My Zebra Paintings

I finished the "zebra" paintings for my niece. Each is 12" X 12" on a deep canvas (1.5" thick, which gives the paintings more dimentionality as I have painting all the sides to make it look 3D).

You may/may not remember, but the theme is Zebra stripes and purple. My sister did not want pictures of zebras, rather parts/sections of zebras or paintings that used the stripes...and purple had to be somehow integrated int each picture.

I will post:

1) Top Left...the original photo that inspired the painting

2) Top right the way I cropped the photo and chose a portion of it to paint

3) Beneath these in the centre...My Acrylic painting rendition of the cropped photo...with a bit of purple added for niece loving measure.

A) "Zebra Mountains" (I changed it a bit from the first one I posted)

B) "Zebra Lily": (I did one version that had a yellow centre, hated it a repanted it to have a water centre, which still reminded me of flower stamins)

C) "Zebra Face" (This is my favourite...the eye is shaded with different tones of purple)


I feel pretty pleased with myself and what I was able to do...especially the face. I could have done more shading on the face, but I liked the purity of the white and black. In fact the white is a mixture of yellow and white, which looked really yellow until it was placed next to the black. I love how that works.

Honesty in Therapy

Recently quite a few people have found my blog by googling "Honesty in therapy", or "How can I be honest with my therapist?", or variations of that theme. Today I will share some of my experiences with Dr. X and hopefully they will show you that being honest in therapy takes a huge amount of courage on the part of the patient, but also that the therapist or psychiatrist has to show they are worthy of that honesty in order to facilitate your being truly open with them.

I cannot think of a single instance where Dr. X. was judgemental about things I told him. I can think of many instances where I felt he ", "should be" or "would be" judging me. I can also think of many times where I can see now that I was "paranoid" he would judge me. In retrospect though, his refusal to label or judge my behaviour has allowed me to be honest in therapy.

Sometimes it has taken me a great deal of time to get to the point where I am able to share information. I weigh the odds of the information hurting me, or affecting Dr. X's relationship with me, or my relationship with him. I often spend weeks, sometimes much longer, worrying about opening up about something. Everytime I finally have opened up and been honest it has taken a huge weight off my shoulders.

Those who read my blog on a regular basis might notice that I use my blog to prepare myself to open up, to tell the truth, to Dr. X. A few times I have been intensely suicidal, lethal medications in my hand, and instead of choosing to take the medications I have written about how hard it is to express that kind of suicidality to Dr. X. Often it is because I am afraid of how he will react, or that he will take away my freedom. He never has, and the talking about it always de-escalates my suicidal feelings and reassures me I can trust him. (Note: I now trust that if Dr. X. did place me in the hospital against my will, he would be doing it for my own well being. I recognize that there may be times where I, or others, are not able to make those decisions for ourselves)

Sometimes if I absolutely cannot get the words out, if I simply cannot open up or tell Dr. X. the truth, I will print off what I wrote in my blog, or I type out the feelings and print them out. In my appointment I then hand the written version to him to read. As he reads the note I sometimes feel so ashamed of who I am and how I act, but I also recognize that he cannot help me if I do not let him know exactly what is going on.

At these times he usually reads the note and then is very silent, waiting for me to speak. Always these moments have been catalysts for more open conversation, and every single time they have promoted and reinforced a deeper sense of trust between myself and Dr. X.

I remember one time I waited 2 or 3 years to tell him about something I had done years prior. In retrospect, especially after telling him, I held so much guilt and fear inside me for such an unextrordinary piece of behaviour.

When I was in second year university I had a fairly short, but extremely severe Major Depressive Episodes(MDE). I would sit in my classes and all I could do is cry. I could not get the energy to shower for days at a time. Everyday I would go sit by the beach trying to get myself to kill myself by getting in the water and just swimming out to sea until I could swim no more.

In a couple of my classes nothing made any sense to me. It was as though I was sitting there, but the professors were talking some other language. I was having a particularily difficult time understanding lessons in one of my philosophy classes.

So, in desperation, believing there was a magical solution to my problem, I decided to look up the professor. I found out he lived near me. Believing it to be the magical answer to my not understanding his class, once or twice a day I would walk past his house. I believed that each time I walked past his house, all his knowledge would somehow magically transfer to me.

When I became well again, when my MDE ended, I felt so much shame about what I saw as a kind of "stalking" behaviour. I could not believe I would have done something so bizarre. I was afraid I was dangerous, and that if I told Dr. X. what I had done he would think I was too weird to be trusted. I was afraid he would be afraid of me. So I never told him or anyone I had done that.

A couple years into therapy I began to feel safer with Dr. X. and I forced that story out of my mouth and into one of our sessions. After listening carefully Dr. X. said (paraphrase), "What a beautiful story you have told me. It is wonderful that you were able to have such a magical belief in the way the world worked; beautiful that you were able to suspend reality and have such faith in a mystical type of transference of knowledge".

I was overwhelmed with relief and finally was able to talk to him about my fears that I had been stalking the professor, or that I might be capable of stalking another human being. I never wanted to SEE the professor, it was the act of passing his house that was so important. We talked about how I have OCD symptoms and and vivid imagination. He told me I was not stalking the professor, rather I was suspending reality and looking for a unique way to help myself in the class.

I recognize now that I may have been having some kind of psychotic delusion during that depression, but Dr. X never used those words. He gently helped me see the magical nature of my thoughts without judging me, or making my experience a bad one. It was simply a different experience than most people might have. He assured me he knew I was not dangerous, or a stalker, that I was a human being trying to understand her world.

Being honest with him then, and his positive reaction to what I saw as a frightening and terrible flaw in myself, set the stage for my feeling more and more free to express myself and be honest in therapy. Honesty in therapy takes guts and determination on the part of the patient. It also takes consistent compassion and kindness on the part of the therapist or psychiatrist with whom patients entrust their information. The therapeutic alliance that is created between an open, willing and brave patient and a welcoming, compassionate and consistent therapist is what facilitates honesty to take place in both directions. I feel blessed I have such a therapist.

The Photographer in Me

July 2006, In memory of my Mom the summer following her death I planted dark flowers all over my deck; almost purple/black salvia, and deep purple heliotropes and I found this deep, dark colour of nasturtiums and planted them everywhere. My Mom absolutely loved nasturtiums and I absolutely loved my Mom. I love this photo. It feels so solitary, yet peaceful.

I have a thing for fungi. I love all the different kinds of mushrooms, toadstools, and fungus I find everywhere. You have to click on this image to make it huge to appreciate the beauty and perfection of these tiny fungi.

I took this in December last year (2007). I was walking my dog Bert in the blueberry field, as I turned the corner the sky in front of me turned black, but the sun shone intensely behind me. I ran all the way back to the house (few acres) to get my camera, because the light behind me was bouncing off the the white bark of the birch trees and they were almost glowing in front of the black sky. The dark and light intensified the red in the wintering blueberry bushes, and the green of the moss. It was not quite as dramatic by the time I made it back with my camera to take the picture, but I still love the contrast and intensity of the red and green.

This is a similar shot, and only a week or so later. I liked the contrast of the dark sky against the snow and again the intensity of the fiery red blueberry bushes.

In my photography I try to relay my spiritual connection to the natural world. Nature always astounds me with her variety, her perfection and the ingenuity with which she encourages and brings things to life, but also in the beautiful ways she assists in the process of death and decay; which itself becomes imperative for her process of renewal. She is pure poetry.

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.

What Happened?

I don't know what happened in my session today. I have been feeling pretty anxious and my mood has been up and down, but for the most part this week apathetic and anxious...Is that possible. Seems to me the definition of apathy would include not caring one way or the other, so why the anxiety?

It is happening again; that same pattern that repeats itself ad infinitum:

• I begin to feel a bit better,
• I start doing things I like (art, volunteering to teach, visiting with friends)
• I take a look at myself enjoying things
• I think, if I can enjoy these things, do these things. I should go back to work! (even though it may only be a few days, or even parts of days of enjoyment)
• Then I start thinking, but if I go back to work I will only be able to work, and at a very part time level,
• And if I do that I won't have any energy to do anything else (given I seem to be able to manage one big thing or maybe two smaller things a day)
• So I will go back to work and stop painting, creating...doing all the things I need to do to help myself feel good.
• Then I will get more depressed
• Then I will have to stop work.

I know I talked about this a few days ago, but it is like a loud tape recorder in my head saying, : "I am doing something wrong, when I enjoy myself at the expense of working". "I am making myself vulnerable to ending up homeless and on the streets when I count on a third party for disability payments". "I am a bad person because I am not working" yadda, yadda, yadda.

So I spent most of my appointment crying. Stressed out about my vulnerable situation, stressed out about my (for some reason) returning angry feelings about my Dad and the way he treats me, and missing my Mom so much I told Dr. X her death feels like a bad dream.

Dr. X. tried to help me see I am on the path I need to be on. I expressed my frustration that I began seeing him in 2001 and here I am in 2008 with many of the same problems.

(Paraphrasing):

Dr. X: "You are making progress.

Me: "Who would say that? I don't think anyone would say that"

Dr. X: "I would, think of where you were in terms of art in 2001 (i.e. none) and where you are now with your art."

Me: Rolling my eyes at the comment.

Dr. X: Why did you roll your eyes?

Me: (Feeling ashamed I was so rude to have done that) I rolled them because I am not an artist. It is not like my art is going to help me get a job, or make money. It is not going to get me anywhere.

Dr. X: said something about it making me feel good doing it(my art) and myself doing myself a disservice by saying I am not an artist. It is not about the money, it is the doing it that is important.

Me: Crying and trying to explain how scared I am about not having a job, and not knowing if I was ever going to manage a job and stay well. (Thinking now: I kind of forgot about the part that I'm not well yet...I guess that is s/b the goal).

Dr. X: You have a stable, safe income right now. Try not to let that worry get in your way.

Me: Just sitting there silently, crying...(Inside my head thinking: " I feel like such a loser and that I will never get well and get a job. I feel like I failed at life. This is not what I wanted my life to be. I wanted to succeed, to prove to myself and my Dad that I am a good person, I am a hard worker. I do want to be something. I'm 43, and I still need to prove my worth to my Dad and anyone I feel thinks the same way as him...the definition of a person who needs to let it go and move on).

Rating my Mood

I haven't tracked these components of my mood for a while, but another blogger, Kara, at Overflow, mentioned wanting to track her moods. I used to do this every evening at the same time. I made up a mood chart that worked for me. It was a great sheet to bring into my pdoc and show him, or tell him in certain terms what my mood/s had been doing. It was through this that I really noticed a cycling pattern.

It is a table I made up in MSWord, but I cannot find the original...so I took apicture of a blank copy. If you want to make up your own it is pretty easy in word.

I simply place the corresponding # in the column/row. It is really easy to see any cycling patterns, or to see if medications or sleep are associated with mood. I find the chart worked well for me. Over the years I perfected my scoring system as follows:

(Click on the image of the mood chart to enlarge it)

Row 1: Mood (Happy/Sad): 1/2 suicidal, suicidal thoughts/plans, 3/4 severely/moderately depressed, 5 flat/apathetic, 6 feel okay to good, 7 Target = 7...Feeling good with moments of feeling great, 8 feeling really high, 9 hypomanic, 10 manic

Row 2: Mood (Irritability): 1 rage, 2 hostile, 3 agitated, 4 irritated, 5 moderate, 10 none


Row 3: Mood (Anxiety): 1 panic,2 severe anxiety attacks, 3 severe anxiety, but no physical symptoms, 4, severe-moderate anxiety, 5 moderate anxiety, 10 none

Row 4: Sleep: # of hours and whether I was awake asleep, awake asleep etc.

Row 5: Fatigue: 1 extreme, 5 moderate, 7 not fatigued, 10 extremely hyperactive

Row 6: any exercise

Row 7 Medication and Other: used this to list meds, med doses and med changes I use a system of upwards arrows (increase dose), sideways arrows (dose remains same), or downwards arrows (lowering dose) and put what ever milligram/s of whichever med I am changing, leaving the med area blank if no changes are made since the previous day.

You can easily make up your own rating scale. I found this worked well for me. I hope it helps someone.

In My Dreams I Could Paint

Aqua, Collage, 2002 (a bit "weatherworn"...but intact)

In my last post I mentioned I had photographed some of my earlier drawings. I have shown you my paintings before. I only fairly recently began to take an interest in art. In fact, it has only been since this MDE started that I even began truly exploring my artistic side.

I have always loved art and have always been "creative". I loved to make things...jewellery, decorating birdhouses, making designs on stepping stones out of stained glass...crafty kinds of things, but I had never really drawn or painted.

When I was young I had recurring dreams, both at night and during daydreams, in which I could paint. In the dreams I so clearly saw every detail in the objects I observed. I would take out my paintbrush, or pencil, or crayons and I could replicate the objects perfectly. When I woke this was never the case. I could see, but whenever I tried to draw or paint I was awful at it. This feeling was further enforced by my grade 4 art teacher who told me I did not have the skill to create art. I never wanted to try drawing or painting again. Why do something if you are not good at it?

Well in 2002 I became brave and tried something I was not good at. I took an "Introduction to Drawing" class at the local Art College. One of the first lessons was to draw my hand using no line, only tone. I did not even understand the concept, until I went home and drew and drew and drew for a few hours. Suddenly, using tone alone (shading on a scale of 0 (white) to 10 (black) and various gray tones in between) my hand appeared out of nowhere onto the page. I finally "got it". I created a picture of my hand without drawing a single line...I amazed myself. I was hooked.

Throughout that drawing class we were told to do patterning and pencil control exercises every evening. We were to draw two boxes on each piece of a pad of paper that was 4 inches by 2 inches.. The exercises were meant to help us understand how each pencil felt, moved and created light and dark shading (2b pencils being harder and creating lighter shades of gray and black, 4b softer creating darker shades and 6b pencils allowing darker shades yet). It was also an exercise to help us practice drawing patterns over and over, because in nature repetitive patterns are often the case.

So I drew and I drew and I drew. It was hypnotic. I discovered that while I was drawing the patterns, and focusing on the drawing, my relentless and often violent suicidal thoughts would disappear; my anxiety would dissipate and my rage would become less and less. The drawing slowed my mind enough so I could, for the time I was engaged in the activity, just "be".

The last day of the class we were told to bring in all the pattern drawings. We were then told to make a collage from all the patterns. I thought I would share mine today. As I was placing my patterns on the paper I was intentionally moving from darkness to lightness; a reflection of my shifting moods. When it was complete I really was amazed at what such simple, seemingly rote exercises could become and how it made me feel so much better while I was creating each tiny piece, but also the final collage.

Am I Forever Broken?

"How can you go so many years and not know you liked something so much?

My sister said those words to me yesterday when I was expressing how much joy I was getting out of conceptualizing, planning and painting the five paintings I have on the go right now and the others I have completed.

A comment Dr. Shock made on one of my past posts, about wanting to see my other art work, stimulated me to pull together and photograph an array of some of my early drawings from when I was learning to draw. I see so much progress and the switch into painting has increased my desire to create art tenfold.

How could I never have known I wanted to draw or paint? In university it was the pursuit of knowledge and that which was intellectually challenging that brought happiness and excitement into my life. I graduated with two degrees, one in Philosophy and one in English literature. My last 3 years of university were the best years of my adult life. To do well in both of those majors you had to love to read and write. I loved both. I never foresaw that it was the creative process, and not necessarily the intellectual process I may have been pursuing.

I am struggling now with how my love for art can fit into the life I want for myself. You may, or may not know I am on disability for my Major Depressve Disorder (MDD), and have been since early 2003. I really hate that I am on disability. It may be my Dad's voice that I have internalized, but I feel it is a societal voice as well. I feel I am not contributing, that I am using up precious resources, that I am a bad person for being unable to work.

I know that while I am having some good days my mood is extremely labile, and my anxiety is still not under control. For the past month or so I have felt better than I usually feel, but I am far from well. I also understand that the progress I have made is precarious and could topple with the slightest amount of pressure.

My pdoc has explained this to me, and even took the time to write me a note outlining why I am unable to work right now; a note I can read, and reread when I am feeling like I am today, when I feel guilty and unsure that I am doing the right thing. I have reread it today, but it is difficult for me to accept its contents.

What if I can never work? How am I going to deal with my negative self image for not working? Dr. X. keeps telling me I am working. He means all the work I am doing to try to become well, but also the volunteer work I am doing. I get that he is trying to make me see that work has many definitions; that work is not simply working for an organization for a twice monthly pay cheque. I get it, and I get that others need to step back from work to take care of themselves. I just cannot accept that for me. I define myself by what I do; by what I work at. I always have.

I want so badly to work again, but I know I cannot manage that yet. I can barely manage what I am doing right now: volunteering two half days a week. I feel exhausted after doing those things.

Also, I am not certain if anyone else is like this, but I am a "one thing a day" person right now. I can paint, or I can volunteer, or I can visit with someone, but I can't do them on the same day, and if I do those things I cannot manage to cook dinner or clean the house, or keep up with my domestic duties, actually even if I don't do those things I cannot manage the domestic stuff.

Will I ever get my life back? By that I mean will I ever be able to work a full time job, keep the house clean, go grocery shopping, mow the lawn, tend to the garden, help my husband on the farm, have a social life, have dinner parties every few weeks, and do continue working on and developing my art work? Will I ever be my old self?

Will I ever get my life back, or am I forever relegated to the sidelines; surviving and struggling so hard just to manage to complete, or sometimes just start, one thing a day?

Will I ever get my life back, or do I have to accept a new way of being. Has being this depressed for so long, and so often, destroyed my fortitude, my drive and my abilities? Has my depression and anxiety toppled the old me forever? I want to know what it is I am supposed to do. What is expected of me? What should I expect from myself? What does society expect of me? Does Dr. X. know what I can expect from my future? Does anyone else know?

I do know that I have an intense desire to paint and create. That is good, I have no formal training in art, I'm 43 I am certain I could not manage the stress of things like exams and essays.; the exams especially. I have too many problems with my memory and cognitive abilities. I feel so lost and so scared I will be stuck either on disability, or at a low paid, disatisfying job for the rest of my life. If the latter I know what will happen. I will spend all my time and energy trying to be the best low paid employee at "whatever company" , and all the things that bring joy to my life will be left undone and I will once again fall into severe depression and then I will be on disability at an even lower rate than I receive now.

I am stuck in a no win situation.

Disclosure

(**Note: I misunderstood Dr. Shock when I wrote this blog post. He agreed with Dr. X's type of disclosure. Misunderstood or not, his thoughts were the catalyst for my writing about this topic and it felt good to get it all out of my head. Thanks Dr. Shock).

You may have picked up from my blog that I am not only in therapy, but I am also intensely interested in the therapeutic process: The patient/therapist relationship, how that alliance affects therapy and how powerful a catalyst for change and growth a relationship with a trusted therapist can be.

This post is inspired by my curiousity about that process. Recently Dr. Shock has written a series of posts about the Dr./Patient Relationship. They are all very interesting. I find myself both agreeing and disagreeing with one aspect of the Dr/Patient relationship he believes in. He disagrees with a Dr's self-disclosure (in particular when speaking of a psychotherapeutic relationship).

I for the most part agree with him. I think it is important for me as a patient to be able to project my difficult relationship communication problems onto Dr. X. When Dr. X "becomes" my Dad, like in my recent post "Letting Go of the Past", I am able to reflect afterwards and learn from the experience. It is during those moments when I learn the most.

I have had therapists who spent much of my session comparing their problems to mine, telling me everything about themselves. These have never been helpful therapeutic relationships to me. They begin to feel like they turn into therapy for the therapist instead. Dr. X. is not like that. He is very good at limiting self disclosure to almost nothing. While I have an intense desire to know him better, I appreciate that he reveals little to me, he is whoever I need him to be at any given time.

Recently however, he did disclose to me that he has been unwell, and that it appears he has MS. Dr. Shock finds this disclosure uncalled for (**Here is where I misunderstood Dr. Shock' position about Dr. K's disclosure...he actually agreed with Dr. X disclosing his illness ...read his comments and the posts on his site).

Here is where I disagree with Dr. Shock and the following disclosure about my past will explain why. (If you happen to read this Dr. Shock I would be really interested to know how you would manage a situation like this after reading some of why I think this self disclosure was imperative for my well being.)

I have had numerous situations that have intensified my fears of abandonment. The following were probably a few of the things probably the straw that broke this camel's back:

My Dad left my Mom when I was almost 17 years old. I came home from school one day and my Mom as gone. I had no idea why, or where she went. she just disappeared. It was traumatic.

A week later she returned home and suddenly my Dad disappeared. Although I discovered he had moved into his own apartment, again, there was no explanation as to why he left. I was distraught, confused and felt intensely abandoned both times. As the weeks wore on I began to fall into my first depression, but I had no time to help myself, because my Mom was disappearing too, only in a different way.

She began to drink, stopped eating, wouldn't get out of bed all day, began leaving us at night to go drink, lost weight to the point she began to appear anorexic, became so angry she was hard to be around (she is was usually the most calm and compassionate, loving person I have ever encountered). In a word she became severely depressed as a result of my Dad leaving. She desperately needed a job as she had no money of her own.

My Dad had always taken care of us financially. She could not get work, or manage to renew her licensing requirements to become an RN again because she was too sick. When asked my parents if we could see a counsellor, they both responded "it was none of my business. It was between them"

All I knew for years was that my Dad left. I had absolutely no idea why, or why he never came home. He was just gone. I made up all kinds of things in my head..." I was a difficult child, he didn't like me, he couldn't handle my sisters and I, he had just decided one day that he did not want to be with his family, etc." I felt intensely abandoned, sad, lonely, let down, ashamed that I had been such a bad person that I made him leave us. I had destroyed our family.

I felt abandoned by my Dad, but even though my Mom was physically still around, she was gone. She was inconsolable. She was one of those women who married for life. Divorce and remarriage were not options. It was so sad to watch such a beautiful, strong, and loving Mom become nobody without her husband. Without Dad she disappeared into severe depression for at least 10 years and remained moderately to mildly depressed until the year she passed away.

Two years after my Dad left I could not handle the feelings I felt for losing both parents, for not understanding why it had all happened, so I left home to get away from those feelings. I ran.

Four and a half years and three cities later I phoned my Dad and a man answered the phone. Suddenly, it became absolutely clear why my Dad had left my Mom. He was gay. For the first time in years I felt an intense sense of relief and understanding. I finally understood why no one would talk about it. It was the typical shame issue too many people feel about being gay.

Unfortunately, that was not true. My Dad had remarried, and now had a whole new family, a new wife and two sons, without telling any of us. He had left my Mom for a woman he had been dating for a couple years while still living with us. I can't even express the shock, and feelings of betrayal I felt, and to this day feel. My father marries without telling us, allowed us to suffer feelings of abandonment and fear we were the cause of him leaving, when all he could easily have explained what was going on. Maybe not when he first left, but at the very least before he married.

The woman he married was an absolute bitch. I rarely say that abut anyone, but she was the equivalent, and perhaps worse than, the epitome of the evil stepmother. She would draw you in, get you to reveal your souls deepest feelings and then use those to bait my Dad, and to make him angry at us. My little sister used to have to go stay with my Dad very couple weekends. She could hear my Dad's wife yelling at him about how he had to get rid of her. How she did not want my sister there, ever.

She destroyed any hope that my sisters and I could ever have a relationship with my Dad. My Dad has never once mentioned why he left Mom, or even the fact that he did. He never once stood up for us in front of his wife, or any other time tha we know of. Any attempts over the years to talk with him about his leaving and how it affected us ended in our being immediately silenced. This (among other things) left all his children with no ability to have any kind of trusting relationship with him.

What does this have to do with Dr. X's disclosure? Everything. Given I so often, so easily, and so strongly project my father onto him any sudden disappearance on his part, without my understanding why, would cause me to relive those feelings of abandonment, disingenuity, and deceitfulness all over again. Any trust I had in him would be gone, and I am not sure it could ever be regained, especially if I found out he knew, and had known for some time, that he might have to stop work for a while, or "disappear' for a while.

I am working so hard in therapy to learn that I can trust others, that people are genuine, that not everyone will leave me or outright lie to me, or lie to me by leaving out information. It has taken years for me to trust Dr. X. and to begin to feel safe.

On top of my Dad's deceit, and my intense sense of abandonment surrounding the way it all happened, I recently lost my Mom. She had been the only person in my life outside of therapy who really, really supported and understood me and my depression. She became ill with pancreatic cancer and died within 2.5 months of her diagnosis.

I am still having an intensely difficult time dealing with, not just her loss, but the swiftness of her death and the traumatic act of watching her die: watching her try to cling to her children, seeing her try so hard not to abandon us. The intensity of her will to survive, even after she fell into the final throes of death, gasping for air for hours, trying to communicate, when her ability to talk was gone, watching her not wanting to abandon this world and all she loved in it was so traumatic I don't think I will ever recover from the unwilling and unexpected abandonment of someone I loved so much.

Dr. X. needed to tell me he was ill to preserve the integrity and trust in our therapeutic relationship. He needed to show me he valued me enough to be honest and forthright about his potentially needing to cancel, or rearrange appointments. I needed to feel I was important enough for him to be open with me about WHY he was unable to see me; that it wasn't because he didn't want to see me, or because I was a difficult patient, or because he wanted to get rid of me. I needed to know I was not being abandoned and that I would be taken care of in his absence. Dr. X.'s decision to disclose his illness and the potential it had for him possibly needing to take time off work periodically was only decision he could have made given my background and the issues I have been dealing with.

A Perfect Day

Today was a really good day. I met with a friend and we went for a walk on the beach. I felt like I was with someone who gets me in all sorts of ways. Someone who sees the world around her like a child discovering new things all the time. I am like that too when I am feeling well and to some degree when I am depressed. I always have marvelled at how it is that such beauty exists in such a difficult world.

I marvel at nature and its awe inspiring beauty on every level. Natures colours and geometric patterns; her perfection and her ingenuity; her attention to detail and yet alternately her oversights. Nature amazes and enthralls me.

I watched my friend react with that same passion; both of us gasping in awe at the giant gelatinous masses of beached jellyfish on the shore. The translucent bodies magnifying and intensifying the colours of the rocks, sand and debris upon which they were trapped. I watched her try to save a jellyfish. An act of compassion and love for a creature so different from ourselves.

We both walked staring at the beach, searching for treasures to take home, or to take pictures of, to take home. She had better eyes than me and found the most interesting and unique items. She saw all the details I was missing and shared them with me; the spores of some kind of mold forming on a side of seaweed; the molds patterns made it so beautiful in it's own way; miniature seashells perfectly formed and teeny barnacles on a small stick, tiny, but no less magnificent.

Today felt like a perfect day. I was aware of myself; aware that I was very talkative, yet I tried to accept that overflowing bubbly talkativeness as myself and an expression of my joy and my feeling happy with what I was doing and who I was with. She in turn expressed how she is not as talkative, but that is just the way she is. We are who we are. We were who we are. It felt good to just be whoever I am; to revel in the sun, the ocean and the company surrounding me.

My Essential Self

I felt an intense sense of connectedness with Dr. X. today. I love those sessions where I feel not only understood, but also admired and fully cared for maybe even more because of my quirky behaviours.

I was telling Dr. X. how I went out with a friend and I had been really anxious. My mood has switched upwards, but so has my anxiety, irritability and I'm not sleeping very well. Anyways, I was so anxious and as a result I found myself talking, and talking...quickly, from topic to topic. I really wish I was less a talker and more a listener. So I said to Dr. X., very strongly, "I hate that side of myself!"

"Hate"?, he said. "That is a very strong word to use". I told him, "I do. I do hate the way I talk so much sometimes. I kept hearing myself talking and thinking...shut up and listen, slow yourself down, but I couldn't stop talking or slow down."

Part of it was my mood was up too, and I was really engaged. My mind explodes when people share their ideas and thoughts. It is like every idea they share sets of a million in me. Some people really trigger tons of ideas in me. I love being around those people. I just wish I could vocalize my ideas less and listen to their ideas more. I expressed how it sometimes happens during our sessions. I find myself interrupting him. I hate it when I interrupt people. It is rude.

Dr. X. looked at me and said I was often quiet and reflective. When I am feeling better I become ebullient and bubbly. He said never thinks of my interrupting him as anything more than an expression of my bubbly self.

I am quiet and reflective. Actually, for someone so extroverted I have intense social anxiety and am very introverted much of the time. More than anything just want to stay in my house and avoid the outside world. The quiet reflective me, is often the depressed me.

The well me is a little over the top. In fact when young and well I was unstoppable. I really loved that force of energy within myself. I loved that I was full of ideas, and interested in so many things. I love that I was brave and took wild and sometimes insane risks. I loved that I felt free to be whoever I was. It seemed the people around me loved my playful, boisterous spirit too.

I think I only began to hate that side of me at work, because I received feedback a few times from my bosses that I "overwhelmed" some of my co-workers. I overwhelmed them because I was a powerhouse and wanted to know more, and more and more. I did not just sit and just do my job. I invented and reinvented it. I took on all sorts of projects. I threw myself fully into everything I did. Some people just wanted to show up and do what was expected and go home. Which is fine. If that is what you want to do. I'm just not like that. I always wanted more; more responsibility, more new things to do, and more challenges.

So, maybe I don't "hate" my ebullience and passion for ideas and life when I am with someone who triggers these in me. Maybe I really love that about myself and am afraid I will be rejected if I am the real me. Maybe my trying to control my expressiveness, talkativeness and energy are holding me back.

I remember my best friends in university would all get a kick out of me sometimes when I began talking really fast and loud and rapidly switching from ideas to other ideas. We all joked about it, but they all embraced me and loved that quirk in me. I felt Dr. X. expressing that same kind of love for my energetic quirkiness today. That felt good.

Zebra Mountains Painting

I just completed the first of three 12 x 12 paintings for one of my nieces. She just had her bedroom renovated and it is purple...what girl didn't go through a purple period??? When I was 24 almost every single piece of clothing I owned was purple, I painted my window frame purple. I was OBSESSED with purple.

Anyways, this painting is the beginning of a conceptual idea I had about honing in on the smaller picture. Taking pictures up so close that it is not readily apparent what they are. Well of course...with zebras that is kind of hard, and on top of that my sister wanted them to be purple

...so here is my first of three paintings and the pictures I edited to paint the picture from. I thought it might be cool for you to see the process. I took the zebras drinking water, cropped the picture so it looked like mountains (the zebras' backs, and then painted it using black, purple and a complimentary yellow instead of black, brown and tan:

Religion, Mysticism and Spirituality

This post is inspired by something my pdoc wrote, and also a discussion we had last week in my session. We were talking about spirituality and the difficulty many of us have (me included) with the dogmatic beliefs found in all kinds of religions and spiritual beliefs. Before I begin this post I would like to mention that I think whatever your spiritual beliefs are is certainly not an issue with me. I believe we all have the right to believe what ever it is we do.

I know for my Mom, her belief in God played a huge part in her allowing her to have both a better life and accept her particularly difficult death. Her belief in God strengthened her every step of the way. I am so happy she had God's love to turn to when she needed it. This post is not about telling anyone what is or is not right, or wrong. It is simply a post about my beliefs, lack of beliefs and struggle to believe in something beyond this one plane of existence and experience.

I am not sure what I believe. To me insisting there definitely is a God, or insisting there definitely is not a God are both impossible statements to prove. So for me both fundamentalism (in any religion) and atheism are equally difficult positions to logically hold. This does not mean either are not correct; simply that no one can prove either the existence or non-existence of God.

I would say I am agnostic but hopeful their is something beyond this existence. I really struggle with the idea that everything begins and ends here in the world we experience on a sensual level. I also have had so many experiences that point to something beyond the scientifically proven and accepted theories of evolution and existence. They happen too often for me to ignore them. Maybe there is some kind of mystical force running through our lives.

Believe me it is very difficult for me to say that last statement. I am vehemently opposed to believing things with no proof, but sometimes my experiences seem to be showing me the proof and I keep ignoring the messages. Maybe there are "instances" where people are connected to another plane of existence, or experience beyond the here and now. No I am not being delusional. I'm just trying to understand what I experience.

After last weeks session it happened again; something that felt like a communication had taken place between my sister and I with no words being spoken. My sisters, and my Mom when she was alive , seem particularly in sync with one another, despite living very far away from each other and not talking that often.

In my last session Dr. X asked me what I was working on with my paintings. I told him am working hard to develop a series of conceptual paintings based on extreme close ups of images, taken out of context. Anyways, as our conversation ended we somehow got onto the topic of "foresight"; the ability to see/know something before either it happens, or before you have any knowledge of it happening.

I was telling Dr. X. how it seems like too many things happen to me this way for me not to have some kind of foresight. The last thing he said to me before my session was up was, I do seem to have foresight and he has seen proof of it.

I have dreams that come real, especially about animals dying...which is awful. Years ago I dreamt my cat was drowning. I went outside at 4am in my rain gear and found him dead in a puddle at the side of the road. I dreamt about dead dogs laying in the ditch and woke to find my neighbours dog dead. I dreamt I would find my cat that had been lost for 8 months and told my husband in the morning to look for him...he laughed and told me I was out of my mind...but at 10:00 am I got a call saying he had found the cat, but under the shed. Unfortunately, he was dead.

Last week, when I came home from my appt, there was a message from my sister. I called her and she asked me if it would be possible to paint three paintings based on parts of zebras for my nieces newly decorated bedroom. She didn't want whole Zebras, but exactly the type of paintings I had been thinking about (I never told anyone before D. X). It was strangely familiar to have things happen magically right when I am thinking hard about them. I don't believe in this stuff, but it sure seems like something/someone wants me to.

My Paintings and Other Art

The image I based my 1st abstract on. It is a picture I took of a bunch of flower clippings in a bucket while I was deadheading flowers in the garden. I love the colours together.

The abstract based on the picture. The photo of the painting didn't turn out well because I should have taken a picture before adding a shiny gel coat...so the sheen distracts from the photo...but hey.

In my last post Dr. Shock mentioned he was curious about my other work. In fact, I just started learning to draw 4 or 5 years ago. I could only draw stick people before then. I have taken 3 continuing education drawing classes at the local Art University (Emily Carr School of Art and Design). So I do not have a lot of other work.

However, if I get the time I will search around and post some of my drawings. Oh...I just realized I have some linocut prints that I have done also, so I will add those too. And a piece of pottery I really like...(hey Dr. shock...you are making me realize I have done more art than I remembered)...Thanks.

I only began painting this March 2008 (this year). I took an acrylics course at the art clubhouse I belong to but, it was more for fun/socialization. Mostly I am learning the theories of painting, brushstrokes, colour mixing, etc on my own by looking at other's work both at the studio, and in Art magazines/books, or online.

My knowledge of drawing techniques is helping me. The last painting I posted was the last painting that is complete (actually I just realized I did my first abstract painting a couple months ago and didn't post it). I will do that right now.

I am currently working on five others right now, an abstract (24 x 24) based on the picture that inspired the one I am about to post (which is approx. 12 x 15) , a gigantic nasturtium that is an ode to my Mom, and is turning out to be so beautiful and three "conceptual" paintings (each 12 x 12) based on micro focusing on an object and patterning for my niece's newly decorated (purple) bedroom. I hope to have this series done this week. I will post them when done. (I am doing them in the colours she wants, but I want to do a similar series in more realistic colours and do them on larger (24 X 24) canvases...because I am liking the idea and how they are turning out.

Letting Go of the Past

In my session on Friday Dr. X. asked me what I was working on with my painting. Immediately, I felt intensely self conscious, fake, and that my art was trite and unworthy. I began to cry. I felt like a fraud with my art. I felt embarrassed by it, and by my ideas. Yet, while by myself painting, and when I look at my paintings alone, I feel an intense sense of accomplishment. I experience a sense that this is what I am supposed to be doing; the direction my life is meant to go in.

I think when I share something this valuable to me with Dr. X. I have a tendency to project my Dad onto him. Dr. X. instantaneously and magically BECOMES my father. I am unable to consciously recognize the person in front of me as the trustworthy, caring, interested and compassionate Dr. X. I cannot see him as the person who wants me to succeed. Dr. X. has left the building. My Dad is sitting in front of me.

I feel almost re-traumatized by the unconscious/subconscious fear that an extremely important person in my life will ridicule or dismiss my ideas. So when Dr. X asks me what I am doing with my art I become the child of an arrogant, egotistical, narcissistic tyrant. A Commander-in Chief who ordered me to listen. The all powerful authority figure who ridiculed, rejected and dismissed my ideas, my opinions and tried to slaughter my creative soul. The man who seemed almost obsessed with putting me in my place and proving he was right and I was wrong.

As a child I accepted he was right. It was me. I was wrong. I wasn't good, or smart, or good at anything. I was stupid, never paid attention and never listened. I believed this for so long that now, as an adult, I have forgotten how to be my own person without fearing I will make a mistake, or I won't be good enough, or I won't do well enough at anything I do, or I will embarrass myself, or my ideas really are stupid, or people will not like me. I will be rejected.

When I was a kid I wanted so badly to be involved with, and to please, my Dad. As a child I would wait , laying wide awake in bed; waiting to hear the late night news come on. I would sneak out and ask my Dad if I could watch it. We would sit on the couch together watching the news. This was the most important thing in the world to me. A sense of shared experience with my Dad. I would read the newspapers for the same reasons.

I did these things because I so desperately wanted to have something in common with my Dad. I wanted him to be proud of me, to be pleased with my seeking knowledge, to be able to talk with him about things. It never worked. If I tried to discuss something we watched together, or an article we both read it inevitably became an argument about why my perspectives were wrong and his were right.

I don't know why my Dad did this. I know he loved me, and I know he loves me, but he still does treats me and my ideas the same way. I love my Dad and I am trying really hard to let go of the past, but my past haunts me and slips unseen into so many areas of my life.

I forgive my Dad. I think he was probably treated that way by his parents. Also, being a policeman, and the "top down" military lifestyle life that type of job entails, would reinforce a sense of "authority" and "correctness" in anyone doing those kinds of jobs. He was a product of his environment. On top of that, there are no perfect manuals for being a good parent and the 60's and 70's child rearing mores were much different than today's. I can forgive, but my body and mind cannot forget.

I still react the same way to certain circumstances as I did when I was a child. I want to please all men, all authority figures, anyone who remotely has any control or authority over me no matter how tenuous the connection to their being an "authority figure" is. I am afraid of, and go out of my way to reconcile my opinions with, anyone who disagrees with me or anyone who has the potential to hurt me. I react with fear, terror, anxiety, and sometimes panic when someone, anyone, invades my personal space, or physically intimidates me or threatens me.

Obviously, given how I sometimes project my Dad onto my kind pdoc, I often react this way in situations that do not warrant such a reaction. This is when the therapeutic moments between myself and Dr. X are the most powerful. When the Dr. X, and a I are involved in a discussion or situation in my appointment that causes me to have such a severe reaction, I need to, and/or he needs to help me, recognize that these are the times to take note and to back up, examine my reaction and start again.

As he asked me about my art and I began to cry, I expressed how I was afraid my art was trite and unworthy. He spoke up and asked me to examine what I had said. As I sat there crying and feeling ashamed I was suddenly reminded of who was sitting in front of me. I remembered he is supportive, not dismissive. He is nurturing and interested in what I am doing, not judgemental. Almost instantaneously I began sharing my new ideas. I heard the excitement in my voice. I felt the joy of sharing something I cared about with someone who wanted to know. I felt one tiny step closer to letting go of my past and learning to be proud of my future.

My New Disclaimer.

If you are feeling suicidal please reach out. Suicide removes all your options. Please call 911, local crisis line, family doctor, psychiatrist, therapist, or tell a close family member or friend. No one should go through struggles with depression or any other mental illness alone. We all deserve to have the support and help we need.

This post expresses some of my experiences with those thoughts and how I have survived them. If you want to see more of how I have felt and survived click on the side labels "suicide", and "suicidal thoughts". I don't have any answers, except for one...If they are good listeners, a great caring therapist, or psyciatrist can protect you from yourself in so many ways. This sight is proof of that.

I did not really want to put a disclaimer on my site. Recently however, an increasing number of people are Googling " I want to die", or I wish I would die" and ending up at my blog. I do not want to stop writing how I feel, or soften how I express myself. I want to write authentically. I find writing this way to be extremely cathartic. However, I worry for these people.

I hope if you show up here and read about my wanting to die you read more of my blog than just the posts that express my often obsessive thoughts and feelings of suicide. My wish for anyone struggling with these thoughts is that you discover a couple things on my blog:

• One: I really want my site to reflect the difficult, sometimes seemingly impossible, often downright awful and at times; the questionably unsurvivable experiences I have with my treatment resistant depression. I want people to know they are not the only ones having these thoughts.
• Two: I want people to see that if there is hope for me, there is hope for anyone. My illness has lead me to meet my psychiatrist Dr. X. . I want this site to show how help from a knowledgeable, supportive and compassionate Dr. and/or therapist can be a life changing and rewarding experience; not just for the medication help, but also having someone to help you survive the times life does not seem to be worth living.

I am not saying life is perfect for me. If you read my blog on a regular basis you will notice I struggle so much to keep trying sometimes. Ultimately though, having a pdoc and therapist I trust and can count on has helped me take chances and try things I never thought possible; things like learning to draw, participating in art classes, teaching art classes(still cannot believe this one), developing art classes, learning to paint, picking up my guitar again after a 20 year hiatus. With the help of someone I have learned is trustworthy and honest, kind and happy to be around me no matter how I feel, I am slowly uncovering and discovering the person want to be.

I am still really depressed, still anxious, still have many days where I don't think I can continue trying, but I have good help and I know it. That keeps me trying and subsequently continuing to grow into a new me. The me I want to be. The life that IS worth living.

You may not click with the first psychiatrist or therapist you meet. I didn't. I tried many, many different therapists before I finally met the right one. Keep trying if you do not like who you see.

A doctor once told me to get on the list of every psychiatrist who had patient openings. See them once or a couple times. The first meetings with a psychiatrist or therapist are as much for you to interview them, for you to see whether they are a good fit for you; as the interview is for them to begin understand you. If they don't get that...run! I saw that (sort of) jokingly, but I have found much of the reason I am able to be open and honest with my pdoc; about suicide, or bizarre thoughts, or plans, is we ALWAYS make decisions together.

We are like a team working together to help me feel better. He treats me like a colleague. That to me represents a very powerful, patient focused therapeutic alliance. I am not saying he would not hospitalize me against my will if I became unable to participate in the decision making process.

I would hope, and trust that he would. It means we have built a relationship based on shared decision making, which has built my trust in him. Given the way we have worked together I am absolutely certain he would help me participate in the decisions I am able to make, given the state of my abilities to decide for myself. I trust he would do what was right for me and include me as much as possible in any and all decisions.

When trying to find someone to help you recognize there are lots of people we meet in our lives who we don't like for one reason or another; psychiatrists and therapists are no different. Some people we feel okay around and some we don't. If you do not like the pdoc or therapist you are with keep searching for someone else until you feel you have met a good fit for you and your needs. The search will be worth it in more ways than one.

It may be that you are so suicidal or ill right now that you are unable to take the time to search for the "right" psychiatrist. If that is the case please reach out for crisis help, either via the crisis line in your area, or the 911 emergency number, or take yourself or get someone to take you to emergency room at the hospital. This will allow you to be safe for the time being. It will allow you get to the point where you are able to begin the important search for the psychiatrist or therapist you need to help you survive, and hopefully, eventually thrive beyond your illness.

Death Anxiety

Aqua, "Destination Unknown" (linocut 1/5) 2007

Me: (Among a list of other things) "I have been sleeping a lot. I'm not sure if it's because I am tired or I just can't face doing things. I feel like I just don't want to do anything, or I have too much to get done and it's overwhelming. I can't face all the things I have to do, so all I want to do is sleep."

Dr. X: "Tell me your list of things you want to accomplish."

Me: (Completely misinterpreting "why" he is asking this question, because all I am worried about is losing him) "Why? Is this so if I need to be seen by someone else they will have a list of all the things I need to work on? So, they will know what I need to address in therapy?"

Dr. X: (Looking really perplexed, but trying hard to hide that) "No, you just said you were sleeping a lot to avoid things, or because you were avoiding getting things done. I was wondering what those things were."

Me: "Oh! Getting a job!"

Dr. X.: "You have a job. (referring to my volunteer work)"

Me: "I mean a job where I get paid; where I stop being a drain on the social services system; where I can take care of myself; where I don't rely on anyone else. All I ever heard from my Dad when I was growing up was how awful "those" people were (Hippies, the unemployed, anyone who wasn't working and paying there own way, anyone who needed help from anyone else). I have internalized my Dad. On top of that all I'm hearing from him and my one sister right now is do more and you will feel better, or (from my Dad) Why don't you get a job? A "real" job. Get it together."

Dr. X. "You are working at a real job. The system sets it up so you cannot win one way or the other. Maybe the Art Clubhouse should pay you a higher wage, so it would be seen more as work and more valuable by you and by others, where it could help support you. The big thing here though is your internalization of your Dad's criticism."

Me: (Feeling cared for and supported by Dr. X, but dejected; like I will never be a valuable human being). "I know. I am doing things that are important to me. If I worked for $10/hr doing something I felt was meaningless or purposeless I know I'd be even more depressed. I just never thought I would end up like this. I always thought I would move up the ladder in life (always moving forward, getting better jobs, getting ahead). I never expected to be on disability, to not be working, or to be unwell. I always thought I would do something with my life."

Dr. X: Silent (His specialty: a safe, reflective silence...like he is when he waits for me to figure out for myself that I am not thinking clearly)

Me: "I guess it is like the print I made for you last year..."Destination Unknown". (Thinking to myself how making that print for Dr. X may have been eerily full of the bizarre sense of magical foresight I seem to have sometimes. I made it to represent my struggle and how it is taking me in directions I never expected; and often didn't want, to go, but he clearly sits on that same bus with me now...that I never expected).

I was driven to make that print for him. I felt I had to give it to him. I messed it up so many times and did it over and over until it came out right. An intense dream created the metaphor of a bus taking me in an unexpected direction; I added the Raven; a trickster figure. He is devising, overseeing and fully intending whatever outcome occurs.

None of us knows which way our lives are headed. None of us can foresee the outcome. We are all on that bus whose destination is unknown. That scares the hell out of me.

Fear of Loss

I have written about this two or three times over the past few weeks, but each time I have removed the posts or portions of the posts that refer to my pdoc disclosing he is unwell. Each time I wrote about it, afterwards I felt I was being unfaithful, traitorous, untrustworthy, or unsupportive of him. I felt afraid that my apprehension and fear about him being unwell was both unhelpful to him, and proof that I am selfish in my fear.

I need to write about it though because I am terrified and extremely worried for both of us and it is really affecting me.

I am very concerned for Dr. X. He told me he has Multiple Sclerosis (MS). He needed to disclose this too me, because MS can be unpredictable and there may be (and lately have been) times when he needs to be away from work. I need to know why. I need to know it is not me when he calls and says he cannot meet for our appointments.

When faced with this kind of information my first reaction is to inform myself about what the information means. MS is a disease that attacks the central nervous system. It breaks down the myelin that acts as a protective coating for the central nervous system. It causes lesions in the white matter of the brain (an effect of the breakdown in patches of myelin). From what I have read MS can be a very difficult illness to manage.

Some people may have very few symptoms for long periods of time and then become ill for periods of time. Some people have minimal symptoms and some have very difficult symptoms to manage. It seems the disease's symptoms are very individuated to each person.

Symptoms can include (but may not include, or may minimally include): Vision, balance and short term memory problems, bladder an bowel problems, incoordination and muscle stiffness and sometimes paralysis and severe fatigue.

From what I understand there are four subtypes of MS:

Relapsing & Remitting MS; a type of MS where the person has times of relapse into the illness and then the symptoms remit for periods of time,
Benign MS: (unsure), but I think this is where the person with MS has minimal symptoms and years after they have been diagnosed they are still functioning very well
Progressive MS, which includes two sub-types:
Primary - Progressive MS- People with this form of MS have symptoms that continually worsen, with no relapses.
Secondary Progressive MS - This version starts out as a relapse and remitting pattern and eventually becomes unremitting with a continual gradual worsening of the conditions symptoms

That is the "education" aspect of my fear, then comes the sense of intense and deep sadness for my pdoc. He is so young (younger than me). Has a family, is so active and seemed so healthy. He is generally a "blank page" to me. He rarely talks about himself or anything personal. However, from meeting with him and talking with him I know a bit of what he is like.

He is extremely intellectual, well read, and I see an intense desire for him to learn and understand everything he comes across. I worry that MS will affect his ability to enjoy intellectual undertakings, like reading and remembering, in the way my depression and maybe also, the medications I take, have pretty much destroyed my ability to read, remember, follow any book that is more difficult than a newspaper.

Short term memory problems can really be a huge barrier to being able to follow plot lines, or in the case of academic articles, scientific information. Not being able to read has caused an intense sense of loss in me. I hope Dr. X's MS does not affect him in this way. I also know he plays the piano, and is very physically active. I pray he is able to continue these pursuits. I am really worried for him.

Now comes the really selfish part. I am really worried for me too. A huge part of me wishes I could magically become better so I did not need his support. I want so badly to be better for him, so he had one less thing to worry about. I understand how a chronic illness can impact your life. I recognize that at some point he may have to use what energy and good days he has to take care of himself and his family. Even though I completely understand how his need to make himself and his health and well being need to be the most important thing in his life, I am terrified he will leave work. I am so scared I will never see him again. I feel afraid losing him will be a loss in the way losing my Mom was a loss.

I have never met anyone like him. I know that without him I would never have survived these past 6.5 years. I recognize I am stronger now, but I am certain there is no person on earth I could connect with, open up too, and be as honest and open as I am with him.

He gets me, like I know no other pdoc ever would or could. He understands my lifelong search for meaning and purpose. He always gives me the sense that I am a normal human being, with intense, yet not strange or unordinary struggles, without my feeling dismissed or misunderstood. He understands how important my dreams and their symbolism are to me and my life, how much value I place on my struggle to create, expand and relay my search for meaning to others and how important my working towards a purposeful life is to my well being. He gets me.

I am so afraid I will have to start from scratch with someone else; that I simply will not connect to a new person, that I will need to spend this long learning to trust someone else, Most of all I am so scared I will lose my connection to someone who is as important to me as someone in my family. Even if he needs to leave work to take care of himself. I am terrified of the sense of loss I would feel if I could never see him again.

Kicking and Fighting

I have never been one to accept that I have limitations. I think part of that has been helpful in my struggle with Major Depressive Disorder and it's partner "Anxiety". However, I also understand that fighting against my depression and anxiety; not accepting I have an illness, has hindered my becoming well.

Some of you may think; "what the hell, she talks about it in her profile and in all her posts. How can she possibly suggest she does not "accept" her illness. It is strange.

I can say it: "I have a mental illness. I am depressed and anxious. My life has changed dramatically because of these"

I can comprehend it: "Some people have a combination of psychological, physiological (AKA biological) and genetic factors that may predisposition them towards having a mental illness.

I can see how I may have been affected by all three: "I have numerous people in my family with depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder, I was a child who was predisposed to worry about everything from a very young age. I had numerous incidents while growing up that very negatively affected my mental well being."

I can see I need help: For years, off and on I have sought help via therapy. For the past 6.5 years I have received weekly therapy and been willing to try every medication on the planet to try to make myself feel better. I know something is not right. I know I have had times in my life where I feel like a completely different person.

The trouble is I kick and fight all the way. I cannot shake the feeling that this is all my fault; that had I lived my life differently, or made better choices I would not be in this predicament; that somehow I am different from all the other people I know who have mental illnesses. I can understand their illness is not their fault. I can see there is an outside force "making" them have their difficulties. I cannot accept the same for me.

I often wonder if the medications and the therapy don't work, because I am not depressed. I am not mentally ill. I am simply stubborn and lost. I hate who I am, and I feel like I made myself this way.

For instance, my fatigue: Every time I talk with my sister about it she says, "I find that the more I do, the more energy I have". She tries to get me to do more to feel less tired, but I cannot bring myself to do more. This feels like a personal flaw; if I really wanted to get better I would swim, and exercise, and clean the house, and make dinner, and have a shower, and do all the things that a healthy person does.

If I really wanted to get better I would take that 6 grams of salmon oil religiously everyday. I would take a multivitamin and B-Complex vitamin everyday like my pdoc suggests. Who cares if it means I have to take 8 more pills on top of the 10 other pills I already take throughout the day. Who cares if I keep forgetting. If I really wanted to get well I would find a way to remember.

If I could accept I had a mental illness; not just say it, or understand what that is, but really accept that some of what goes on in my head and with my body is out of my control I think I might begin to let go and to get better.

If I could stop fighting against the suicidal ideation, the self loathing, the anxiety, the intense fatigue, the amotivation, the absolute terror and fear of being left alone, or being embarrassed, or being rejected; if I could accept these are symptoms I cannot control, I might be able to relax and stop trying so hard to get rid of them. Ironically this might be the path to them leaving me.

I need to find it within myself to ACCEPT I can do what I can and I can try to do things. I can hang on, and survive, but I cannot CONTROL all my symptoms. I need to learn that have an illness where what you can and cannot control is ambiguous. I need to believe that I am trying as hard as I can to get better, and that is all anyone wants me to do.

Loss

I am at my sister's. She lives about 250 km from me, in the town my Mom used to live in before she died. I used to come to this town all the time, but since Mom died it is almost impossible for me to come here. It feels empty and I feel alone and sad, even when surrounded by the family I love.

Yesterday I drove to the house my Mom used to live in. I haven't been there since she passed away. I pulled over at the side of the road across from her house and sobbed. I am crying right now. The loss of my Mom and how it has affected me is impossible to relay. I loved her more than anything in the world and three years after her death I am still having a really difficult time accepting I will never see her again.

I have been at my sister's for a few days now. I love my sister and her kids so much, but I feel more alone with them, than I do when I am alone at home. We rarely talk about Mom, and I feel like my presence is a reminder to her of our loss, and her presence is a reminder to me of that loss. I just want to go home, but I have to go to a family wedding today.

I am dreading it, in the same way I dreaded that party two weeks ago. I already feel dissociative and I'm not even there yet. I am exhausted and afraid of all the people I will have to be someone else for. All I want to do is go back to bed.

"Outing" Myself

I was wondering what other people do in terms of having a mental illness and how much or how little information they reveal about themselves to other people.

In particular "The Silent Voices in My Mind" made a comment on my "Fatigue and Depression" post about how her kids do not understand how, sometimes, it takes too much energy to talk on the phone.

First SV I want you to know you are not alone. I rarely answer the phone for the exact same reason, and calling people who have left messages for me is one of the most difficult things for me to do. I think I almost have a phobia of the phone.

I explained to my nieces this weekend that I have a mental illness. One of my sisters has told her kids, and I have mentioned it in passing to the other two before, but this weekend they all saw that I was taking pills morning, afternoon and night and they outright asked me what I was doing. (gotta love the curious and unafraid to ask anything aspect of kids)

So I sat down and I told them:

Me: "Auntie Aqua takes medicine because she has a mental illness".

Them: "What's that?"

Me: (unsure exactly how to explain it). "It means I have an illness in my brain that makes me feel really sad all the time. The illness makes me really tired and afraid to do or try things most people would not be afraid of. It makes me think sad thoughts."

Them: "WHAT???"

Me: "Well, are you ever sad sometimes? Or are you ever really scared of things?"

Them: "Yes."

Me: "When you feel like that is it because something makes you sad, like when someone hurts your feelings, or when you can't do something you want to do. Or, when you feel scared is it because something scared you?

Them: "Yes"

Me: "What happens when the thing that scared you or made you sad goes away?"

Them: "We are happy, or not scared anymore"

Me: "Well, your Auntie feels sad and scared most of the time, for no reason. I take medicine to help me feel less afraid, to help me sleep and to help me feel happy like you"

Them: "That doesn't make any sense"

Me: "My mental illness, a sickness inside my brain, makes me sad and scared. Something inside my brain makes me feel that way. I don't know why, it just does"

Them: "Ohh"....and then they all run off to play.

C.T. Scan Results

Re: my Post about going in for a C.A.T. scan...it was actually a CT scan (not sure what the difference is but nothing showed up on it. I asked Dr. X. what they would have been looking for. He said tumours, signs of brain damage etc. So I guess my increasing word finding, mixing up words and memory problems are either related to being depressed, or they are side effects of my medicine.

I do feel like I am far more confused and having more memory retrieval and word retrieval and word mix-up problems than ever before. It is so frustrating.