Crashing

Yesterday was not a good day.

It just wasn’t and today has not been that much better.

And there is no reason for it.

But I think that is something I am beginning to realize…this depression and its episodes are not necessarily tied to specific events or triggers or things.

They are. And it will get better.

And flashbacks are just that flashbacks. They are not reality.

It is not my world any more.

***

I had a lovely conversation with a dear sweet friend today, who I have been out of touch with for far too long, and in that conversation…I was reminded that I am loved and special…and it was amazing to have that feeling of connection to someone.

I didn’t realise how much I missed that connection.

I am going through an anti social phase, and part of it is fear, and part of it is the fact that I am a natural loner…My head can sometimes seem full enough and busy enough to want to go out.

Once I am out, I usually have a blast…but I am a bit of a homebody.

***

Another random thought that I had was that I can rediscover old and create new talents and skills…

I have always been labelled as stubborn and determined…and I can draw on those labels (along with a new one that was pinned on me today “ninja”) and use them as a potion to draw strength.

This crash will not last for ever.

I am not that brave

I am exhausted today, I slept like crap and I feel blah, deflated…as though the bursts of energy and positivity have all been pushed out of me.

But it will be okay. This is how I am feeling right now. I will not feel like this forever, and maybe at some point the cup of coffee that I am drinking will kick in and help me feel like I have some get up and go which I can use to go and knock things off the to do list.

The worse thing is I had a nap, but it did not help I am still tired…closer to exhausted.

Perhaps it was the fact that I watched a movie last night before bed? But I don’t think so, because I remember having disturbing dreams.

Dreams of my family, where they were berating me for neglecting them…telling me that I was selfish to take care of myself, that I should be putting their needs above mine.

And I think, as I write this (brilliant tautology), that perhaps what disturbed me most was my father joined in my dream. In real life, he generally stayed out of any of the tricky situations…any situation where emotion was involved.

I think it scares him, not knowing exactly how to act, not having a predictable series of if – then statements.

So I think that dream unsettled me more. I have not ever looked at the psychological significance of dreams. I know that clinical psychologists use them as tools in diagnosis and treatment, but I do not know why they are significant.

Part of me thinks the reasons for the dreams are that they are issues that I am ready to start facing, start dealing with.

Start moving past. It would be easy to just say that I could just close the book on my family, and turn over the page. But the truth is, I love them…and my relationship with them is complicated.

And what is making it even more complicated is, I am redefining it on my own first. Figuring out what behaviour I regard as acceptable towards me, and what not. Because while I do not blame my family for abusing me…not even for the times that my mother put her hands around my neck and tried to squeeze the life out of me (in a very sadly ironical turn of events a couple of years later, her mother was strangled to death)…because they did not really choose to do what they did.

They ignored choices, they did not consciously realise that they had some control over their mental health. Because after all, mental health is still a very quiet subject, one that is not really discussed in polite society…and the labels are flippantly assigned to explain or dismiss people and their behavior:

The woman with mood swings – ignore her – she must be bipolar. Oh he’s just psycho. She’s crazy.

And it is only recently that I found the courage to speak, and I found the inspiration via a post on The Bloggess’s site and she posted in response to another blogger’s tragic experience.

And yet, I had known before hand that I struggle with depression. And yes, the depressive episodes are often triggered by external events. But the demons they are inside.

But I have noticed when I speak (well, write) — writing is easier than speaking for me (perhaps because I was such a bookish child 🙂 ) — I start bringing my black dog to heal. And he is not a loveable staffie….with a cheerful smile. He is a vicious brute, closer to the size of a bear, a creature that could live in the sewer and have all the other creatures of nightmares run away in terror.

Perhaps, it is hypocritical that I do not write this where everyone who knows me in real life could find this, but the truth is then I would not be able to write as honestly and openly as I do…I would not be able to speak my truth, because it makes people uncomfortable.

And while one of the things that contributed to causing this illness was the fact that I was abused as a child, there is definitely a biological disposition to mental illness in my family (my one cousin is a schizophrenic and I am not alone in suffering from major depression).

In some ways my family’s handling of my cousin’s schizophrenia is illuminating…some of them treat him as though he is contaminated, as though by being near him is dangerous and catching.

And I am not brave enough to have to convince people when I am battling that I have the right to battle…that it is alright for me to speak.

That speaking out does not make me a traitor, or a bad person, or that by speaking out I am deliberately hurting them. I am speaking because I need to…and when I am ready, I will speak out behind my entire name (and not just my anonymous first name).

But for now, there is no shame in me speaking. I am not dragging out the family’s dirty laundry…I am merely spring cleaning my soul. And to do that, I speak.

Forgiving myself

Adult survivors of emotional child abuse have only two life-choices: learn to self-reference or remain a victim. When your self-concept has been shredded, when you have been deeply injured and made to feel the injury was all your fault, when you look for approval to those who can not or will not provide it—you play the role assigned to you by your abusers.

It’s time to stop playing that role, time to write your own script. Victims of emotional abuse carry the cure in their own hearts and souls. Salvation means learning self-respect, earning the respect of others and making that respect the absolutely irreducible minimum requirement for all intimate relationships. For the emotionally abused child, healing does come down to “forgiveness”—forgiveness of yourself.

~ Andrew Vachss You Carry the Cure In Your Own Heart

I had a revelation yesterday, when I realized that I am still carrying around feelings and guilt and blame for what happened to me as a child.

I was a perceptive person, and I still am…but especially as a child, I had the ability to observe someone and tell you what was most likely going on in their heads…and most of the time, I was right (in a twisted series of events and a particular bout of bullying I ended up telling all of the taunters what was going through their heads, what their insecurities were…and it frightened them into stopping…but that is an entirely different story).

I think, part of the reason I developed this ability was because of the situation with my mother…there was no certainty, I never quite knew what was coming…some days it seemed as though I was going to have the fairy tale, a loving mother, and other days it was as though I had a monster not a mother.

But because I had developed this ability to perceive what was going on psychologically, I began to believe that if anything  happened to bring out the monster, it must have been my fault…that I should just have behaved differently, said something else or not said something, or whatever…

And so it began, that I started creating a garden of guilt…of course, the fact that I was told “you are making me do this to you”, “this is all your fault”, “look, I don’t treat your sister like this and so it must be how you are behaving” encouraged that garden to grow and flourish.

But the truth that I have begun to realize is what happened to me was not my fault. My one therapist once made the remark that I was not responsible for what happened to me when I was a child and a teenager.

But I don’t think I have believed it until now.

And so I am officially forgiving myself. Writing down that I did nothing wrong. That what went down was not my fault.

When I had this revelation yesterday it was as though a physical weight was lifted off my shoulders.

And if someone had told me a couple of days ago that I am carrying around feelings of guilt I don’t know if I would have believed them…it was a truth that I had buried rather deeply.

But it is the truth, and it takes me closer towards being whole again.

Although, I am not convinced that it is correct to say “whole again”, because the truth is I am never going to be that person again. I am moving beyond being a victim…and I don’t know where I will end up.

But the person who was born in the dark cave of despair and desperation and who felt that there was no love in the universe for them…I am not that person any more.

I get to choose my own path, and it’s going to be an amazing journey filled with special people and beautiful views.

So who am I?

This is a damn good question. I have no idea who I am at the moment. For far too long I let what I did define who I am and I am wary of falling into that trap again.

I have been trying to answer the question…and I have no answers.

So I guess I will start reflecting on who I want to be…and work on becoming that person.

Breakdowns can sometimes lead to breakthroughs I suppose.

Finding the Win

Warning: Long and rambling blog-post ahead 🙂

Sometimes, it’s difficult to find triumph and celebrate success. It just feels like everything is against you and you are destined to fail (or maybe, that is just me…for the sake of my sanity, please don’t disillusion me).

Today started off feeling like one of those days, of course, on reflection I think today started off with a hangover from yesterday where I managed to work myself into a foul mood…big monthly shops do not do wonders for my zen and there was an idiot on the other side of the road which made it a tad more stressful when we were driving along the side of the road which was badly damaged last November with the landslides…but anyway.

This morning, when I began with my Spanish lesson I was not managing…and it was tempting to give up and give into the label “never sees anything through”, but I flipped a switch.

I am a freelancer which gives me a level of freedom about how my day is structured…and after breakfast I currently do some housework and do a Spanish lesson at the same time. It makes it easier to focus on the Spanish lesson because I do not run off to do other tasks…and housework is much less boring.

But anyway, I digress, so today my Spanish lesson was not going well… I was messing up the most simple sentences and completely mispronouncing words and generally having a bit of a disaster.

But instead of giving up…I kept at it. I did that same lesson about 4 times and I nailed it. I had to fight hard for that win, and not only did the dishes get washed and the floors swept, the meat that we bought yesterday was repacked and I started washing the kitchen walls and dusting the ceiling.

And after all of this had been done I found myself thinking about how I managed to fight for the win…and I got the win. A small triumph…in the grand scheme of things one Spanish lesson is inconsequential…but, it was a badly needed win.

But the fact that I needed the win so badly, I think, is what gave me the strength to fight for it.

Labels

I wonder sometimes, how much of who I am and what I do is a function of the labels that have been assigned to me.

One of my few memories from childhood that was not suppressed was being told that I should become a lawyer…and so, I did.

And I wonder why?

I know that I have the skillset…but it is not actually a difficult profession…not any more so, than any other problem-solving profession.

And how many of my subsequent actions that I undertake are to defy those labels.

I also find it interesting, the way that the labels that influence me are not only positive labels…of being bookish, intense, brooding, obstinate, stubborn, impossible…but also the implied labels.

There was always an unwritten rule that I could not be good at or encroach on anything that  my sister was…And I do not actually resent her for the role that she was assigned to play in our family dynamic.

She was assigned the role of the perfect child who could do no wrong, and myself the one that was rebellious and the source of all of my mother’s problems…and that if I could just get it together…could fix everything.

The other label was brick…you are strong…you can handle everyone leaning on you when things are falling to pieces…and so it is your duty to your family to remain strong.

It’s ironic…when I start deconstructing myself from my labels…I have no idea who I am…and I guess that is actually a huge gift and opportunity.

It presents me with the gift of choosing what labels I would like to apply to myself? A blank slate…A completely empty page where I can choose whatever life story I want to write.