Tag Archives: depression

IN THE CUL-DE-SAC

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I should listen to my own advice about starting. It’s not that I don’t want to. Sometimes I have to go through the period of being stalled, being hung in limbo, midair, not wanting to commit. Call it what you will. Maybe it’s my ritual of some sort. It’s good to have rest periods. I do feel an obligation not to waste time, to fill every moment of useful doings.

I’ve been caught in the limbo of not doing for days now. Every evening I catch myself saying, I will start in the morning. In the morning I find it is so much easier to sink into tomorrow is another day. It’s not that I’ve been a couch potato. On the contrary I’ve been on the ‘busy routine’ of living every day, doing the famous ‘busy stuff’ that everyone does.

It’s not that I have so many important things to do or to contribute. It’s that I’ve been  stuck in the cul-de-sac of lassitude, of not caring, of not having meaning, of not being important, of not being present. Perhaps it is called feeling sorry for myself or being in a depressive mood. My favourite excuse is that summer is not my favourite season. It brings out not so good memories of growing up in small town Saskatchewan. Everyone in town goes away to the lake or wherever on holidays, except the Chinese people who has the cafe. Oh, I remember those hot summer days of watching flies drone against the window screen and looking out at the empty dusty streets.

It’s strange how memories live in the very marrow of me. They are hidden deep inside and seep out on hot summer days. No need to worry about me. It’s just the way I talk/write. It’s healthy to be curious and investigate my feelings. It’s good to lay them down on the page in black and white. These ebb and flow of feelings are part of being alive. Feelings come and go like the tide. It’s like breathing in and out. Some are good and some not so. I’m still learning to accept them all, to sit with them as I must.

I’ve been reading Pema Chodron’s The Places That Scare You. I’m learning about Bodhichitta, being a warrior and staying in those scary places. It’s helping me to finally relax into life and not take things so seriously. Life is serious but things are not. I’m seeing the light now. Times when I don’t will come again. I have the words now. They could go away tomorrow. It’s all a cyle, the yin and the yan. That’s what I know for sure.

 

GOOD MEDICINE

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January is over. I’ve finished posting for the Ultimate Blog Challenge. Now I like to write for the Heart Month of February. Writing, photography and posting them are my therapy. I am not a good or professional writer and photographer but I love the practices. I hope I am improving in both as I go along. Like my Bernina sewing machine, I’m made to create. I rid my stress and distress through these expressions. It is better than exploding and imploding.

I woke up last night with a mini panic attack. I had this feeling of breathlessness. My mouth was so dry and my throat tight. I could not take a deep breath. I tried to shrug and laugh it off, rolled over and tried to get back to sleep. It didn’t work. Fear started to creep in. Thoughts of all my COPD patients flashed instantly through my mind. I wondered if I was an empathetic nurse to them. I know that I offered treatment – inhalers, nebulizers, more oxygen. I would call the doctor if all failed. But was I understanding? Was I kind?

Now the shoe is on my foot. I am the patient panicking in the night. I had experienced it once before. It was much worse then. Experience does help. I comforted myself, got up and walked to the kitchen. I put the kettle on for some hot water. I wondered if it could be my sinuses. I looked for my saline mist and my nasonex. I am a patient and a nurse all in one. I slowly walked my kitchen, drinking my hot water. It was calming.

I knew better than trying to go back to sleep right away. I sat up in bed with two pillows behind my back and read. It was a journal from years past. I was always thinking and scribbling, especially when I’m not feeling good. Whether those scribblings of feelings were true or not is debatable. It tells me 2006 was really a hard, hard year. I was coming off celexa and using natural remedies. I’ve forgotten about the St. John’s Worts and 5-HTP.

I can understand why I had stopped reading my journals. I wrote mostly when I was feeling bad. Reading it now, I would say I must have been damned depressed all the time. That is if I didn’t know me. But I do. What I know for sure is that yes, I fucking sure struggled alot. It was worth my while. I remember remarking to a counsellor that every time I filled one of those psychological assessment forms, I feel that I don’t need counselling. I have never felt hopeless. Her observation was it’s a good thing.

It is a good thing, all my struggles. I don’t regret anything. I do feel like a failure at time. Failing is not a bad thing. It gives me a chance to do better. I’ve never been ashamed of my depression. I’ve never hid it. I do talk about it. I’m not being brave. I’m seeking a solution. For the month of February, I’m writing for my heart and brain. I can see from the now vantage point, I have come a long way. I have been off all medications prescribed and natural for depression since 2006. Instead I got Sheba. She is good medicine. But she was hard to raise from 2 months. It took years. Now she is perfect.

GETTING IT ALL OUT

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It’s wise men who say don’t watch the news before bedtime. All the world’s tragedies flashed before your eyes in a matter of minutes. The gas explosion in a bakery in Paris, killing 3 people, the bus crash in Ottawa, killing 3, injurying 23. The story on where our plastic waste ends up (in Malaysia) sent me into despair and depression. I felt the ridiculous efforts of our recycling. I threw in my innocent and laughable hopes and went to bed.

All this is still with me this morning. No such luck as to sleeping it off. I feel depressed, down but not out – yet. I’ve fallen off  doing Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages. I’ve come here instead. Who says you have to write it out longhand with pen and paper? Tapping on the keyboard is an effective tool for me. Adding photos and videos satisfies some of that creative need in me. Doing all that defuses some of my negative feelings.

Talking about negative emotions, are they so bad? Is it shameful to admit we get depressed, disappointed and unhappy? Must we feel elated all the time? What about when bad things happen? It’s only normal that we feel ‘bad’. There are times when anger/whatever is the only logical and healthy reaction to have. I feel so confused when people put on a polite front. I feel such a failure in their presence.

At the same time I’m so sick of  hearing about wounds and healing. Are we all walking around ripped open and bleeding? I don’t mean to be insensitive. I am was/still is in woundology (Caroline Myss’s terminology) myself. Sometimes I DO hear myself (now). It’s time to change my tune.

I’ve gone on long enough. Talked and revealed too much. Time to shut up and say good night on day 13 of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. I’m feeling challenged.

 

ON DEPRESSION, THERAPY AND MEDICATION

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It’s no secret that I have trouble with being cheery sometimes. It feels like that most days but I know that is not true. There are people who think I AM a happy and cheerful person. Who am I to argue the point? The times that I have sought counselling, there’s always forms to fill asking about your feelings.  After I have completed such forms, I’ve always wondered, What am I doing here? Because at the end, I come to the conclusion that I’m always hopeful. When I mentioned it to the counsellor of the moment, he/she said: Well, that’s good!

The last time I sought professional help, the psychologist was impressed with me. He found me quite ‘fascinating’. It was more like myself counselling myself and he was the audience. In the end, he was not very helpful except as someone to listen to my venting. I clearly understood my problems. Solutions are hard to come by. How could I expect a stranger to solve them for me? He was no Peter Pan nor Tinker Bell. He had no magic wand or fairy dust.

Still when difficult time arise, I  want someone to give me an easy out. Checking through a list of professionals, I fired off an inquiry of cost. I was not surprised to get an answer of $120 per session. Since I am no longer working, I have no insurance. I would have to shoulder the cost myself. From past experience I decided that it would not be beneficial. It would not be a one session deal. It would be an expensive glorified “I feel sorry for myself crying my blues” party. I could talk to my family physician but he is always encouraging me to go on antidepressants. I am not a fan of them since they stirred up my lichen planus.

I’ve discovered this space is calming. It gives me breathing room. After I’ve tapped out my angst, I feel better. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I do tap out joy now and again. I find hope and inspiration and sometimes even solutions. Doing anything that interrupts my thoughts, that can give me a different slant on things can make me feel better. Even going down the stairs to the basement makes a difference – a different space, a different outlook. Everything I can do builds me up.

 

SUMMER TIME BLUES

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I’m just passed my least favourite part of the day – lunch and its aftermath. I don’t know why that is. Today is the worst. I haven’t fully recovered from my cold. I still have that occasional hard to shake cough, echoing head and the weak in the legs fatigue. I’ve been to the doctor 4 times this month though not all were related to my cold. The garden is begging some TLC. I’ve been poking at it, not even managing to weed my 2 rows of peas along the fence. They’re getting choked out by self-seeded cilantro and weeds. They’re also crying for water though it had rained the other day.

It’s been this kind of a summer. I’m feeling its blues. How could I not? I could be the poster woman for the all year round depressive. No, I’m not ashamed or afraid to talk about it. Maybe I should be  but what’s there to be afraid or ashamed of? I’m acknowledging my feelings and seeking solutions. I’m trying to engage my left brain and right brain in a dialogue with each other. Two halves can make a whole. Two heads are better than one. More is better. I’m trying to console myself. Self love. Talk about euphemism! I’m on a roll.

I think the after lunch dirty dishes, pots and pans are symbols of the mess of life to me. When I look at the whole enchilada scattered on the counters, I just want to close my eyes. My God, how in the hell can I put everything right again? I feel whipped with fatigue and helplessness. There’s nothing to do except sigh and move however I can and at whatever speed I can.

I am always delight in fooling my feelings. I take pleasure in showing them up. I can do more even though they sit on me and try to pull me down in the deep dark hole. Sometimes it seem like I’m moving like a robot. Mechanical is ok. I keep moving until things are done. The dishes, pots and pans are washed. The mess in the fridge calls out to me. I can hear it even with the door closed. That’s the thing. I know it’s there even when I can’t see it. I’ve learned I can rest better when I answer its call. It’s not difficult after all.

I know it’s summer and it’s holiday time. I think I’m suppose to be happy, carefree and having a whole lot of fun. But I was never that kind of a girl. I’m not that kind of a woman. Growing up as a child of immigrant parents in a small town, summer was never what I called ‘fun’. It was lonely. School was over and it seems the whole town was away on holidays except for us. That was my perception at the time.

That is my perception today, too. Everybody is on holidays and having fun, except me. The difference now is I know IT IS NOT TRUE. It’s just my blues vocal of the moment. Tomorrow I could be singing a different tune.

 

I, ME, MYSELF – BEING BEST FRIENDS

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My cold and cough are still with me. They do not make for good company in summer – or any other time of year. Like all bad company, they’re hanging on. My coughing fits woke me a few times in the night. In the end I had to get up and sleep on the couch as before. But at least I did sleep.

Life is very difficult with a nasty summer cold and no sleep. But it still has to go on somehow. I still have to get up, dress up and show up. It’s not an easy task even on an ‘ordinary’ day. Being susceptible to the ‘blues’, I’m being watchful, taking care not to let this take me down the path of depression. I’m alerted to the dangers of the brain not working properly. Anybody can be victims as we’ve seen in recent days with the suicides of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade. Being a celebrity chef and a fashion designer are not free tickets to life happily ever after.

There’s no shame in depression. There’s no shame in failing to thrive at all times. I just feel bad and annoyed at myself sometimes for the depression. Because really, it is very inconvenient. There’s things I have/want to do. It gets in the way. I’m learning to accept my ‘down’ times. I think my body and brain are telling me they need a rest. I think I better listen. They know me best. If I, me and myself don’t take care of each other, no one will. We are our best friends.

 

 

2 EGGS, 3 STRIPS OF BACON, 2 SLICES OF TOAST, HASH BROWNS AND A COFFEE

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It happens. I’ve had a couple of not so good sleep nights. I suffer for it. I really do. I notice it all the more now that I’m a recovered sleeping person. But like all recovered/recovering people, I fall off the wagon occasionally. The good thing is that I haven’t resorted to all my previous coping methods or behaviour – much. I haven’t fallen back into the teapot, staying with my 2 cuppa day limit. I was tempted. You know that feeling, groping towards comfort drinks and food. I was tempted to head out to A&W for that promise of an awesome breakfast yesterday. 2 eggs, 3 strips of bacon, 2 slices of toast, a hash brown and a small coffee for only $4.99!

As luck would have it, that coupon had expired the previous day.  To do myself proud I had already nixed the idea before I realized that. I have worked hard all winter learning how to break the habit of myself. Apparently Dr. Joe Dispenza knows his stuff. His method is working for me. For sure I am struggling a bit alot. It shows that I’m not caving into my previous habitual self. No pain, no gain as they say. I’m accepting my flaws. I’m embracing my humanity.

I must admit that I have a bit of the blues, not the curled-up-in-a-ball, down and out kind of depression. I’ve never had that kind. I’ve always struggled up. I’m an irksome, annoying kind of Chinese chick. I keep getting up and wanting to improve on things. I think I’m good enough now. I’m working on things. Finally most of university and nursing textbooks are recycled. I’ve kept the one for my class on the Philosophy of Religion. The class and the professor were privotal in my young life. He could see that I was troubled and floundering. He cancelled a scheduled class to spend the hour with me.

“The class today is cancelled. Miss Leung, may I see you in my office?” He announced. I can still hear the shuffle of feet and gathering of books as my classmates rose from their desk. They cast glances at me on their way out. I wonder what she did, their expressions queried. I followed my professor to his office. The memory is more precious to me now than at the time. It is only in the present I recognized how valuable that hour was. I’m not feeling at all insignificant but valued. Even though my mentor, Caroline Myss says nobody is special, I’m feeling special.

It’s a cool day. It’s almost 2 pm and only 11 degrees Celsius. I’m not feeling overly ambitious but I’m still piddling steadily along. Like the FlyLady says, I’m not behind. I’m starting where I am. Though I didn’t feel like it, I’ve put all my bedding plants out again on the deck. They’ll toughen up and get sturdier for their permanent transplant in the beds later. I’ve cleared off another small area in the basement, organized my sewing stuff, collapsed and folded up the table. I’m finishing my thoughts here and taking the last sips of my Rooibos tea. Yup, going herbal and organic. Now to tend to the lunch dishes.

WHAT IF?

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It is getting late in the day. A storm is coming this way. “Total snowfall amounts of 10 to 15 centimetres are forecast to fall by the time snow begins to ease on Sunday. Easterly winds of 40 to 50 km/h will occur.” We are happy to be home ahead of the storm. We are tucked in. Sheba can skip her afternoon walk. I am not inclined to head out after our road trip. A change in our routine won’t hurt anyone. She is not complaining.

What can I say about my day? I’m proud to report that I made 3 phone calls this morning. One was to confirm an appointment. Two to book tickets to a play at Persephone Theatre. Three to book my Honda in for another recall for a faulty airbag inflator. Simple acts and yet mentally hard on certain days. Procrastinating on them adds more weight to the difficulty. Acting on them lightens the load. My mind isn’t preoccupied with undealth with issues.

I spent time reading a few more pages of Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself  by Joe Dispenza. I try to glean one or two points from each day’s reading. I should have made notes right after because now after many hours, I have to think and dig deep. What I remember is how surprised and delighted to find his voice similar to Caroline Myss’. All matter is made of energy including ourselves. It is universal. What is in one is in the whole. Thus, we are all connected. What I/each of us do affects the whole. What we put out into the universe will come back to us.

The universe is not looking good to me these days. Watching Russian President Vladimir Putin and U.S. President Donald Trump last night on the evening news certainly didn’t help. I could see how easily our world can be destroyed just like that – with a snap of the fingers. I don’t know how it affects everybody else. It depresses me. I wonder how we got here and where will we go next. How can I be excited about life on earth where nothing and everything matters?

That’s where I was this morning upon waking – not excited. It was not a good place or good way to be. I had to do a Byron Katie turn it around thinking. Is it true? Is it really true? What if it isn’t and I am excited? What if I am excited and everything does matter? What if I just put in that extra effort? What if I pretend I am excited? What if I just pretend till it becomes real?

THERE ARE NO WONDERS

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Something wonderful happens when I eat a chocolate chip cookie. I double the pleasure when I have two. My grumpiness melts. That headache fades. Sheba crowds near, hoping for an oops and a few crumbs. I give her a few little frozen carrots. She is happy and gets to clean her teeth on them. Now she gives a grunt of satisfaction. We’re both down for the count. She’s on the floor. I’m on the chair, tap, tap, tapping some insight and wisdom – I hope.

I know that I will pay for my chocolate frenzy this week. I know/have my boundaries. I can’t keep eating them every day. Maybe we will walk a little faster and further today. It is +3C right now. There is no point in wondering what’s wrong with me and the weather. Don’t waste time asking the unanswerable questions. This is how it is. Get on with it. I am – getting on with it. There is POWER in the getting on. There is movement and results. When you just wonder and wonder, all you get is a headache.

Let me tell you the story of my wonders. I could never accept things/people/situations as they are. I wonder WHY, THEY MUST, THERE MUST BE. I always want to find explanations for everything, everybody. I am never ready to face the truth of what is before me. There MUST be another reason, another time, another chance. It WILL be different….. It’s no wonder I’m where I am, eh?

I have to give up on that wonder lust and wander as on foot. Sheba and I have wandered far on our walk. It is a balmy +6C degrees. We took our time, sniffing the dead exposed grass, rolling on the icy backalley. All the quirks worked out. Paws wiped clean, Sheba goes into the house. Meanwhile, I tend to the messy business in the backyard. You guess it, Sheba’s poop. I could very well have turned a blind eye and not see. Somehow, those things can’t be ignored. They are there in the head without eyes.

I take it as a measure of my mental health that I CAN do it. I WILL HAVE to do it at some point in time. Why not now? If the need and the idea arises, why not do it now, if possible? I bend to the task. It is not difficult. One, two, another one…into the bag. It CAN be hard. It’s not glamourous. There is no skill requirement. I will not receive any accolades from anyone but myself and maybe other depressives. We know how difficult such tasks can be in our moods. I hear their applause in the recess of my mind. I take a bow. Thank you! Thank you! Much appreciated. The yard is looking better. I didn’t get it all but it was a full Superstore bagful.

What next? A cup of tea, of course. My life is measured by cupfuls. Not a bad measurement. My cup is always full. I do count my blessings. Mostly to myself though and here. I try to keep my stuff contained. It’s good to have boundaries. No need to broadcast. Hear ye! Hear ye! That’s is not me. It’s good have a safe space. I hope you have one. It’s not that I’m secretive. I’m discreet but I do share. Do you?

THIS TIME TOGETHER

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These days are really hard to weather. Two days ago, it was minus 30 something Celsius. Sheba and I were shivering with long johns and scarves on our walk. Today it is +6C. Sun shining, snow melting, puddles of water everywhere. Why am I not dancing for joy? If it was that easy, I would dance. I would kick up my heels and do a jig. The reality is I feel like hell. My shoulders feel heavy, weighed down like a linebacker. I am not loaded down with shoulder pads, just the weight of the universe. My legs feels like cement pillars. I can’t run anywhere. Where would I go anyways? I couldn’t even muster any power to go to aerobics today. Hell with it, was my attitude. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I am sure there are others feeling the same.

I know myself fairly well. I’ve always been aware of my bodily discomforts with change of weather/temperature. I know it. I should not doubt of my own reality and poo poo it and feeling guilty. If I don’t believe myself, who will? So I shall just buckle up my own self, Buttercup and deal with it. It is why I have created this very space – to inhale, exhale, to console myelf. Who else would believe when I talk about gremlins and evils, that they exist, that I feel them?

I am heavy with fatigue. My head thick as can be. My neck sore and stiff. My eyes ache in their recesses. But I am working out my kinks and quirks. I am unravelling my knots. I am not at all happy with how receptive my wiring is. It’s not as if I can pull a plug or take out a fuse. If I could, I would. I should work for the CIA. They would pay well. But all I can do to mute their signals is tap here and paint there. Both processes soothe and smooth me. I get some satisfaction in the end. It’s not paying well, though, not monetarily. However, I’m being paid well in that some have told me they find my blog helpful. That is a very big compliment. Imagine how good it made me feel on a bad day to read this post. Thank you, Des! And I am getting recognition for my art work within my Instagram world. I am quite happy with my progress in that direction. I’m still improving, too.

I’ve tapped away that lump in my throat. My shoulders feel looser, my heart lighter. Nothing is wrong. Do not worry, dear readers. It is my way of problem solving. I sound in dire straits and all but I am not. I have had people inquiring and offering me hlep and shelter in the past. I sounded that bad. But I am not there. We writers and artists tend to be melodramatic. We feel things deeply – pain, joy and all the doldrums. That’s how I am. Tomorrow I might still be in this space. Or I might wake up and feel the tightness gone. I will know. But in the meantime, I’m still doing, tapping, painting, giving Sheba shit. We did it all today – the walk, the dishes, ate those chocolate chip blocks. I probably should not make any more. Might not make it through the door by February. I could make some pretzels instead.

January/life is f***ing hard. I didn’t say the whole word though I’ve done that often when I was still working. Nurses are bad for cussing – out of earshot, of course. Somehow it always made me feel better. It’s like a big exhale. Whoosh! There, all that bad stuff is gone. I can make a fresh start now. What I’ve learned now is not to use any other pronoun other than I, me and myself. No you did this to me or it’s their fault. There’s to be no blame. It’s a hard lesson. I take full responsibility for my life. It’s all about me. I will forget now and then, being human. Remind me if you catch me. I would thank you for it – I think.

Since I am such a weather vane, it would be helpful to learn how it can affect the body. It might prepare them and spare me some hardships.  My curiosity now led me to google what happens when the temperature goes from -30 C to +6 C. All that comes up are lots about global warming. Take a look.  It’s here.

I feel that our lives are already never the same again. I know that our existance is greatly threaten. Tomorrow might be just another 10 years and no more. I like to spend this time well. I like to do my best as best as I can. I’m tired now. I like to sign off like Miss Carol Burnett.