livingwithablackdog

sit. stay. good boy.

Boxing 14/05/2012

I sit here in the living room of a place that I moved into a couple of days ago surrounded by half unpacked boxes.  Behind me is the TV … I wanted to watch Bones last night, but do you think I could find the cords for the antenna or power? Nope.  I did find the ordinary drinking glasses that I was determined to unearth the evening before.  Eventually (after Bones was over) I did find the cords … in a shoe box that the removalists conveniently placed on the TV unit (duh! I had just put a stack of papers on top of it).  This is what happens when you are too busy to do all of the packing yourself and get the movers to help with the packing!  I know exactly what is in the boxes I packed … they’re also labeled with more than the room that they were packed in.  I am in the process of washing every bit of linen that I own because everything has been in storage for a couple of months in cardboard boxes and a lot of it has been wrapped around sundry items for padding … it all smells musty.  The clothes from storage will all need ironing before I wear them (although the were bagged in somewhat more smell-proof containment for the most part so don’t all need the wash fest …

It strikes me that life is a bit like this.  It’s all a bit of a journey.  We can mark time for ages and not feel like we’re going anywhere and yet be changing all the time; we can be going backward, or round in circles … or other times our world shifts and we have to figure out what to do with everything that we have and all that we are.  The things that we think are important get re-sorted and stored differently and things find new places.  Some things it is hard to fit.  Other places leave vast holes.  Some things about our new places lack things we really liked about our old worlds, yet there are things that perhaps are vast improvements and what we would wish for might be a mixture of both … but a journey doesn’t allow that.  We must leave one place in order to go to the next and then to keep moving onwards.

This is what the process of living with Depression has been like for me.  When I discovered that this was what was going on in me and that it was not going to resolve itself and just go away my whole world shifted.  Dreams died.  Hopes were broken.  My heart broke.  I needed to learn how to travel a different journey.  It has been a long road, and the path has not followed the course that I thought it would, but I find that perhaps broken hopes heal and perhaps dreams don’t need to die after all.  Perhaps they look a little different to the glorious picture that they once were.  Perhaps they are now more humble.  The journey is not over, it is a life long one … there is always room to grow and that includes the times where health is not great.  My heart has been healing and knows joy.

In the mean time, I unpack my boxes and place my bits and pieces in their new homes for this next leg of the journey.

Now … if only I could find the play doh …

(and the camera)

 

Always a New Day 08/11/2011

Always a new day

Ever a hope

Dog on a chain now

No time to mope.

Look to the future

Too far to see –

Look to the past

Learn, go, move on, be.

Live in the moment.

Breathe in.  Breathe out.

Take hold of hope

No place for doubt.

The path isn’t cast;

Life is to live.

Strive for your hearts goals.

You get what you give.

Nov 2011

 

How Frail Humanity 26/10/2011

I have been reading a lot lately that has reminded me how frail humanity is.  How vulnerable we are.  Our bodies, our nervous systems, the balances of the chemicals in various systems that keep us functioning are so finely balanced.  And so, so often is our sense of self.  Our sense of our own competence and worth.  We become vulnerable to so many thoughts and perceptions that we may once have never thought possible – may once have thought weak once this is penetrated.

I have been reading people’s writings – people who are feeling worthless, yet working daily at moving forward – at overcoming illnesses that sap energy and personal reserves like parasites.  For as surely as I breathe Depression and Bipolar Disorder, Seasonal Affective Disorders, Psychosis, Schizophrenia, Personality Disorders and Anxiety are parasites that draw upon the heart and soul, the will and desire, the sense of purpose and confidence in one’s own capacity.

And yet as I read I see evidence that these illnesses and disorders are liars.  I read words written by brave people who are still wrestling, still fighting, still entering the ring round after round.  Sometimes they come out on top.  Sometimes they come out feeling hopeless and defeated.  But I say this.  While people are still willing to step into the ring, they are not losing the war.

The human body, while fragile is also amazingly robust.  We survive enormous things.  Our bodies fight infections.  It is well designed to protect its more fragile organs.  It is our sense of self that is the fragile part.

Each person is unique.

Each person has a different combination of qualities – of strengths and weaknesses to the next.

Each person has something about them that is admirable.  Worthy of respect.

Each person is entitled to dignity.

It is hard to breathe, hard to grow, hard to believe any of these things amid the lies of mental illness when it is out of control and where it has left its scars.  It is hard to believe that friends still care when they are getting on with their lives while you are feeling stagnant and stuck wrestling just to keep your head just above water.  If they haven’t been here they can’t possibly understand that you are feeling left behind.  And so friendships grow fragile too.

Families tell us anything from we “just need to try harder” to telling us “not to push ourselves” because we’re too fragile.  Sometimes they expect the world of us – and sometimes they seem to expect nothing at all.  I’m not sure which is worse.  Those who push too hard make us feel like we are inadequate and seem to think that we are just lazy – and that does wonders for our sense of self.  Those who seem to think that we are too fragile to try don’t inspire hope that anything will ever get better although they mean well.  How hard it is for a family to understand if they have never been here.  They usually mean for the best – which leaves us feeling guilty for being annoyed by at their lack of understanding.  How do we deal with this?  Most of the time when we’re not well we’re not in a state where we feel eloquent enough to express ourselves well and we fear that it will all come out the wrong way.  Sometimes it has before.  And so some of us feel that our family is far from us.

And so we stand; feeling as though we could break at any moment.  Our lives, our friendships, our relationships with our families, our very selves.

Hear me say – I believe that people who make it to this point can still be strong.  Simply deceived.

Yes, your situation may be fragile.  This does not mean that you are weak, undeserving of hope or inadequate.

You don’t have to believe me.  You don’t have to believe it’s true as though you have had some kind of epiphany.

But treat the thoughts with the suspicion they deserve.  Perhaps the same suspicion that you treat my claims.  Keep stepping up for another day.  Keep looking for tools to arm yourself with – mindfulness, sensory strategies, CBT, relaxation (see the link in today’s poll), self-affirming statements, support people, distraction, your medications – whatever is positive and works for you.

You too have strength within you.  Even you – the one who doesn’t believe me yet.

 

 
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