Sorry I have not been as prolific as usual. The latest bout of medication seems to have taken away the need, or indeed the ability to write - so I have stopped it for a couple of days and am gradually beginning to feel things more clearly. It surely is a conundrum - with the meds I am fine, even tempered and respond cow like to even the most alarming events. Without the meds my mood crashes, I cut and feel every slight little thing - but I can write and think. What would you do?
I know my friend Gregg hates the term black dog for depression but it is just that that perches on your shoulder, the weight of and contradiction of hating something you love. Churchill knew his depression well. I would love to talk to him about it - I wonder if the war helped? Or maybe he just had days where to function normally was enough.
It is a strange thing this illness - it creeps upon you like an alley cat seeking food. The signs are there but so discreetly that it is easy to simply see them as oddities. Then WHAM! the sky falls and the black cloud descends and all is grey and foglike. To move is too difficult - to speak too much trouble and anyway what to say? "Bit depressed actually", to which the reply is usually, "Have you been for walk? Done some exercise? Spoken to.....?" Well, yes actually I have - the walk knackered me and I almost fell over when I started to hyperventilate. Exercise???? And I don't want to speak to anyone because it is always the same. I am down and they feel a sense of pity that they try not show.
Thank God at the moment I haven't reached the suicidal stage - it comes in stages. I am indifferent to life but too tired to even think about killing myself- but if I was to die tomorrow I doubt I would be disappointed.
And then there is the eternal dichotomy - I don't want people but I am lonely. What I really want is wake up and find that this has all been a horrid dream and that I am in my old (comfy) bed with Ben and Rosie asleep beside me. That I am not a vulnerable case number any more but just Joanna. Joanna who believed in good over evil, loving life and playing the glad game.
And oh yes - I want a dog! Not fussed if he is black - I can lead him round then.
I know my friend Gregg hates the term black dog for depression but it is just that that perches on your shoulder, the weight of and contradiction of hating something you love. Churchill knew his depression well. I would love to talk to him about it - I wonder if the war helped? Or maybe he just had days where to function normally was enough.
It is a strange thing this illness - it creeps upon you like an alley cat seeking food. The signs are there but so discreetly that it is easy to simply see them as oddities. Then WHAM! the sky falls and the black cloud descends and all is grey and foglike. To move is too difficult - to speak too much trouble and anyway what to say? "Bit depressed actually", to which the reply is usually, "Have you been for walk? Done some exercise? Spoken to.....?" Well, yes actually I have - the walk knackered me and I almost fell over when I started to hyperventilate. Exercise???? And I don't want to speak to anyone because it is always the same. I am down and they feel a sense of pity that they try not show.
Thank God at the moment I haven't reached the suicidal stage - it comes in stages. I am indifferent to life but too tired to even think about killing myself- but if I was to die tomorrow I doubt I would be disappointed.
And then there is the eternal dichotomy - I don't want people but I am lonely. What I really want is wake up and find that this has all been a horrid dream and that I am in my old (comfy) bed with Ben and Rosie asleep beside me. That I am not a vulnerable case number any more but just Joanna. Joanna who believed in good over evil, loving life and playing the glad game.
And oh yes - I want a dog! Not fussed if he is black - I can lead him round then.
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