Emperors Old Clothes

Now What or What Now? 

I was diagnosed two years ago as suffering from "severe clinical depression". 

I have suffered without having the label for all of my adult life and much of my childhood. 

However for much of my adult life I was a reasonably successful manager of people.Being responsible for over 300 at any time and though I often suffered pangs of self doubt in public I was seen to be very confident if not a little arrogant. What I had learned to do was to act and I seemingly I was very good at it because almost no one seemed to suspect.

Avoidance was a good way of keeping my secret. Avoiding close personal relationships friendships leading rather than following (being in charge prevents lots of awkward questions).

Then life changed. I lost my job and with it my authority. I lost my marriage and with it my purpose. I fought for a while to keep it but in the struggle lost my dignity. Worst of all the mechanisms I had perfected for hiding my insecurities stopped working! My real self was on show for all too see. I was the naked Emperor and nothing I did seemed capable of covering my nakedness. I was ashamed of what and who I was.

C.B.T. group therapy, anger management classes, prescription drugs, more prescription drugs. Different prescription drugs, hypnosis, individual psychotherapy, counselling. All these and others have been tried none have had a long term effect some no effect at all. Today I hope... I hope for a solution  in the sure and certain knowledge that there will never be one. I have to find new ways to act that hide my real self. Because the real me is tiresome to the mentally well. To be honest pretty bloody tiresome to me as well.

Of all the "treatments" I have been exposed too the one that seems to have the most effect is this one - writing. More specifically this anonymous writing. It's too simplistic to say its cathartic but it is having an effect it is helping me to understand myself a little better.

Avoid worthlessness. Put a premium on your Dignity!

I realise now that it had long been a wish to be a writer or actor/performer and that along life's meanderings my wishes for myself had been forgotten. Set aside so that the acting me,(the one who was always in charge) could be supporting, understanding even mentoring of everyone else. I became what everyone else wanted and never really ever got to decide who I was. The consequence of this is that I now have no self esteem. I am pleased to find that the real me is actually sensitive, romantic even, that I see more good in others than I used too. Am able to celebrate the successes of others without jealousy. Enjoy reading the words of others and love the ability that the internet offers to engage directly with the author.
I am nervous that amongst my family and friends (many of the former, few of the latter), that these qualities are a little effete and unsubstantial. That's OK for now  I am able to share with the digital ether that is the inter-web.

Sitting here not quite fully clothed.

Stripped of kingdom dignity and all  held dear. Learning to make new. Stitching life threads

together one experience at a time. It's a slow process and you prick your thumb often.

One day we'll have glorious new clothes. (Hopefully!)

ATB

Agides xx

Catch 42

Look it up in your favoured browser, the meaning of life is “42”. Douglas Adams may well be smiling at how his apocryphal assertion has become the ultimate answer. But there is a catch.

For me the meaning of life changes dramatically as events along life’s itinerary  impact and it seems to me that these meanderings impact a "mal de tête" person in a disproportionate way.

 The difficulty with the meaning of life whilst suffering a mental illness is that it is in constant flux. Frequently and most damagingly it reaches its nadir in possession of zero meaning. A state reached far too many times and very deeply in recent weeks. Despite a greater understanding of how, one that never feels easier to return from... Whatever you get told!

'There is always the Dog to talk too'

Doctors and psychiatric workers will be horrified by this as its the basic assumption all their work is predicated upon. That the more one understands the factors that precede depressive feelings,the easier you'll find it to modify them’. The reality seems to be that the more one understands, the more one questions the reasons why the pea soup persistently descends. And questions one’s ability to ever permanently prevent it from falling.

The questions you ask yourself are nearly all unanswerable. But often those canvassed by others (not least professionals) bewilder. They are often risible to a malignant, miasmic, mind:

"Have you ever been truly happy?" 

"Have you ever been depression free?"

"Have you ever been hopeful?"

"Tell me why do ‘you’, think you're unhappy"

"Why are you sad?"

"What causes them to start?"

"When is it at its worst?"......;

"What!?"

'20,000  Doubts under the Skull'

Sometimes I forget that those things really exist. There are fleeting moments. Unfortunately guilt persistently swamps the joys just as they are being recognised as such. This guilt is like a cloak that depression wears to cover you in darkness.To make you invisible before joy takes hold too firmly. Then comes the doubt... The doubt that you will ever truly rid yourself of this whirling mass of unanswerable questions. Painful overwhelming doubts. The doubts within the ungraspable dark grey covered  'duck down' duvet. Engorged with the leaden weights of memories too heavy to release from inside this cover. Meant to bring you warmth and comfort. It instead presses down on you in a way that makes you feel as though 'all that you are' is racing to your brain. To escape your body and the only route out is through your eyes. So overwhelmed by the flow that the tears appear as a stream and you wonder if they will ever be 'drops' again. The doubt - the doubt that sows seeds of self deprecation that germinate in rivulets of tears and the swanlike songs of Bunyan's slough"

So there you are mental health problems are really a Catch 22. A paradox where the attempting to escape suffering of depression seems to make the escape impossible and each new attempt makes the next episode more painful and more desperate.

"TOWARDS THE LIGHT! you bloody fool!"

AH! I hear the crowds roar; ' but you proved you can escape so next time you'll feel better because you know you can do it!'

'Really?' how many times do you visit failure before saying 'no more!'

Drink from the puddle the first day you may be quenched drink from it every day you may be trenched.

I have fought back with extreme effort this time. I have walked further with and spoken more to  my dog’s (to reassure myself I still have a voice).Though enjoying these things the respite from my troubled mind looms above me as a terrifying reminder that, the next plummet into the 20,000 doubts under the skull is but a pin prick in a buoyancy tank away. It has left me very tired.

If Adam's is right?; The meaning of a 'Life' with mental health?

It's a Catch 42......

The best part about "Being a Dad?"

"Dad?"
"Yes buddy".
"What's the best part of being a Dad?"
"The best PART!"
"Yeah and don't say YOU SON! You always say that!"

I am frequently amazed by how or why some questions get asked.
The truth is that the simple answer is, "YOU SON", the boys, they truly are the best part.
All three have now asked this question and all at about the same age, there is clearly something going on in a boys life at the age of seven or eight that has them wondering about adult life, I think its about this age they become aware that adulthood is an inevitability and they better start learning about it, they become self aware, conscious that they grow physically and change.

Is it the Football Dad?

"Seriously Dad.! Is it the football?"
"The Football?"
"Yeah, you always come to the games, you got us all into teams, you drive us to all the games you cheer louder than the other Dads, you take us to buy new boots, you even help sometimes with coaching and stuff, is that the best part about being a Dad, like when we win or score?"

Okay let's see, Is it Football?

What's not great about that? The belly in tumult at the notion they might get hurt during this, what is often the  first great solo excursion on lifes journey, or they might not enjoy it or the coach might not want them, or they might not get on with the other children, or he takes a ball full in the face and bursts into tears, or maybe he just bursts into to tears because he doesn't like it, or he waves to you when its his turn in goal only for the ball to fly past him as he's telling you how cool it all is, and that was just enough to start him crying and not wanting to be in goal, and then theres the untied shoelace that he stops to tuck in his boot because he doesn't know how to tie football laces up because they are so long and right at the moment the ball is heading towards him with no one else around and an open goal, so he goes to kick it and trips over the lace, and then falls to the ground, and skins his knee, and  yours is the child that kicks another one or even worse kick his own teammate, or sits down in the middle of the game in the centre circle sulking, or walks off during the game because he spotted the swings on the other side of the park, and they look like more fun, or that dog next to that man just so needs to be stroked right now or none of the boys understand how this is supposed to work so all game long all you see this phalanx of a dozen, 5 year olds all running in the same direction, like a Benny Hill skit  including the boy who is supposed to be in goal, and the opposition, trying to kick it away and missing, desperate to be the one to kick the ball, not one having any sense of "position" it's about kicking the ball Dad! or they lose 15 goals to nil, or your son is the one that called the referee stupid just loud enough to be heard and get sent off,or he's the substitute again, or he missed an open goal or the one with the wrong socks or it's freezing cold and you have no jacket and he needs your gloves and you can't feel your toes or its so hot you sweat standing still and you've forgotten the water bottles and his nose is burnt and so is yours and the youngest is bored and doesn't want to watch and eats all the jaffa cakes that were meant for the team at halftime and then he feels sick and throws up on your shoes during the second half or  he 's the one that wants to go home or the one that needs a wee or, Oh No! Not a number 2 buddy ! Please no! the games just started !

It's the Memories Buddy!

Oh my god this isn't worth it! Is it?

More than worth it.

The best part? The Memories we have and the memories to come!
What you have given me until now and what you will give me in the future

YOU are the best part about being a Dad my sons!

©Agides

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