One person's lost treasure is another's albatross

I moved recently, and in the flurry of purging paperwork, donating clothes, furniture, etc., I found a few old journals.  From the late 1970's family road trip across Canada, to the diary I tried to keep within the last 5 years. 

Sadly, I am a spotty writer, as this blog can attest. 

Sometimes when I am caught up in the moment of drama, family dynamics and even occasionally euphoria and joy, I don't put pen to paper... or fingers to keyboard.  I just continue sailing onward without documenting my experience. 

I do this.  For example, when this whole thing went down with my mother, I didn't immediately put pen to paper.  I let the anger, the frustration and all that rest in my heart and soul for a few days.  One of the things I've struggled with for decades is the fear of my anger... you see I have/had a temper when I was younger.  A very.  Bad.  Temper.  A temper that at one point saw me taking someone to the ground with my hands around their throat and if it hadn't been for someone pulling me off... well I really do shudder to think what could have happened. 

In the introspection that followed years of therapy and reading of self-help books/tapes etc., I came to understand that after that particular incident I started stuffing my anger down.  Follow it up with the death of my maternal grandfather who I loved so much and the little still photos and vignettes of my childhood that I do remember, and you have someone who stifled the anger.  Afraid in case I hurt someone... afraid to show it because of repercussions from my Mother.  Afraid to show people I wasn't in control.  You see, in our house growing up, if you slammed a door... you were showing anger... and frequently I remember... I really remember... getting the strap, getting grounded... or worse getting spoken to by my Mother and when Mother got angry, everyone got their clocked cleaned.  No one was immune except maybe my Father.  I don't remember my Mother ever talking to her Mum or my grandfather like she did my brother and I, or even my Father. 

Anger was bad.  Since my anger could be blinding... could be called a rage at times, I sat with it, let it dissipate... relived what made me angry... in this case what happened with my Mum... that I waited 3 days before I write my "not for mailing" letter.  This was the letter that every Counselor told me I should write... then read aloud... then burn.  It would help get it out of my system.  So I did it - I write the letter - and it turned out to be regular size font 12 and 12 pages long.  I read it, reread it, and cut it down to a manageable length, which was the letter I actually sent to my Mother. 

I'm falling back here so I'll follow the breadcrumbs back to topic.  When all this purging was going on, one thing I did find were a bunch of journals.  The road trip, the journal I began during my organized religion phase before, during and after baptism, and the sporadic writings I had over the next 25 years.  I would always pick a beautiful journal, not a school, spiral bound book, but a 'nice' journal. 

I had decided to shred them, but before that I decided to sit down and read some of them.  Wow.  I had forgotten some of the things that happened.  Several times Mother and I had gone months without speaking for one reason or another. Then I would contact her for one reason or another... like misplaced loyalty (my current brain thinking)... and we'd get back into cycle again.

I say cycle because what was glaringly clear was her manipulation and abuse of my emotions.  I'm not innocent - I have always tried to get my Mother's approval.  Buy her affection way back when.  Now my Mother had told me multiple times over so many years, that after being hassled by my Grandmother for 'raising me wrong' she handed me over to my Grandmother and then focused on bringing up my brother.  She has told me this multiple times.... now I realize she was trying to hurt me... even if it was truth, it hurt.  Don't get me wrong, I loved my Grandmother dearly, but telling me it was too much of a hassle to tell her to get lost... obviously I didn't matter.  I remember clearly (in movie format almost) in the late 1980's when I was proudly wearing my first corset... it gave me an hourglass figure and with Dolly Parton and Mae West sporting the hourglass look, I was lovin' what it gave me.  I arrived at her house, all excited and feeling beautiful and showed it to her.  My posture was outstanding, the girls were perky, and I had a waist.  A waist!  Wow that was a big deal. 

What I got was "you were not raised like that.  That's disgusting."  BOOM.

I took it off before I left and I didn't wear it again for years.  I felt horrible, stupid, ugly and like I was 5 years old.  That's what I think is emotional abuse... what I was told by my first Councillor. 

Anyway, what I found by reading these old journals was the cycle of manipulation and abuse Mother and I went through.  It would be fine for a while, then something would happen, she wouldn't get her way, she would act the Martyr, starting hurting, blaming, there would be silence and then I would contact her because I was worried, I was trying to be a good daughter, or I was telling her about a death in the family.  Three times in the last decade alone - besides this last and final one.  I didn't realize it was so... so... cyclical.  One would think I mad masochistic tendencies... well maybe I do.  After reading this I wonder. 

Now when I drive past where she lives, I wonder how the dogs are; wonder what she's saying to people about me, about us.  Wonder how she would react, and how I would feel if we crossed paths.  I don't know why but I miss her.  If she died I would be sad for what we could have had... same with my Father.  Sad that we could have had a better relationship.  Love isn't in me for either of them any more.  There are times I am surprised I can love anyone, or anything.  I know I don't love myself.  It is not in me.

Just When You Think You're Out of the Dark

You know that feeling when you think things ARE going to be ok... when you see the darkness lightening to shades of grey... when you can smile at your dogs... even crack a joke with your husband... and then it happens.

The depression and anxiety come back full force.  It is not just the dark feelings and moods but the physical symptoms that crush you.  

With me certain joints are much more painful than normal (I have osteoarthritis in a few joints); I have back and side pain and one shoulder (I call it a wing bone) that moves out of place when the muscles are tight which pulls my collarbone out of place too; and unfortunately digestion issues are nasty. I have read that some people can experience explosive diarrhea or constipation, not to mention increased acid production. Unfortunately I'm experiencing issues which my anxiety-laden-hypocondriac brain runs full tilt into the wall with.  Is it the big "C"?!  Is it a "Tumour"?! Is it something even worse?!  

Like so many in the digital world I googled stuff... not helpful normally, but in this case I came across WebMD and The Mayo Clinic and their take on the physical side of depression which makes me think my issues may be related.

I've already noted that I don't care as much about food as I once did and I'm an emotional eater, so I'm not eating the same things, not eating normally.  Normally for me includes protein, veggies and some but not a lot of carbs... when I eat my emotions... its everything - popcorn, chocolate, carbs (even if they do hurt).  Lately I have been living on protein bars, greek yogurt with fruit or salad and cheese since I just can't be bothered cooking, eating or grocery shopping. Contribute to my stomach issues?  No idea but it is possible.  

What about enjoyment in things?  I thought I was feeling better this weekend.  Over the last month and a half or so it is been hard to listen to music.  Now I am a music lover... I used to play organ, violin and some other instruments but I am an avid listener... to classical, folk, blues, etc.I have not been able to listen to music and enjoy it for over a month.  I had no patience for it.  Weird as it sounds, sometimes music triggered rage.  That's another tick on my list of "what's wrong with this picture".  

I think my current depression was triggered by my husband's recent diabetic infection related hospitalization.  There is more backstory to this but the short version is he was admitted to hospital and spent 2 weeks there and 1 week in a rehab facility.  Now for the past 5-8 years I've had to do a lot more or shoulder more responsibility and activities because of his disabilities.  Ok.  I did that and kept going - which is something I know millions of other people do so why am I so special.  It is that this time my reactions... my feelings are different.   Over a day or so I worked out a schedule of work, housework, dogs, hospital visits, and all the other things that needed attention.  It went ok.  I guess.

Then I started not tolerating music; not tolerating my friends; being more negative than normal and since I am normally a "glass half empty" person that stood out.   I started avoiding people at my workplace (and I really enjoy my coworkers and my job).  When my husband came home I factored in all his various appointments, made up time at work, tried to keep it all on an even keel... but that's when my paddle was lost and I found myself going up shits creek emotionally. 

I sunk.  Away from my husband, dogs, home business, music.. you name it and I have been avoiding it.  I feel anger toward my husband... that because he didn't take care of himself the way he took care of his patients... that is why we are living the way we do.  I love him but I feel so much anger towards him that it hurts.  

The pain and ice cold fingers and toes, the back spasms, the irritated colon, the impatience with everything in the world... and my rages and I do mean rages.  Rages about stupid things... even down to not being able to turn off the music fast enough when I just couldn't take it any more.  Now when you have a long fuse... like I did... it was easier to manage or I fell back on bad habits and just stuffed it down until I was able to deal with it later.  Not so this time.  

This past week I was consuming continuous radio plays as a means to fill the silent gaps while I was working when on Youtube something crazy happened.  All of a sudden in one of the random plays was a piece of music - Allegri's Miserere mei deus.  I have never heard this before... but it started playing and I remember sitting there frozen in place.  I closed my eyes and it started to wash over me in a glorious stream of sound.  I do believe in the power of music... and as a former choral singer I have a crazy love for the best instrument - the human voice.   For the last few years I have been unable to sing... I used to be a Barbershop singer, choral singer and a karaoke singer but the depression robbed me of that enjoyment.  But THIS piece of music... I'm not a religious person at all... in any shape and form.  But the passion, the love, the beauty that was poured into the writing of this piece overwhelmed me.  This was the piece of music that brought me back.  

I admit the first time through I cried at my desk... the soaring angel wings on the soprano... the harmonies.  For the first time in just over a month I could love... and I mean LOVE a piece of music.  For 5 days straight this played on constant loop at my desk.  Wearing headphones I could block out the noise of people talking, printers and other workplaces sounds.  After this piece I fell back on something else.. Mozart's Requiem in D... the one he wrote for himself... you know the one in the movie Amadeus that lead up to his death.  It is dark, emotional, haunting, soaring.... it is a living thing to me.  These two pieces of music went into my playlist on loop.  My love for music was coming back.  In fact as I'm writing this blog those pieces are playing on loop.  

Having music back in my life made me think I was on the way out of this depression.  That I would be ok... and would be me again.  I was wrong and on Saturday I was hit by that train on my way back from a nice day with my hubby doing enjoyable things in another town.  Halfway through the day things started to go down hill.  I can't pinpoint whether it was trying on clothes - because I have body issues - or when we were visiting a familiar haunt.  Maybe it was while I was treating myself to something just for me.  Maybe it was being back in the middle of traffic-nightmare-central (big city).  I don't know.  I do know that beginning the drive home I had to turn the music off - even the classical music station.  I tried some great folk paradies in the soundtrack from Mighty Wind that we both enjoy and usually sing along with great gusto.  I couldn't do it.  On went talk radio, then silence.  The nice day was over... and in fact, I think, ruined because of me.  

Even today I ended up going out for one errand and then driving aimlessly around alone and in silence.  Just when I thought it was getting better... the lightbulb shattered and in the dark it cut and I bled.... blood and tears.  I don't know what happened.  I sat with my husband and cried... trying to tell him what I'm feeling, that I'm worried (thank you hypochondria) and when he mentioned I should talk to a mental health counsellor I lost it.  

A close friend, who I know thought she was helping, said she thinks I am having a nervous breakdown.  That silenced me truly to her this week.  She doesn't know how I feel and I've never shared feelings about that.  She doesn't know about my father's multiple supposed nervous breakdowns when I was growing up.  She doesn't know how much I HATE the thought of being tarred with the same brush as him.  She doesn't know - but I do - and that hurt me.  That startled me.  I am not even a year yet coming out of the depressive and anxiety ridden closet.  I shouldn't feel this way but I do.  

My husband thinks I need to talk to someone about my current state.  In the long run I probably will, but I can't do it right now.  I get up every morning, paste a smile (or a close facsimile) and do what I have to do at home and at work.  BUT - I hide in my office because it takes time these days to work.  Faulty concentration.  I know I have all the symptoms of a major depressive episode right now... but I also don't want to face it.  I'll have to face it for the rest of my life... "it" and my (to me) many other issues.  And right now I can't do it.

I am sitting here listening to the requiem, trying to sound coherent as I type and edit this post... and try to convince myself that I'll come out of the dark soon.  But that shattered lightbulb has plunged me back into the darkness....  and like I wrote above, I feel like I'm already cut and bleeding... or is that tears... or both?