really push him out of my mind. It took me about five minutes but I was able to focus instead on where I was and what I was doing and the knot in my stomach went away. It's taken years to get to this point so it's worth remarking on. (And there was only one beer involved so no Dutch courage either.)

And 10 minutes later J was back! It was time for the band to start so no conversation was really possible. We all herded into a small, badly ventilated room, full of expectation, sweat, breathing the same air at intimate proximity.

J hung out at the back of the room (it was very crowded) but my friend and I (who are pretty short and get a lot of sympathy) wriggled our way down to the front. The music was all enveloping up there. The energy of the room surrounded us. We grinned at each other like maniacs and had a wonderful time.

After the music finished the three of us went for coffee. J was in a calm, contented mood. We all talked and had a good time.

Now we've got another show lined up to go to (same friend). I think he's enjoying himself. I think he's surprised to find it so.

And I think the less this possessive crap has any effect on me the less he might bother with it. Let's just wait and see eh?

I'm looking forward to hearing about your weekends if you have the time to write.

Flo

Long Weekend

I'd like to wish you a happy Easter. Although it's a far less intense holiday than Christmas, it's still a few days off from routine with all the good and bad that entails.

If I were a fairy-god-mother I would wish for you a calm couple of days that don't overwhelm anyone with the pressure to enjoy them.

I hope that the big bad wolf expectation takes his holidays elsewhere.

And if it's your sort of thing, I hope you can socialise to your heart's content, spend time with friends who are normally desk bound on weekdays.

Maybe there will be a bit of light-hearted time spent in the company of your partner (or maybe there won't).

In particular I hope chores don't take up any part of your long weekend (well it's only wishes after all - I can afford to be extravagant).

Flo