September 28, 2007
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Explanation
If anyone out there still cares, I hope this can serve as an apology.
Or not. Really, the fiction of this thing is that it's all anonymous. It's all a bit silly and coy.
Still.
I have been diagnosed as manic-depressive. No great surprise, I suppose. Not really. But a huge huge leap of faith. So much of who I am for the past 30 years has been based upon my black black dark moods, those moods when I don't want to talk to anyone and my skin feels turned inside out.
The last one I had was last December, and I kept 'soldiering on' for the kids/hub/work until I found myself contemplating jumping in front of a train. When I actually thought my girls would be better off without me. When I was drinking to deaden some pain of which I am so deep in denial over --- that I just kept drinking.
Drinking is a depressant.
Fast forward say, a month. Seriously weeping on side-walks, no sex drive. Lots of staring into space and crying. Not so good for a mum, right?
I love my kids. The one thing that kept me sane was the thought of my kids having to grow up without me.
So I went to my family doctor. Who's female and 10+ years younger and didn't judge this sad weeping fat middle aged woman.
And back we go on the Meds.
And we slip back and forth and the thoughts get scarier and scarier and then we decide that it's all too much for a GP to handle.
Me, the one who always strove to behave until she cracked --- that one --- I am too much for an ordinary GP!
I strive to be normal; to slip under the radar. To Sublimate.
I have to go to the Mental Intake ward. I don't tell The Boy because inthe part of England he comes from, "Nutters" belong in the Nuthouse. I don't want to be a "Nutter". Mental Intake ward = Nutter, even in my book.
The psychiatrist (who's some bigwig sent up from Sydney) has a chat, I cry, he thinks I need serious therapy, I don't have insurance (because at $165 a month we just don't have it -- with The Boy working for himself and all..)
So I get: some serious Mood Stabilizers, some Valium, and some Anti_depressants that work. Also some schmoo who does Behavioural Therapy, who is an idiot who I see exactly 12 times. He's a MOO, believe me.
Tried some Group Therapy. I spent my time staring at the white board, hoping the Group Facilitator wouldn't pick me.
What's so great about sharing private stuff with complete strangers, anyway?
So here I am.
The only thing I ever felt good about, that felt honest and pure and about me, was here. Maybe this is my therapy.
Whaddya think?
Comments (8)
Much much love to you!
Therapy away - I will listen or not if you don't want me to.
FWIW - Dh and I have a good friend who we watched go through a very similar pattern a few years ago. It took inpatient care for him to get back to a place where he could start functioning again. But he has persisted and goes through some tough times now, but in general he is in a better place.
Huge Hugs sweetie!
Love you sweetie. Been where you're at, and it's hard but a worthy struggle. You have me and lots others around if you need us. Just ask.
sharing private stuff with complete strangers has become an absolute necessity for me! Of course, after 5 years of blogging, many of my readers are no longer complete strangers. I count them as friends. But blogging at any level is part journaling, which is therapeutic, and part therapy session because, if you want people to read and comment, you can sometimes get some wonderful perspective and support...
glad to see you back! you have been missed.
as for the diagnosis, i know you can take control of it. good therapy and good meds will help you get out of it to the place where you can be happy... i know people who have done it.
much love to you!
hey stress.....there are a lot of us here with open ears and open arms...... come take advantage of them.
I miss you, love. Write all you want...it can only help.
Hey stressie. trying to come back to xanga... Been out and about. Thinking of you.
((((((BIG HUGS))))))) can you feel it??
Xanga IS a great source of therapy, for reasons that I know you understand. I've climbed up a mountain my own self, and reached a sunnier plateau from which I get to a better and better place myself.
And, on a nearly daily basis, I encounter patients at the hospital where I work who have yet to begin to climb from the depths.
You are not alone.
And you are loved.
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