Sleepless in New York

Dear SNY,

I'm so sorry. I changed the name of this blog midway through a conversation.

I had a sickening vertiginous moment last night when my partner asked me what black dog ate my homework was about.

He'd seen it in the browsing history of our computer when looking for something else. It was followed by the words "violent alcoholic".

He asked if I had meant him. I honestly responded that it was his father I had been thinking of. And then we had a short talk about the fact that I did look for support on the net regarding his depression and its various components.

I must confess to being surprised about his encouragement in that regard. He felt it was only fair and right and promised that he would never read anything that looked private.

It was great to have that talk but I still wouldn't want him to find this site. I think it would cause him pain to read these things.

And so, in case he changed his mind about not looking a little deeper, I quickly changed the name of this blog.

I sincerely hope that you find me here again. I look forward to your comments. They are insightful, interesting and thought provoking. I am sure others gain from them too.

Flo

Bangarra

I have a feeling that a lot of parents with young kids feel devoid of energy for fun; like our engagement with music and other pursuits are in the past, a distant time when we had energy. I guess being in this particular situation with a depressed partner makes those things seem even more remote.

Lucky for me I was shaken out of that particular miserable delusion a few days ago. By chance a free ticket to see Bangarra Dance perform their new work - Earth and Sky - came my way.

I'll admit it here - I don't go to see dance or theatre very much. I feel vaguely embarrassed by the live aspect of both, by people putting themselves out in a such a vulnerable way in front of me. It's too intimate a lot of the time (particularly when it disappoints).

But I am so glad that I went. I really liked the fact that they had specific things to tell me through their dances. I was not left solely to my own interpretation of the movements on stage (afraid to be left to my own thoughts in a dark room no?).

I was amazed by the strength of feeling and clarity of understanding engendered by watching the dancers move, their costumes and sets, the music. I suppose this is why people go and see them. Now I know and I am converted. I will be saving my pennies (many hundreds of them unfortunately) to go again.

And up (a bit)

Okay, so this was a shallow dip. I'm relieved of course. Very relieved. So why do I feel so sick to the stomach?

I need to work on separating myself a lot more from his cycles. If I don't do that consciously I just fall back into it. His moods are like a whirlpool at the centre of our house. I need to constantly swim strongly, keep to my course, not be lulled into laziness by a quiet week or two or three.

Gosh, so dramatic isn't it? I'm nervous too. I think this blog may have been discovered (hence the name change).

Flo

And down

Here we are again. I was once more getting used to things being so lovely. But of course here we are again.

And I was wondering this time just what is the point of revisiting the subject. If you're reading this you'll have been here before - up and down and up and down and up and inevitably, unfairly, (how could I allowed myself to believe that we wouldn't be here) down again.

This time the catalyst was a phone call J made to his parents. As mentioned before, his childhood was a less than happy one. And without fail any contact with his folks sends him back to a dark place.

It's not that they're awful people. They're just mired in their own problems - alcoholism and poverty being two significant ones. There's never been time for J and there isn't much time now for him or his son (a second rejection that he feels keenly).

A conversation draws him back into their world where bad luck is expected and few things go the way you want them to. Resignation is the dominant theme.

And so my happy, engaged, loving partner is once more too tired to move. His eyes are red-rimmed; the pupils tiny pinpoints in a haze of glacier blue. He's retreated somewhere far behind them where I can't reach.

I guess the point of writing about this yet again is so I can see that I have come a little way. I really do know it's not about me. So now he has at least one less self-absorbed person in his life.

Flo

Active (not all about jogging)

One of the many terrible things about depression is that there is nothing left over, after the struggle to simply remain alive, for any other concerns. Those of us who live with a sufferer feel this keenly. It's why I write this blog. Maybe it's why you're reading it.

But there's no energy for other kinds of engagement either. One of the things that I love about J is his deep sense of social responsibility. He cares a great deal about social justice. We don't always agree on everything but I love his passion. Or I loved it until it went the way of so many other good things.

Since he's been on the up again it's been amazing to see this quality start to re-emerge. On the weekend we went to a rally to support gay marriage. I was ready to go without him (T and I are used to that).

So it was fantastic to stand side by side with J in the cause of something we believe in. It was amazing to see him with enough energy to care about a thing, to leave the house for it.

We were with friends and I wanted to say, look, there he is, this is the man I love. I know they must wonder about why our relationship still exists. I think they know a little better now.