I think. Certainly tablet 28 – I took the last one in the box today and will go and collect my next pack later. I’ve definitely found some stuff: a little motivation for better eating, more walking, losing the weight I’ve gained, home cooking, being a little more socially active. These are all improvements and I’m pleased with the progress gained from the medication. I’m happy to keep taking it as long as I feel under mental strain – a mental strain which has become much more apparent as I’ve regained a little clarity.
I had my assessment with Healthy Minds yesterday which was the usual mix of graded PHQ questions (moderate-severe depression, minor-moderate anxiety) and exploration of mood, risk, family, relationship history and work. As may be apparent from my last post and is definitely clear from a recent chat with Tess, I’ve been introspecting recently to understand the reasons behind my depression; I stated as such to my assessor. I’ve sabotaged me by piling old problems and behaviours onto an already-stressed mind – itself an old, outmoded behaviour. I’ve reverted to eating, drinking and the internet to help myself feel better which, in themselves, have caused more problems than they’ve solved and are contributing to a vicious circle of self-esteem damage and comforting.
I admitted outright that I used to have problems with alcohol, weed and internet abuse (now that I think about it, sometimes all three at once!) but I have the first two under control and have done for many years. This leads to an important revelation, one which I’ve touched on here, admitted to myself and Tess recently but it’s worth reinforcing: I am addicted to the internet, I’m using it as my main source of entertainment, a crutch and a distraction, and it must be brought under control. It’s contributing in large part to my sleep problems, concentration issues and motivation and I am trying to wean myself off it and onto more healthy pursuits. I want to regain my love of walking, my absolute adoration of home cooking, spend more quality time with daughter and see my friends more. I want to read more books at work, play chess, doodle, blog, write for the Coll3ctive, maybe learn more Photoshop skills and the like.
One of the unfortunate side-effects of this is that I’m going to have to spend less time talking to Tess. Currently, if she’s free, we spend up to five hours a day in reasonably –continuous conversation online. Since our respective time-zones changed, I think we’re talking considerably more than we were, or at least in one big chunk instead of at each end of the day. I’m sure this is a swings-and-roundabouts situation; I get a lot of benefit from talking to Tess, but spending hours on end talking to anyone feels like too much, especially for someone with a history of internet chat addiction. Cutting back has its upsides too; our conversation is sometimes stilted because we’ve run out of things to talk about and I often feel a little guilty about this so try to keep the conversation moving. Spending less time talking overall may improve the quality of our interaction and make it a touch more special, sacred. Trying to look at the benefits, it may also give Tess more freedom in the evenings, something I know she’d dismiss as unnecessary but, were we living together, we’d both appreciate the chance to do different things occasionally and maybe this will free her up a bit.
Anyway, I’ve wandered off the point a little there. During the assessment I surprised myself with the answer to a simple question: “You said you’ve had some therapy before – what has your involvement been with mental health services?” and I said “Lots. A number of community psychiatric nurses, some private Adlerian therapy, ten sessions of psychotherapy with Costas at The Dove Centre in Aylesbury, twenty sessions of psychodynamic therapy via The Tindal Centre in Aylesbury and about eight or so years of anti-depressant medication, at one point two different tablets a day… I think that’s it.” The surprise was just how long my list of interaction with mental health services has been, and this was reinforced when she summed up our discussion with “Given your current situation and history of involvement with mental health professionals, I’m going to put you on the waiting list for Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.”
She told me all about CBT and how it focuses on the now instead of the past, how it tries to make sense of behaviour and tries to discover ways to mould unhelpful behaviour into more positive action. I like the sound of that, and it feels like I already have a couple of things to focus on, behaviours I’d like to explore.
This is positive action. I’m proud I’ve taken this path instead of the alternative; I have always told myself I’m not going back there, to that pit. I told my assessor I probably only feel 10% as bad as I did when I was at my lowest, and I think that’d an accurate estimate. That I’ve spent the past two months feeling utterly crap, I can’t imagine how I used to live at my lowest. I guess the answer there is that I didn’t, really – I survived. Now, I feel like I’m thriving again; not better, but definitely improving and moving in the right direction.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
There's a tangible balance at the moment
which isn't just obvious to me but apparently to Tess as well. I've certainly been making more positive noises; I don't feel well, or much better, but I certainly don't feel worse, my head is less fizzy generally and I think my sleep pattern is coming back towards normal and healthy for the first time in a few months. I'm definitely less emotionally-variable but I still get enjoyment from things, perhaps more so now I'm medicated than a few weeks ago when I wasn't. My motivation appears to be returning somewhat, with many things apart from work, that is. My enthusiasm for eating better is more apparent, I want to get out walking again and lose this gut I've gained since December. I've been comfort eating far too much for my own good and it's really showing on my body now. So I'm going to pack some audiobooks onto my phone and listen to stories as I walk. I figure this is a good way to motivate myself to walk on my own along paths I've visited before.
This paragraph contains stuff about my sex drive, so skip it if you want to. There are some side effects. I'm not so concerned about them at the moment as the obvious one only affects me. My libido has dropped off and there's certainly no such thing as a "quickie" any more. I think if Tess was here that would be something of a frustration and would take some working out, but we'd get through it. I haven't really noticed any other side effects; I do have underlying concern about whether their effectiveness has taken the edge off any of my "positive" emotions, but I'm settling that by commending them on their ability to balance me out and bring my moods back to a more reasonable steady baseline. It's a trade-off, and I'd much rather have the positive effects and accept the negatives than be where I was four weeks ago, which felt like hell compared to now.
As well as the medication, I guess a few other things have helped too. I took a little extra time off work and took advantage of it to rest and nap. I think I've had 14-16 extra hours sleep this past six days and it's been much needed. I'm still yawning at my desk (*shakes fist comically at Sophie*) and I've had a coffee today to perk me up a little, but that'll be it. I've got to shake this usage of caffeine to help me feel normal, and getting my sleep in order has been a prime aide to that. Long may it continue.
Back in this post a few days ago I mentioned getting a year planner together. That afternoon I went straight to the bureau and got it printed, and a couple of days later I'd done some workings-out and plotted a few days on it, crossed a whole bunch out and now I can see, visually and logically, what's been and what's to come.
Tess and I have known each other for 140 days, from the first hug as she got out of the taxi outside my house a couple of days after my birthday. We've been apart for 85 days, which is more than half the time we've known each other. We have a minimum of 181 days until we're together again, which is less than half a year. We have almost exactly six months to cross off the year planner until we can be together again. The half-way point between her leaving at the end of January and the earliest date I can be in Australia is June 13th, 48 days away from now.
There's something really comforting about putting a big X through one of the days on my year planner. I think it's because there's a logical tracking of time and a visualsation of what's been and what's to come. Each time I look at it I'm amazed how far we've come, which gives me hope that October is really just around the corner.
One of the symptoms I've always found with my depression is the "living in the moment" syndrome of not looking forward, or looking back, but living purely in the "now". I've been blogging less often, which shows a decline in reflection, and the future was in doubt for some time, although Tess and I have tied up a fair number of loose ends. The idea behind a year planner was to give me some perspective of time, and that seems to be working. It's very satisfying to cross another day out, another day towards half-way which will highlight the peak of our time apart and the start of a more noticeable decrease in the time left we spend apart.
I am missing Tess immensely. There are many elements of this relationship that are easier than I ever dreamed possible; at the same time, there are aspects that get harder with each passing day. Fortunately she is supportive and communicative and I know I have therapy in the pipeline to iron out the creases in my brain, and medication to keep me balanced until I can manage it on my own.
I have a telephone assessment with Healthy Minds tomorrow afternoon, which I hope is the start of a journey which ends with a more balanced and capable me. Tess and I talked through some things today which I'm sure are contributing to my depression and I've come to some introspective conclusions about what's happening in my head and where I need to be to move forward. Hopefully a psychology professional can help me update my tool-kit to I am better able to deal with my emotions and issues in the future. I hope to rebuild and repair my self-esteem and self-believe, both of which seem to have taken massive hits. I'd also like to get to the bottom of why I appear to sabotage myself when I'd be better off improving. These seem pretty big, now I look at them here, but I don't think they're insurmountable and it's what I'd like to get out of any future therapy I have.
It's funny, but now that I'm starting to feel better the urgency to get my head sorted out has diminished. I'm also aware that I'll be facing dark and emotionally-difficult times during my therapy, which is always difficult but so, so worth it.
Here we are then, I guess, at the beginning. The ends aren't that far away - for the mental journey out of depression and the physical one into Tess's arms, and I certainly feel more positive about reaching them now.
This paragraph contains stuff about my sex drive, so skip it if you want to. There are some side effects. I'm not so concerned about them at the moment as the obvious one only affects me. My libido has dropped off and there's certainly no such thing as a "quickie" any more. I think if Tess was here that would be something of a frustration and would take some working out, but we'd get through it. I haven't really noticed any other side effects; I do have underlying concern about whether their effectiveness has taken the edge off any of my "positive" emotions, but I'm settling that by commending them on their ability to balance me out and bring my moods back to a more reasonable steady baseline. It's a trade-off, and I'd much rather have the positive effects and accept the negatives than be where I was four weeks ago, which felt like hell compared to now.
As well as the medication, I guess a few other things have helped too. I took a little extra time off work and took advantage of it to rest and nap. I think I've had 14-16 extra hours sleep this past six days and it's been much needed. I'm still yawning at my desk (*shakes fist comically at Sophie*) and I've had a coffee today to perk me up a little, but that'll be it. I've got to shake this usage of caffeine to help me feel normal, and getting my sleep in order has been a prime aide to that. Long may it continue.
Back in this post a few days ago I mentioned getting a year planner together. That afternoon I went straight to the bureau and got it printed, and a couple of days later I'd done some workings-out and plotted a few days on it, crossed a whole bunch out and now I can see, visually and logically, what's been and what's to come.
Tess and I have known each other for 140 days, from the first hug as she got out of the taxi outside my house a couple of days after my birthday. We've been apart for 85 days, which is more than half the time we've known each other. We have a minimum of 181 days until we're together again, which is less than half a year. We have almost exactly six months to cross off the year planner until we can be together again. The half-way point between her leaving at the end of January and the earliest date I can be in Australia is June 13th, 48 days away from now.
There's something really comforting about putting a big X through one of the days on my year planner. I think it's because there's a logical tracking of time and a visualsation of what's been and what's to come. Each time I look at it I'm amazed how far we've come, which gives me hope that October is really just around the corner.
One of the symptoms I've always found with my depression is the "living in the moment" syndrome of not looking forward, or looking back, but living purely in the "now". I've been blogging less often, which shows a decline in reflection, and the future was in doubt for some time, although Tess and I have tied up a fair number of loose ends. The idea behind a year planner was to give me some perspective of time, and that seems to be working. It's very satisfying to cross another day out, another day towards half-way which will highlight the peak of our time apart and the start of a more noticeable decrease in the time left we spend apart.
I am missing Tess immensely. There are many elements of this relationship that are easier than I ever dreamed possible; at the same time, there are aspects that get harder with each passing day. Fortunately she is supportive and communicative and I know I have therapy in the pipeline to iron out the creases in my brain, and medication to keep me balanced until I can manage it on my own.
I have a telephone assessment with Healthy Minds tomorrow afternoon, which I hope is the start of a journey which ends with a more balanced and capable me. Tess and I talked through some things today which I'm sure are contributing to my depression and I've come to some introspective conclusions about what's happening in my head and where I need to be to move forward. Hopefully a psychology professional can help me update my tool-kit to I am better able to deal with my emotions and issues in the future. I hope to rebuild and repair my self-esteem and self-believe, both of which seem to have taken massive hits. I'd also like to get to the bottom of why I appear to sabotage myself when I'd be better off improving. These seem pretty big, now I look at them here, but I don't think they're insurmountable and it's what I'd like to get out of any future therapy I have.
It's funny, but now that I'm starting to feel better the urgency to get my head sorted out has diminished. I'm also aware that I'll be facing dark and emotionally-difficult times during my therapy, which is always difficult but so, so worth it.
Here we are then, I guess, at the beginning. The ends aren't that far away - for the mental journey out of depression and the physical one into Tess's arms, and I certainly feel more positive about reaching them now.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Day 22 of the Citalopram Challenge
and I definitely feel like the medication is having the desired effect. I've been considerably less emotional, although a couple of times watching sweet or upsetting things on movies has brought an up-welling of emotion that surprised me, simply because I've rarely felt it this past three weeks.
Yesterday I was in the kitchen and I had a mini-revelation - "I actually feel ok" - again, a surprise because it's the first time in a fair while I've not felt completely shit. I feel much more stable than I was, more able to get on with day to day life and much less suppressed by dark clouds hanging over me.
This is good, right? Definitely. I'm still a touch concerned about what else might have been smoothed-over or ironed-out if the pills have done such a good job of balancing my mood, but I'm not going to fight it. To feel a little better about myself and the world in general makes anything else a small price to pay in the short term.
Yesterday I was in the kitchen and I had a mini-revelation - "I actually feel ok" - again, a surprise because it's the first time in a fair while I've not felt completely shit. I feel much more stable than I was, more able to get on with day to day life and much less suppressed by dark clouds hanging over me.
This is good, right? Definitely. I'm still a touch concerned about what else might have been smoothed-over or ironed-out if the pills have done such a good job of balancing my mood, but I'm not going to fight it. To feel a little better about myself and the world in general makes anything else a small price to pay in the short term.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Day 18 of the Citalopram Challenge
and I've spent much of the past ten days emotionally stable. I had very few mood swings and my remarks to the doctor during my two-week review were positive, along the lines of "definite improvement" and "obvious stabilisation". One thing it hasn't sorted out is my sleep, and the doctor seemed to think the citalopram would help settle that down too within four weeks of starting it. I'm reasonably sure that won't be the case but she asked me to come and see her again if not, so there's hope for something to help me sleep if it doesn't settle soon. I'm hoping to get curtains up today or tomorrow - certainly going to go and buy the gear later and get started on getting them up so they're sorted for this weekend, anyway. First light is around 5.15am at the moment and I reckon getting curtains up will aid sleep in general, particularly getting to my alarm which I feel is most important at the moment.
Anyway, this post isn't specifically about sleep, it's about the effect of the pills. This has come to mind because I had a mood crash while talking to Tess this morning. It was over something that I've crashed about before, but it was so pronounced I noticed it when held-up against the relative stability of the past ten days.
It started innocuously enough. I stated that I missed her, and felt the little tug at the hole between my chest and my stomach again. Nothing new there, and nothing I can't handle. We talked about my visit, and how it'd be a year from my leaving in November to our next meeting at the end of summer/start of autumn 2012:
me: I'll have to wait a year to see you once I leave
Tess: if we're lucky
me: God don't say that
There I was feeling a little gutted it'd be a year, when I was reminded of the fact that yes, without a fair amount of luck, hard graft and saving a year could well be the minimum time we'll be apart. It could be much longer. My mood crashed pretty rapidly. It wasn't Tess's fault, she was just reminding us of the realities of our situation, but it really affected my mood. As I said, it was an obvious crash after noticeable stability so I'm here to explore the feelings behind that a little.
We're both scared of the fact that nothing's certain. We're both fearful of the time spent apart. I can't speak for Tess but for me there's a number of reasons: that maybe the more we're apart the harder it'll be for us to love each other, that we'll drift apart, one of us will change our minds or fall for someone else. Tess'll berate me for saying that but it's true, they're all possibilities. Of course, the greater possibilities are that we'll stick it out and be stronger than ever and settle down in the future and things will be wonderful; the point being that the uncertainty about our long-term future is making all these short-term uncertainties seem like a bigger deal than they probably are.
I think, along with the inability to physically be with Tess, to touch and hold, to comfort and reassure and to feel bodily warmth in all its wonderful forms, the hardest thing I'm personally dealing with is the uncertainty. For example: I know I've got almost exactly six months until I can put my arse on a plane and get over to be with her for a month, but can I put that six months into mental context? No. If it was a week, maybe two, it'd seem measurable, but I guess it's like getting humans to visualise a billion stars; it's just not mentally possible to put measure and foresee six months in human terms. So when we start talking about a year after that, maybe longer, my brain kind of goes "My god! That's so long! What the fuck is longer than a fortnight?! ARGH!" and starts a bit of a mental meltdown.
I've just downloaded a year planner PDF for 2011 and emailed it to the bureau for printing onto an A3 sheet. I'll stick it on my desk at home and cross the days out; that way I get a visual representation of how long has been and how long to go. I think that's a great idea as my mind does work somewhat logically like that, despite all the emotional bullshit I post here sometimes.
Actually, that in itself is all quite reassuring. Part of the stress comes from not really understanding the timescales involved and I feel that having a visual representation like this will really help put things into context. I'm not even particularly freaked-out in seeing that there's still six months to go - part of me's going "Only six months? FUUUUCK!" but that's just my money brain talking.
Anyway, I already feel a little better about that. I've also just got onto my housing trust manager and kicked his arse for some things that are holding me back - mainly that I don't have readings and serial numbers for my services so bills are piling up. I've kind of run out of time and enthusiasm for writing now but I might just revisit this in the future if the concept of time bugs me as much as it did earlier.
Anyway, this post isn't specifically about sleep, it's about the effect of the pills. This has come to mind because I had a mood crash while talking to Tess this morning. It was over something that I've crashed about before, but it was so pronounced I noticed it when held-up against the relative stability of the past ten days.
It started innocuously enough. I stated that I missed her, and felt the little tug at the hole between my chest and my stomach again. Nothing new there, and nothing I can't handle. We talked about my visit, and how it'd be a year from my leaving in November to our next meeting at the end of summer/start of autumn 2012:
me: I'll have to wait a year to see you once I leave
Tess: if we're lucky
me: God don't say that
There I was feeling a little gutted it'd be a year, when I was reminded of the fact that yes, without a fair amount of luck, hard graft and saving a year could well be the minimum time we'll be apart. It could be much longer. My mood crashed pretty rapidly. It wasn't Tess's fault, she was just reminding us of the realities of our situation, but it really affected my mood. As I said, it was an obvious crash after noticeable stability so I'm here to explore the feelings behind that a little.
We're both scared of the fact that nothing's certain. We're both fearful of the time spent apart. I can't speak for Tess but for me there's a number of reasons: that maybe the more we're apart the harder it'll be for us to love each other, that we'll drift apart, one of us will change our minds or fall for someone else. Tess'll berate me for saying that but it's true, they're all possibilities. Of course, the greater possibilities are that we'll stick it out and be stronger than ever and settle down in the future and things will be wonderful; the point being that the uncertainty about our long-term future is making all these short-term uncertainties seem like a bigger deal than they probably are.
I think, along with the inability to physically be with Tess, to touch and hold, to comfort and reassure and to feel bodily warmth in all its wonderful forms, the hardest thing I'm personally dealing with is the uncertainty. For example: I know I've got almost exactly six months until I can put my arse on a plane and get over to be with her for a month, but can I put that six months into mental context? No. If it was a week, maybe two, it'd seem measurable, but I guess it's like getting humans to visualise a billion stars; it's just not mentally possible to put measure and foresee six months in human terms. So when we start talking about a year after that, maybe longer, my brain kind of goes "My god! That's so long! What the fuck is longer than a fortnight?! ARGH!" and starts a bit of a mental meltdown.
I've just downloaded a year planner PDF for 2011 and emailed it to the bureau for printing onto an A3 sheet. I'll stick it on my desk at home and cross the days out; that way I get a visual representation of how long has been and how long to go. I think that's a great idea as my mind does work somewhat logically like that, despite all the emotional bullshit I post here sometimes.
Actually, that in itself is all quite reassuring. Part of the stress comes from not really understanding the timescales involved and I feel that having a visual representation like this will really help put things into context. I'm not even particularly freaked-out in seeing that there's still six months to go - part of me's going "Only six months? FUUUUCK!" but that's just my money brain talking.
Anyway, I already feel a little better about that. I've also just got onto my housing trust manager and kicked his arse for some things that are holding me back - mainly that I don't have readings and serial numbers for my services so bills are piling up. I've kind of run out of time and enthusiasm for writing now but I might just revisit this in the future if the concept of time bugs me as much as it did earlier.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
God I feel rubbish today
having got to sleep at around 8.45pm after half an hour of lying and fizzing. I woke again at half-midnight full of gas and indigestion; I knew I'd eaten too much of that wonderful pasta bake. I turned over and tried to ignore the insistent turbulence in my belly but had to get up and take a pill to help shift it. Back to bed, I put my head down and tried to sleep again, but more fizzing and twisting and turning in my head and my belly.
I gave up after half an hour, turned my light on and read for a while before having a little "me" time. Three times in three days and still no finish. Grrrrr. I think I may have wound myself up about this but there's a chance the citalopram is dampening my mojo - either that or a tidy bout of hypochondria. I gave up after quite some time, turned over and put my head down at about 3am and slept solidly until my alarm went off at 6am. Seven hours sleep despite having got into bed at half past seven in the evening. Pants.
I am utterly sick of being tired. I consistently admit that I don't function at my best when I'm tired - I'm low, emotional, quick to react, lethargic, unmotivated and disinterested. All I can think about is going back to bed and trying to patch up a few days of rubbish sleep which, on reflection, is actually a few months of rubbish sleep. I've not been sleeping properly since October when we found out about getting the new flat and I became overwhelmed with the scale of what we had to achieve to move in.
I'm going to make more of an effort to get to bed at a reasonable hour to try and catch up on some sleep. Now that clocks have gone forward here and back in Australia, the time difference means that Tess usually doesn't get up before 10pm my time, just about the time I'm thinking about settling down to sleep. A shame, because means less time for us to talk when she gets up, but it also means I'm more likely to turn in early when I feel the urge to instead of staying up to talk to her before she starts her day. Hopefully this is a silver lining on that cloud and, along with my medication kicking in, it should help me settle back into a positive sleeping routine.
I was listening to the audiobook of Susan Jeffers' Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway while flicking through a Where's Wally-style book. The second half of it doesn't suit me at all but the first half is full of interesting insights. One of the concepts she puts forward is that fear is generated when we feel out of control or unable to handle a situation, and that fear only goes away when we actually face the situation and deal with it. It's something along the lines of "The feeling involved in acting on a situation counteracts the fear involved in helplessness."
The phrase "I'll handle it" is promoted, and I like that idea. Whatever comes along, it may create fear and that would hold me back from acting upon it. But telling myself "I'll handle it" creates a positive outlook and gives me the motivation to go ahead and do so.
Big progress yesterday with my blog post and the outcome of relieving pressure on myself to make things happen in October whatever the cost. I felt much better after writing it out and realising it's not the end of the world if it doesn't happen according to plan. I think I need to apply that to many everyday things, or have a look at the things I pressure myself over and, therefore, rarely achieve. Putting pressure on myself is counter-productive because I tend to rebel against it, whatever the source. This is worth investigating in the future because it does tend to hold me back.
It feels good, blogging. Getting stuff out of my head is a requirement at the moment, and hopefully it'll help clear it when I'm trying to get to sleep.
I gave up after half an hour, turned my light on and read for a while before having a little "me" time. Three times in three days and still no finish. Grrrrr. I think I may have wound myself up about this but there's a chance the citalopram is dampening my mojo - either that or a tidy bout of hypochondria. I gave up after quite some time, turned over and put my head down at about 3am and slept solidly until my alarm went off at 6am. Seven hours sleep despite having got into bed at half past seven in the evening. Pants.
I am utterly sick of being tired. I consistently admit that I don't function at my best when I'm tired - I'm low, emotional, quick to react, lethargic, unmotivated and disinterested. All I can think about is going back to bed and trying to patch up a few days of rubbish sleep which, on reflection, is actually a few months of rubbish sleep. I've not been sleeping properly since October when we found out about getting the new flat and I became overwhelmed with the scale of what we had to achieve to move in.
I'm going to make more of an effort to get to bed at a reasonable hour to try and catch up on some sleep. Now that clocks have gone forward here and back in Australia, the time difference means that Tess usually doesn't get up before 10pm my time, just about the time I'm thinking about settling down to sleep. A shame, because means less time for us to talk when she gets up, but it also means I'm more likely to turn in early when I feel the urge to instead of staying up to talk to her before she starts her day. Hopefully this is a silver lining on that cloud and, along with my medication kicking in, it should help me settle back into a positive sleeping routine.
I was listening to the audiobook of Susan Jeffers' Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway while flicking through a Where's Wally-style book. The second half of it doesn't suit me at all but the first half is full of interesting insights. One of the concepts she puts forward is that fear is generated when we feel out of control or unable to handle a situation, and that fear only goes away when we actually face the situation and deal with it. It's something along the lines of "The feeling involved in acting on a situation counteracts the fear involved in helplessness."
The phrase "I'll handle it" is promoted, and I like that idea. Whatever comes along, it may create fear and that would hold me back from acting upon it. But telling myself "I'll handle it" creates a positive outlook and gives me the motivation to go ahead and do so.
Big progress yesterday with my blog post and the outcome of relieving pressure on myself to make things happen in October whatever the cost. I felt much better after writing it out and realising it's not the end of the world if it doesn't happen according to plan. I think I need to apply that to many everyday things, or have a look at the things I pressure myself over and, therefore, rarely achieve. Putting pressure on myself is counter-productive because I tend to rebel against it, whatever the source. This is worth investigating in the future because it does tend to hold me back.
It feels good, blogging. Getting stuff out of my head is a requirement at the moment, and hopefully it'll help clear it when I'm trying to get to sleep.
Monday, April 4, 2011
I had a bit of a moment yesterday
where Kate asked me what kind of things were getting me down. Leo was running around the room and the TV was blaring and I knew there was no way I was going to open up in that situation, but my brain did something I wasn't expecting: when she asked the question it shouted at me "The trip to Australia!"
I need to reconcile my feelings about what's happening over the next six months in terms of preparations and gear and organising things and money and investment of time and finances into the trip to Australia. I still have strong fears, doubts and resentment that are somewhat caustic in my brain and whenever they crop up I have a reasonable dip in mood. I have big excitement about the whole venture, travelling to the other side of the world, seeing a country and culture I've never experienced and spending a whole month reinforcing love with Tess. Unfortunately this excitement appears buried under layers of tricky thoughts and anxiety.
As I've written before, I am struggling with saving money for the trip. Not just with the physical act of putting money aside, but with the concept of restricting the spare money we have when we already live quite a simple life. When we moved into the new flat I knew we'd be paying out more each month - our simple all-in rent is similar but I now have all the bills to pay for gas, electricity, water, TV licence, telephone and house insurance. I'm paying off a couple of debts amounting to £50 a week although they're both shortish-term and when they're paid off will make a massive difference to the amount I can spend and save.
I guess I'm feeling the pressure I'm putting myself under to make the trip happen. I said to Tess last week "I'm so wound up about money and budget and job and fucking terrified that if this trip in October doesn't look likely I'll lose all hope." Those are pretty strong words on reflection. And there it is, I guess: if I don't get to see her in October or have a firm plan for seeing her sometime around then, I may lose hope in the whole relationship. I'm already struggling with the distance and increasing the amount of time until we're together again, albeit for a month, just doesn't appeal to me at all. It's looking likely that we won't be together permanently for a little under three years, although there's a chance she can come here to study for a term next year. All these timescales terrify me, quite literally.
Thinking about it, this pressure I've created to make the trip happen in October is unfounded and unfair. It's not the end of the world if we have to put it off. I can do my best to work towards an October deadline but if we get to, say, July or August and it's not looking great in the bank account then we'll talk about putting it back. I don't want to do that, but I guess looking at it logically instead of emotionally it would be the best thing to do, instead of placing undue and unnecessary pressure on myself to make it happen at the expense of actually living a normal life.
I need to get the electricity and water supply billing sorted out and re-do my budget so I can have a firm and fair plan to see what I can achieve and by when. It's such a wonderful thing, this trip, that I don't want to spend the seven months prior to it hating the process of saving for it.
I need to reconcile my feelings about what's happening over the next six months in terms of preparations and gear and organising things and money and investment of time and finances into the trip to Australia. I still have strong fears, doubts and resentment that are somewhat caustic in my brain and whenever they crop up I have a reasonable dip in mood. I have big excitement about the whole venture, travelling to the other side of the world, seeing a country and culture I've never experienced and spending a whole month reinforcing love with Tess. Unfortunately this excitement appears buried under layers of tricky thoughts and anxiety.
As I've written before, I am struggling with saving money for the trip. Not just with the physical act of putting money aside, but with the concept of restricting the spare money we have when we already live quite a simple life. When we moved into the new flat I knew we'd be paying out more each month - our simple all-in rent is similar but I now have all the bills to pay for gas, electricity, water, TV licence, telephone and house insurance. I'm paying off a couple of debts amounting to £50 a week although they're both shortish-term and when they're paid off will make a massive difference to the amount I can spend and save.
I guess I'm feeling the pressure I'm putting myself under to make the trip happen. I said to Tess last week "I'm so wound up about money and budget and job and fucking terrified that if this trip in October doesn't look likely I'll lose all hope." Those are pretty strong words on reflection. And there it is, I guess: if I don't get to see her in October or have a firm plan for seeing her sometime around then, I may lose hope in the whole relationship. I'm already struggling with the distance and increasing the amount of time until we're together again, albeit for a month, just doesn't appeal to me at all. It's looking likely that we won't be together permanently for a little under three years, although there's a chance she can come here to study for a term next year. All these timescales terrify me, quite literally.
Thinking about it, this pressure I've created to make the trip happen in October is unfounded and unfair. It's not the end of the world if we have to put it off. I can do my best to work towards an October deadline but if we get to, say, July or August and it's not looking great in the bank account then we'll talk about putting it back. I don't want to do that, but I guess looking at it logically instead of emotionally it would be the best thing to do, instead of placing undue and unnecessary pressure on myself to make it happen at the expense of actually living a normal life.
I need to get the electricity and water supply billing sorted out and re-do my budget so I can have a firm and fair plan to see what I can achieve and by when. It's such a wonderful thing, this trip, that I don't want to spend the seven months prior to it hating the process of saving for it.
Friday, April 1, 2011
There is a deep sigh
and a heavy feeling in my head as I open the pack of 20mg Citalopram tablets and consider taking my first pill. It's my first anti-depressant medication in three or so years and I've not felt the need to medicate until just the last few days.
It's been a tumultuous few months, as I've written about recently, and I've come to terms with accepting medication as an attempt to halt the downward trend I've felt just recently. My mood swings have increased, my motivation to do anything other than slouch has dwindled and my diet took a real turn for the ugly. I have no fear in actually using the medication to level me out.
There is a slight loss of pride, I guess. I stopped taking my medication half-way through my counselling because I was working outdoors at the time and had started to feel considerably better. I was proud of managing to continue through my therapy and find my own way subsequently without the anti-depressants. I guess I just got lucky really; I'd resigned myself to being on them for life, but was lucky enough to stop needing them when things started to come together. Now that things seem to be slowly coming apart again, I think it's best I take them for the time being.
There, I've just taken my first one.
So, no fear. What I do have is a fair amount of resentment. How dare you come back and bite me on the arse again, depression? You cunt. Now, here and now, when I'm supposed to be feeling fantastic and elated and in love and enjoying my new home and the return of some good friends. Instead I want to curl up into a ball and hide and distract myself with whatever's at hand - currently Battlestar Galactica and chess lessons. I'd rather it was walking and cooking.
Anyway, an update from the doctor which has given me something to look forward to: the mental health team have referred me to Healthy Minds who will be contacting me directly to get me on some therapy. It's lovely to know there's some progress here and hopefully I'll be hearing something in the next couple of weeks, maybe longer, but better than the "maximum 14 weeks" I know is the standard NHS line.
I'll be keeping an eye on how I'm feeling, and whether I notice any side effects with this medication. Today is the first day, and I'm due back for an appointment in a fortnight to see how they're working so I'll post about it then, but I'll post again if I notice any difference.
It's been a tumultuous few months, as I've written about recently, and I've come to terms with accepting medication as an attempt to halt the downward trend I've felt just recently. My mood swings have increased, my motivation to do anything other than slouch has dwindled and my diet took a real turn for the ugly. I have no fear in actually using the medication to level me out.
There is a slight loss of pride, I guess. I stopped taking my medication half-way through my counselling because I was working outdoors at the time and had started to feel considerably better. I was proud of managing to continue through my therapy and find my own way subsequently without the anti-depressants. I guess I just got lucky really; I'd resigned myself to being on them for life, but was lucky enough to stop needing them when things started to come together. Now that things seem to be slowly coming apart again, I think it's best I take them for the time being.
There, I've just taken my first one.
So, no fear. What I do have is a fair amount of resentment. How dare you come back and bite me on the arse again, depression? You cunt. Now, here and now, when I'm supposed to be feeling fantastic and elated and in love and enjoying my new home and the return of some good friends. Instead I want to curl up into a ball and hide and distract myself with whatever's at hand - currently Battlestar Galactica and chess lessons. I'd rather it was walking and cooking.
Anyway, an update from the doctor which has given me something to look forward to: the mental health team have referred me to Healthy Minds who will be contacting me directly to get me on some therapy. It's lovely to know there's some progress here and hopefully I'll be hearing something in the next couple of weeks, maybe longer, but better than the "maximum 14 weeks" I know is the standard NHS line.
I'll be keeping an eye on how I'm feeling, and whether I notice any side effects with this medication. Today is the first day, and I'm due back for an appointment in a fortnight to see how they're working so I'll post about it then, but I'll post again if I notice any difference.
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