Alchemy

Red Poppies at Argenteuil, Monet

I can’t say I really understand what is going on, it may be something to do with the medication, or the combination of all our efforts. Alicia has been talking about putting some artwork up on the bare white walls of our terrace house, and so I found myself sitting beside her as she browsed an online poster store. As the prints of French and Dutch masters flashed past I could sense something in my brain being stimulated, as though I could feel the neurones in my brain firing their electrical magic! It was strange, but I liked it, and now I look up more works online as though it is some kind of secret guilty pleasure. I have never been somebody who knew my way around the art world, not very well anyway… and suddenly now there are paintings out there that are capable of impacting my mood in a strangely transcendental way.

In better days, as a healthier man, I have always been open to this feeling. I guess it just seems alien now because it’s been so long. I remember feeling the same warm heady feeling when sun light breaks a canopy; or when I stand inside and below the spire of a cathedral looking up into its magnificent dark voids; or when I hear the sound of a bumble bee with my eyes closed and the grass against my neck; or when I read Camus. It is a sort of connection, an electric spark that passes from the moment directly into my heart. It is the sensation that makes me feel like me… it is the feeling I’ve chased and always lived for. It has been my compass, a self serving compass that led me like an opium addict from experience to experience… and somewhere along the line I lost it, became incapable of reaching it. Not sure why that would be.

Maybe things are slowly working out?

Given that it is most likely my hypothalamus that is in play here, I’m guessing that I’m feeling something of the benefits of the sunlight exposure, exercise and shedding the stress associated with trying to get well against the clock. These are all things that would affect how my hypothalamus functions. So there is some chemistry going on behind the scenes, leading me to sometimes feel and experience the world the way I left it, when I was well.

It remains fragile and I expect it will continue to be for some time. But my head is above water now. I am aware of myself. I’m protecting myself from triggers, I’m not pushing hard, I’m taking it one step at a time, I’m steadily planning the next step each day with Alicia and seeing the setbacks for what they are – glitches on the big picture.

Maybe things are slowly working out.

Reflections

Push To Open

Having grown up with love wired to a switch, turning on and off without recourse… I’m left vulnerable. I’ve seen this vulnerability in others, what we sometimes call our buttons. Push some of them and we feel angry. Push the right ones and we are incapable of anger at first, instead we just feel our world suddenly come to an end.

The vulnerability in me leaves me open to a deep hurt, a hurt that knocks me off my feet. It hurts like nothing else can.

This morning I came down to join Xavier on the sofa, but he stretched out and told me there was no room. Rejection. In that moment someone reaches inside me and squeezes my heart until it stops beating. However others might interpret this situation… for me this situation is a trigger. It taps straight into some deeply founded and hurtful beliefs I have about myself. In that moment I know with certainty that I am worthless.

Judy taught me to identify such situations as triggers and to recognise that the instant and devastating effect they has on me is to do with the interplay between those horrible automatic thoughts and the feelings they generate. For the moment, the best I can do is to catch automatic thoughts and pass them through a filter. That filter lets me stand back and take a deep breath. ‘Xavier’s three, he is probably just asserting his free will; He is hot and so he wants to stretch out on the sofa alone; He’s still a bit sleepy and feeling a little grumpy.’ These are the alternative explanations that are so obvious to others, but that I am blind to when the quick fists of rejection take me off my feet. They aren’t my first thoughts, as they might be for others, but I can reach them in a rather clumsy way and use them to centre me again. It’s what people like me then refer to as a wobbly moment, as we bring ourselves back to a place where we bury once again the feeling of worthlessness.

I’ll get quicker at recognising negative automatic thoughts and filtering them out. But the wrinkles on my forehead and my slight squint, and the look of tightly wound concentration as you speak to me is a sign that behind the scenes I’m busy multitasking… listening and processing what you are saying… whilst also filtering all those negative thoughts that fall into my head as quickly as rain.

Now, I must end this post here, I’ve just been invited onto the sofa for a cuddle.

Fragile Recovery

Some good things have happened over the last two days. I’ve given myself a break, given myself permission to focus on getting better and in doing so silenced the ticking clock for the moment.

Alicia and I have taken the dogs for more wonderful walks. Whilst they do tire me out, I find they bump up my energy levels by the evening. These days, I’m not quite up to getting myself out the door, and the last thing I need is my own company, but with Alicia it becomes possible.

The walks bring me more than exercise; I’m going to keep it up. It is something I used to do regularly, but typically when life gets busier then I abandon the things in life I find pleasurable. It’s one of my bad habits. Walks give me some quality time with Alicia, time with nature, sunshine, and I get to see the dogs looking happy and exhausted. We take it one step at a time, together. Afternoons like today are small but important victories for us… it’s all about the hope. If there is hope, the rest will follow.

Once again, I picked up my old copy of Muhammad Ali’s Soul Of A Butterfly, to break my train [crash] of thought, and read through the first 50 pages again. Alicia confessed to planting it within easy reach of the bed, clever girl. His is an amazing story and reading about someone else’s struggle and the strength they’ve gained from their journey adds to my hope and cements my resolve to get better. For a little while I have to confess that suicide was starting to seduce me again, and I’m glad I got past that.

I’m lucky to have a few friends and family who check in on my from time to time, by phone and text. They keep me from the isolation and loneliness that would make things so much worse. There are some people who aren’t so helpful to be around, and I’m keeping well away from them.

Depression attacks my feelings of self-worth, my confidence, my courage, my motivation and my hope. It’s what makes recovering and helping myself so hard. Staying in touch with friends, emptying my thoughts into this blog, and getting some activity back into my life are prising the lid off this prison once again. And with some light forcing its way in, I’ve started to turn my attention to what I’m eating.

There is a plan forming, and although I could sit down and formulate the grandest and most foolproof escape from depression, past experience has taught me to start small and build on from there. The easiest of tasks when I am well are difficult right now, not impossible, just difficult. It is a fragile recovery, and there are many minor setbacks each day. Each one is an opportunity to give in. But I don’t, I haven’t… I’m still here and if tomorrow is only the same as today that will be a triumph.