Go out or stay in?

Hello out there. It’s a grim grey day outside, a strange motivation to write something.

Although it’s hard to remember details, since I last wrote my moods have been hovering about the mediocre. But one thing’s for sure, I’ve definitely been angry. Anything can set me off. One of the dogs deciding he’s going out the door first. My husband asking too many questions. The cuckoo clock. I go into a rage inside my head, I have to get out of the room, do something different, go out for a stomp of a walk. Sometimes that’s all that’s needed to clear my fury and other times I’ll seethe for the rest of the afternoon, especially if there’s been a series of irritations. Then there’s no way out apart from drink wine and go to bed.

I signed up to an art class a couple of weeks back. We meet every Friday; I hoped it would give me, um, a sense of calm or inspiration? But the very fact of having to regularly be somewhere almost cancels out the positive effect. I have to keep in mind getting out the house and mixing with different people will do me good. I think. Do you think it’s better to force yourself out rather than stay in the house? Mix with people even if you’re feeling withdrawn?

On a more positive note, the herbal tablets I’m taking seem to work. No side effects, big lows or blankness, just 2 tablets of happy serotonin every day. The anger will have to be dealt with some other way...

The lights are on (at last)

Has it really been a couple of weeks since I last wrote?

Depression has pursued me like a hungry stray dog the past week turning me into a bear with a sore head. Absolutely everything my husband did on Tuesday made me mad and everybody I came into contact with didn’t move fast enough. I hit the wine every evening despite telling myself it’s not doing me any good and I’ve absolutely no interest in being my usual house proud self. My husband has been amazing through it all, I’m sure I’d never have the same level of patience towards him that he displays each time I hit rock bottom. Still, depression keeps badgering me; why do you deserve to be loved, you useless, boring, miserable person? What makes you think you’re good enough? Is this the real you or are you more ‘you’ when you’re off the tablets? What happens when you come off the tablets for good? And then, what if you’ve got a psychiatric disorder and it’s not depression at all?

My sister emailed me information on an herbal remedy for depression yesterday called 5-Hydroxytryptophan or 5-HTP. Apparently it works on the same principle as Prozac, that is; 5-HTP naturally restores the level of Serotonin in the brain (Prozac increases levels) rather than disturbing the brain’s natural metabolic procedures like SSRI’s do. I’m really interested in trying these no side-effects (yey) herbal tablets since both Citalopram and Mirtazapine haven’t worked for me so far and having experienced the scary physical side effects of coming off 40mg/day of Citalopram, I don’t ever want to be there again. I know it’s the only way to take these antidepressants, but it seems contrary to the illness to put people through the trauma of trying a drug only to find that in some cases, you either tick most of the listed side-effects or they just don’t work. I also think it’s imperative that tablets be taken alongside some form of therapy, after all, depression is a symptom not a cause. Anyway, I’ve decided that since I’m coming off Mirtazapine now, I may as well have a go at these next. No side-effects, no side-effects woohoo........

I had a real ‘spiritual’ moment yesterday, which as anyone who knows me will recognise is very unusual. I try to put some time aside during the day to read (a new revelation) and it was during this time, while I was sitting in the garden reading a book about a woman travelling in Italy that I paused to look up out across the bay. The shimmering sea, the hazy light on the mountains, the distant rain clouds; everything was harmonious and connected. Immediately and rather romantically, I thought “I want to take up oil painting lessons” so I could attempt to capture the weather ‘moods’ of this place, this beautiful, rugged landscape. It was a moment of peace where nothing really mattered apart from what was actually happening, right there and then and all that was happening was simply the weather. Uh I think I’ll stop here.

Yesterday was my first good day in....a long time. I was inspired! I moved the lounge furniture around, cleaned, changed the pictures, put new photos up, ah my husband and I agreed it looks great (that made me feel good). The experience of being normal, whatever ‘normal’ is, feels so light, free, engaging! Man I hope it lasts.

On the edge

I had the most fantastic day yesterday.  It was beautifully warm, the sea was glinting in the sunshine and there was enough of a breeze to keep the midges away.  My husband and I set up our laptops on the picnic bench in the garden, laughing at ourselves as we squinted at the screens trying to see what we were typing and betting that everyone who walked past must think we were loonies.

By mid-afternoon it had really got quite hot, I said why don't we go for a swim, the first of the year!  Great idea.  We walked down to the beach closely followed by all three dogs, who lazily waded in and swam around us as we stood shivering with the sea at our knees laughing about whose ridiculous idea it was.  I finally held my nose and plunged in backwards coming up with that bolt of cold awakening, woohoo!  Husband followed and we had a deliciously cool swim in the bay, looking back at the house and marvelling at how gorgeous it all was.  Great memories.

Then today, husband is away working and I've slumped into a heap.  I'm incapable of doing anything as exciting as making a decision; I've read a few pages of a book, slept, stared into space, clock watched.....that's been the sum total of my day. 

Then I logged on and someone out there has read my blog and wow, it's like a helping hand in the gloom and here I am, chatting.  I just don't understand how one day can be the best, happiest day where life is good and living is great followed in 24hours by a black, horrible day of pain and depression.  Well I DO understand why that happens in a scientific way, but I don't like what I know and why it should be me.

Ponderings

Image via Wikipedia

Another item worth mentioning is why I chose this title for my blog.  You know that Winston Churchill used to call his depression his 'black dog', well it seemed appropriate for me to use it too for a couple of reasons.  I have three dogs of my own, all of them being black or mostly black.  I also thought that I'd managed to work myself free from my illness only to find, six months further on that it was still there in the gloom and I had to take four times my previous dosage to get me through the days.  My black dog had returned.
I've been doing some searching online for information on depression and I've been reading other people's blogs; there are some fantastic blogs out there.  I've been depressed for three years according to the doctors, but since I found out what depression actually was I realised my illness went back to childhood, a long time ago.  I'm pretty sure that's how it is for a lot of people.
That's me.

 

 

Fighting the Darkness - a brilliant blog with loads of information

Hello it's me

I've just realised why I'm finding it hard to get going with this blog; I haven't introduced me yet.


I’m a 37 year old woman living on the west coast of Scotland and was officially diagnosed with clinical depression back in 2007. Before that day, I had no idea why I sometimes struggled in social occasions or had crashing black and angry episodes. Since that day, I understand much more about why I function in the way that I do. Although that doesn’t always make it easier.


I suppose the main reason for writing this blog is that I hope it helps someone. In the UK the word ‘depression’ still has a terrible stigma attached to it, even in this era of rehab and self-help. People regard it as an illness of weakness, something you’ll get over if you put in a bit of effort. When I finally overcame my own shame and tentatively started telling friends about my depression, I was amazed at how many of them had partners, spouses, friends, siblings who also suffered and they seemed almost grateful to talk openly about it. What a difference it would make if people talked more and judged less.


I certainly don’t profess to know all there is about depression. At this early stage I’m not entirely sure what I’ll be writing about, how much ‘personal’ information I’ll share with you. Hey, I’ll just write; share my own experiences with all the mistakes and presumptions that come from that.