Fears of Abandonment?

Last night I had a dream:

...I dreamed that a friend of mine decided to stop taking her medications (in the dream MAOI's and Ativan). She phoned me and told me to watch for them in the water flue beside my house. Every morning, first thing in the morning I would go to the flue and there I would find her 4 perfectly preserved pills sitting on the edge of the water. I felt suicidal, so I began hoarding these pills.

One day when I went to pick up the pills there was a note beside them. It had been torn in two, along the bottom. I pieced it together. It was written by my friend and read: "Dr X will be seeing only 9 patients a week. He will no longer take new patients and will stop seeing the patients he has until he sees only 9 original patients"

I was desperately sad, and severely depressed. I needed help. I wanted to kill myself. I was planning on taking the hoarded medication, not because I thought he was leaving me, but because I was depressed. The only hope I felt was in my therapy sessions with Dr. X.

I had an appointment the next day. I got to his office and found a man in his office. Dr X walked in and didn't say anything to me. Inside I was getting angry, because clearly he knew he was going to dump me as a patient and he wouldn't get rid of the other man in the room. Someone knocked on the door and two women came in. Dr. X began reading the paper, the 3 others began talking amongst themselves. I tried to talk, but no one was listening and I felt uncomfortable bringing up Dr. X's impending departure and my impending suicide.

I was becoming both distraught and absolutely furious for the way I was being treated in my appointment (i.e. ignored, other people in the room, no respect for my privacy, Dr. X obliviously reading the paper). I could not bring up my suicidal thoughts, or my hoarding medication, because I was afraid he would think I was being manipulative and trying to make him not leave me. No matter how much I knew this was not true, I could not stop believing this is how the information would be perceived.

I started yelling very loudly at him..."Are you leaving your practice? Am I one of the 12 patients? Why are you ignoring me? Can't you see I am having trouble? Can't you see I am not well yet?

He looked at me and said he had found money in his child's account. $45,800.00 (maybe $43,800.00??unsure). He had figured out that financially he did not have to work like he did anymore.

I asked him if I was going to be able to see him. He ignored every question I had, and everything I said except he told me I was being unreasonable for wanting the others out of the room. That if they stayed in the room maybe I would get better.
I raced out of the room, climbed out an open window and took all the pills I had hoarded.

Does Grief Ever End?

On this day, about this exact time, three years ago I was literally watching my Mom die. She had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on Sept 1st, 2005. On Dec 15th, 2005 she seemed fine at 8:00am, happy and laughing, but two hours later while my sister was helping her get up, she collapsed and had what I think might have been a stroke, or something similar. From that moment on she could not talk and her breathing became laboured.

The next few hours are stuck like a horrific, yet perfect tape playing in my head. She wanted to die at home. No doctors were to be called. My sisters and I were to experience her death with no idea about what it would be like. I would never wish this experience on anyone, but it was important to my Mom and my family that we support her wishes.

We all carried her into the room where the hospital bed had been delivered just the previous night, but people underestimate how hard it is to lift a person when they are semi-conscious. My mom was small, 5'2" and weighed maybe 100 lbs at her death, but three of us could not lift her high enough onto the bed. We were all freaking out, because we wanted to be delicate and treat her with respect love and kindness, but instead we were flaying around and failing at every turn.

We placed her on the floor and cried and cried, unsure how to proceed. My four little nieces aged 2 - 7 at the time were staring at Grandma, and kept asking what was wrong. We wanted to protect them to and told them to go play in the kitchen. They were all crying, scared of something they did not understand.

We decided to get her onto her own bed and get her under the covers. She was breathing strangely; slower than normal, but gasping loudly. Every breath sounded like both agony and a determination to survive. Should we call a nurse? What were we supposed to do? Was she dying? Or did she need medical attention?

Over and over again she had told us she wanted to die at home. I recognized the laboured breathing from the agonizingly slow way my Grandma had died. I was praying it would not be that painful for both my Mom and for all of us.

Mom could not talk, but after an hour and a half of shallow and frightening breathing we somehow understood she wanted to sit up. All of us lifted her up. I sat behind her, my sister's hugged her from both sides. Mom kept trying to say something. Over and over she tried to make words come out of her mouth, but it was impossible. She was exhausted with the attempts to speak. I told her to lean back into me. I would hold her. She relaxed and leaned into me. She could hear us, but could not communicate.

My sisters and I told her how much we loved her. We told her we would see her again. We all let her know we would take care of each other. "Mom, it is okay to let go. We know you love us. We know you will always be there for us. We will always care for and love each other. It is okay to go". She took two shallow breaths and passed away.

It was , and still is, the worst day of my life. I hate this day. I hate that she was taken away from us so young. I hate that evil people live forever and a person as good as my Mom had to die. I hate that the world makes no sense, that if there is a God how could he let this happen? I hate everything about this month. I hate it that my Mom is gone. My Mom WAS Christmas. She epitomized the holiday spirit. Without her this whole month just feels like hell.

Today is My New Birthday

(Photo: by Aqua, "Transformation", August 2008)

In respect of, and to reinforce the powerful message, Wednesday's dream , "The Wolf Returns", sent me: Today I am changing my life. I am throwing away the old me and moving in a different direction. From this day forward I am reborn.

I will never feel any remorse or guilt over anything I did in the past. I accept that I did what I was able to do at the time. I will never again feel guilt for being depressed, or on disability for depression. I will accept that I did not cause this illness. It happened and all I can be expected to do is try to make myself feel better. I will also accept that sometimes my illness makes it difficult to do anything to help myself. During those times I will do whatever I CAN do to keep trying.

As of today here is the new me:

• I am a painter.
• I am an artist.
• I am a writer.
• I am an art teacher.
• I am a photographer.
• I am creative.
• I am disabled by my depression right now, but I am NOT my disability.
• I will accept my disability income as a blessing and a gift that allows me the opportunity to grow into the human being I am meant to become.
• I will be here today, and present now.
• I will not worry about tomorrow.
• I will soak up today.
• I will see all the beauty in the world, like a new child, through my new eyes.
• My life will be full of beauty, and I will recognize that.
• My new life will be full of love and I will pass that on.
• My new life will be full of compassion, for myself and for others.
• I will accept my mental illness as the catalyst, the mother and the origin of, my new and improved life.
• I will embrace my depression like a mother embraces a crying child. I will hold it, and care for it, and accept that the crying may pass, or it may not, but the crying child is always a beautiful being trying to express his or her needs to the world.

The Wolf Returns

(Photo by Aqua, Grey Wolf at Grouse Mountain)


I could not both get to sleep and stay asleep on Wednesday night. My anxiety is increasing and with that my sleep is getting worse again. I slept in snippets of a half hour here, and an hour there. After a pattern of waking and sleeping I woke at 4:30am and finally must have fallen asleep sometime between 6 and 7:00am, because I had an awful nightmare right before waking to go see my pdoc.

I dreamt my two sisters and I climbed towards the top of a mountain. The final climb was a set of stairs that zig-zagged up to the top of the mountain. Atop the mountain was a huge modern building, not unlike the building I used to work in.

We went inside and instantaneously I began being attacked by 3 coyotes who were trying to bring me to the ground so their big, pure black wolf companion could finish me off. I was trying to protect my sisters, but none of the canines seemed interested in them. The coyotes kept grabbing my hands and arms, and trying to attack my head; kept trying to force me to the ground. All the while the black wolf was stalking me, waiting for me to slip to the ground so he could pounce on me. I kept fighting back, calling to my sisters to help. It appeared no one would help me.

Suddenly I looked up and my sisters were behind a counter with the coyotes on the other side. My siblings were negotiating our release with the coyotes and offering them food in return for our safe escape. The coyotes agreed and told my sisters to leave through one door and me to leave through another a bit farther down the hall.

I saw my sister's safely on the outside of the building, but as I went to go out my door I saw the black wolf standing on the other side of the glass door; waiting to kill me. The coyotes told me to open the door and let the wolf in, quickly slip out and slam the door shut.

I did what they said, and the wolf slipped in, and I out. However, as I shut the door I quickly realized that the door opened outwards and it would be easy for the wolf to simply push the door open and come after me. I saw my sisters had disappeared and knew they were safe.

I began to run in terror. The wolf pushed the door open and began chasing me down the stairs. I was running so fast my feet were not touching the stairs. I was hanging onto the handrail and leaping from stair landing to stair landing. Each landing was 6 stairs apart. I was becoming dizzy from the switchback like staircase. I misjudged one of the landings and flew over the railing and into the abyss of the mountain gorge below.

The wolf followed me, but I was dead before he got to me.

I woke absolutely terrified.

Interpretation ideas?

The Coyotes: They are trickster figures. Figures who, in North American First Nations mythology, facilitate our seeing the lighter side of life, who sometimes have noble purposes, but also sometimes are playing with us and can be cruel. They represent the uncertainty of life, the uncertainty of the direction life can take us. They can bring light to dark situations (in fact the Raven...a trickster figure in Westcoast First Nation's mythology tricked a princess into opening a box that contained the sun, thereby releasing light into the world. ("The Raven Stealing the Sun" myth).

I run into coyotes on our farm all the time. They are a symbol of hope for me. They seem to appear when I am desperately depressed and need a reminder that I can survive this illness. It seems strange that they seemed to be doing the opposite in my dream..trying to facilitate my death. Although maybe my death is the only hope I have?

Or maybe they are referencing my being saved by a symbolic death? The death of my old life; the life I keep clinging to, the life that drags into feeling guilty for the new life I am trying to make for myself? My change from doing what I think is right, into having a life filled with doing what I WANT to do.

I know in the dream I wanted to survive. I fought and fought when the coyotes were trying to bring me down (but maybe I was fighting there lesson to allow my symbolic death, my important change, to happen. I ran hard from the wolf to try to save myself. It just did not work. I died anyways...and not even from the wolf, from a mistake I made. (my misjudgement of where the stair's landing was.

The Wolf: He has never appeared to me as pure black before. Throughout the dream I knew and felt it was symbolically important that he was pure black. He was impending doom, stealth and pure fear. He was patient in his efforts to bring me down. He waited, not once interrupting the coyotes efforts to drag me to the ground. He was over confident that he would succeed in killing me one way or another.

Dr. X and I discussed my dream. He said I needed to challenge the wolf. I get that, but what is it I am supposed to challenge? What does the wolf represent? If it is death, that is an inevitability...it would be futile. It could be my depression...but I don't know how to challenge it any more than I do. This dream is haunting me. It is telling me something. It feels so important. I cannot stop thinking about it.

Maybe the challenge is to STOP challenging the inevitability of real death (and the impending fear attached to that that comes from feeling like I will not achieve what I need to achieve, (.i.e. death anxiety) which is the cause of much of my life's anxiety and I think my depression. I fear I will not complete my purpose on earth.

Maybe the challenge is to ACCEPT my symbolic death, the death of my previous life, the fact that I am changed by my depression, by the difficult experiences I have encountered with each Major Depressive Episode...especially this latest one. I am changed. My old life is dead. Let it go. Move on bravely to my new life.

The wolf is black, because unlike all the other frightening wolves in my dreams who chase me and try to kill me and never quite succeed; this wolf succeeded, and the death of my old life is FINAL.

Recurring Nightmare

My latest painting. I have no title yet. It represents a nightmare I have over and over again, where I am being chased through the woods and some kind of post apocolyptic landscape full of broken down buildings and homes, tons of rubble and cement everywhere.

I run, and I run all the while screaming help me, help me! My husband and Dad stand off at the side and watch. No one tries to help me.

Finally, in desperation I climb up onto a big peice of cement to try to save myself, but I fall. The wolf is snarling and on top of me. He is foaming at the mouth and he is about to bite my head or neck and I always wake up at this point absolutely terrified.

When I wake I can't tell if it was a dream, or real. Usually I have to go to the bathroom upon waking, but I am too scared to get out of bed. It usually takes me a couple minutes or more before I calm down, realize it is a dream and am able to climb out of bed.

Today I Lost My Best Friend

I took Bert into the vet today and had him put to sleep. His life was quickly becoming one of no quality. I couldn't watch him struggle and suffer anymore. It was the hardest thing to do; to make the decision to euthanize him. I wish I could have gone with him. I loved him so much and I feel lost without him at home.

Berty, I already miss you more than I can express. I hope you understand I helped you go because I cared so much about you.

Love Aqua

Breathe Deeply This Magic Elixir

Early last week I had one of those dreams that seem to be passing me messages. The kind I know I need to listen to:

I had 2 kids and an ex-husband. The ex-husband was violent. He drove by the kids and I and then he began chasing us. After a long, terrifying chase we got away.

We went home. It was supposed to be safe, but I worried the ex would find us. The doorbell rang. I was sure it would be him.

I told my husband not to answer the door, but he did anyways. It was my brother. He too was violent. He was also mentally ill. He had schizophrenia.

My husband invited him in. He needed a place to stay. I was scared.I didn't think it was safe to have him in the house.

I opened the door to the basement and I pushed my brother into the darkness. The basement was terrifying. I locked the door behind me.

After a few hours I got up because I knew my brother would be scared. My husband gave me an elixir. "Place two drops in your hair and it will put him to sleep", my husband explained. I was worried I would breathe some in. Just before I went downstairs I placed two drops in my hair. When I reached him he got up and came to hug me.

As he hugged me he smelled my hair. He loved the smell and breathed in deeper; as he did he began to slip into a deep sleep.

I felt so sad that I had to drug him to feel safe, but it worked. I did feel safe and I fell asleep as soon as I crawled into bed.

1. First I have no exhusband and no kids. My pdoc pointed out that a very close friend of mine has 2 kids and a husband so evil he would stalk her if she ever left him...(well the "evil" part was my word).
2. I am my brother. I'm mentally ill and sadly I feel I have a huge and uncontrollable capacity for rage when severely ill and I am really afraid I may have a capacity for violence in that state.
3. I especially have violent and obsessive suicidal thoughts in this state. Therfore the violent men may represent those suicidal thoughts.
4. I think him having schizophrenia represents me having an mental illness that is clearly an illness and accepted by mainstream people as an illness (vs. depression often being seen as a lack of strength of character, or as my fault, or its change within my grasp).
5. Maybe I am the brother because my Dad was full of rage and anger and sometimes violence. I see that trait as masculine. I hate and fear that side of myself.
6. Pushing my brother into the basement = my fall into my scariest depression...angry, agitated, violent suicidal thoughts...and there is no escape when I am there...the door is locked.
7. The locking of the door may also represent locking out my mental illness (the female me feels safer when the door's locked).
8. "I felt so sad that I had to drug him..." = my sadness about needing medication to help me and about being mentally ill in the first place.
9. However, on some level "the elixir" represents my desire for a drug that will calm me, allow me to sleep and to feel safe.
10. "Place two drops in your hair and it will put him to sleep"...reminds me of the magic potion in the old fairytales Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, The 12 Dancing Princesses etc. In these tales each falls into a deep "deathlike" sleep. I find it interesting that I am both the one afraid I will fall asleep (i.e. afraid of death) and the one transferring the "death" elixir to myself (i.e committing suicide). This whole transferring of the elixir represents my ambivalence about suicide.
11. The metaphorical me (the mentally ill brother) loved me and reaches out to hug me. It is poignant that I am killing my loving self. Interesting that such a loving gesture comes from one I perceive to be so violent. I guess all that violence goes when you die...but all the goodness goes when you die too.
12. The metaphorical me loved the smell of death...like me...I love the idea of death setting me free.
13. Also, he breathed that death in deeply. He really did want to die. Do I?

Can the Dead Talk to You?

I just came back from taking my dog for a walk in the flower field. Any elation in my mood has disappeared and is quickly being usurped by my anxiety and my depression. As I was walking I started thinking about suicide again...visualizing myself jumping off the city's highest bridge ...that would give me something to be anxious about....as I see myself hit the cement like water and break into a thousand pieces. I already feel that way. Broken into a thousand pieces.

...And then I look up, and in front of me, at the end of a row of dahlias, is a lone "Shoo Fly" plant.

My mom and I went to a "Seedy Saturday" a number of years ago, and she found seeds for this plant. In her loving care they ripened and sowed their progeny everywhere in her garden. She was delighted and told me I needed some in my garden, as she, in her giddy, funny way sung:

"Shoo fly don't bother me,
Shoo fly don't bother me,
Shoo fly don't bother me,
'cause I belong to somebody..."

I took some seeds for the next year and delighted in them popping up in my own garden as they had in hers. Eventually, they disappeared, stopped sowing themselves and I have not seen any anywhere in the garden for years.

My Mom died a little more than a year and a half ago. I can barely write those words. She was too lively, too caring and compassionate, too needed by all of us who loved her...to die so young and too soon. She had three months to prepare herself and her family for her death. One of the things she said to us before she died was, "I will see you in the moon, the stars and the sun". It was a powerful image that left me with the impression she would always be around in one form or the other.

Recently, I was laying in bed at 2:40 a.m. still wide awake, hardly able to breathe I was so anxious and agitated. I tried to make the anxiety stop, but it held my chest in a vice grip, suffocating me. I wanted to die.

I started imagining myself stabbing my chest over and over with a huge knife until finally my chest deflated and the anxiety dissipated. I think thoughts of suicide calm my anxiety sometimes. I see this in the thoughts I have of slitting my wrists and watching all the sadness pour out of me.

I got out of bed and stepped outside. What should be the first thing I see, but a huge full moon. I could feel Mom passing me a message of hope. I went back to bed and thought about it...scoffed at the idea but, finally, fell asleep.

I woke again at 5:40...thinking what a dumb belief. Mom's dead, she's gone...god why couldn't it have been me. I have no life and nothing to live for. She was needed and wanted and her life was priceless to our family. I wish it had been me. I would give anything to have her return.

The sun had just started to come up and the sky was that dusky shade of twilight blue. There, framed between the fog encased blueberry bushes and the the wide open sky, sat the full moon, huge as it began setting into the horizon. The image, and my belief Mom was trying to be there for me again, was haunting.

This afternoon as I walked through the flower field I came upon that row of blood red dahlias; and at the very end of that row, reaching out to touch me as I passed, was that lone "Shoo Fly" plant. None had been planted in the cutting field, and none had been in my private garden for years. I felt Mom brush up against me as I walked by...and I swear I heard, "...cause I belong to somebody".