The black cavern of depression

Depression. Suicide.

It's in the news right now following the death of Robin Williams.

I find the hardest thing to read is not the gut wrenching stories about his death but instead the responses from people who obviously have no real idea about what depression is. Its not a bad day or even a bad week. Depression is never ending  - or at least that is how it feels when I am trapped within it. I can't just think myself happy - don't you think I would if I could? Believe me please when I tell you that no-one would willingly choose to be trapped within this torture. I think I am one of the lucky ones. I finally found my way through the most recent - and worst - episode. Which is why when life started to feel grey, and I felt trapped and powerless, and even with all the wonderful people in my life I felt that it was all about to be taken from me. I found myself panicking and terrified that I would fall back into the blackness.

When I started psychotherapy three years ago in September 2011 I could not feel anything, I could not label feelings because simply I was in the void of black. I used colour to try to make sense of what I was experiencing. It started very simple because that was all I could comprehend - and I could barely differentiate between the states of black and grey - but I thought I could remember some days in the past that weren't so bad and so I labelled them grey. Over time I realised that there were shades of grey - light and dark - progress at least. I also learnt that there are shades of black. The deepest darkest black is so dark it is as if I am in the deepest cavern of the planet, suspended in the centre, lost with no sense of which way is up down sideways - it is so black that it is pure nothing emptiness, its like being suspended in petrifying darkness with nothing holding me in place, just hanging there in nothingness. This is the scariest black, because all control is gone and all that is left is surrender to the darkness, it is an almost calm place and the only escape at that moment seems to be death. I never want to get to that cavern again.

Together my therapist Susan and I tried to look at the other end of the spectrum. I pulled out the colour white to describe the happy place - to be honest I really couldn't even think it in my head, the happy place no longer existed in any part of my reality. To me though, white was the colour I would desperately try to envisage surrounding and protecting me from the darkness - I would look at anything white and try to see that colour around me - I figured white was a good goal - even if I couldn't find the colour in my own head let alone the supposed positive feelings that would be there. But over a long period of time I started finding grey days and even light grey days - and then possibly moments of white - white held hope and possibilities. White was almost a transition space, a space to sit in safety while trying to develop the bravery to explore what might be next. I remember Susan asking me what might be after white. I had no answer. My only goal at that point was to get to white. It was unimaginable that there could possibly be a colour space beyond.

2013 came along. Yoga, ending my marriage, meditation. And finally the day came when I found what came next. Colour. Vibrant shades of colour. And warmth. And the smell of Mother Earth - Papatuanuku. For me these had been taken from me so gradually as the blackness crept in that I did not know they had even once existed - until they returned. What followed was a yo yo few months of darkness and light, black and colour. But the colour got stronger and stronger until one day I realised that the black had gone and the grey had faded to near nothingness.

Which is why the return of black, so soon after the death of Robin Williams threw me. You see I desperately want to live and to live well - with my children and my new partner all of whom I dearly love. But this time I had ammunition. Three years of therapy has given me insights and knowledge. It has given me strength I did not know I had. The crying and the swearing and the desperate need to stay in bed wasn't enough to set the support strategies in motion. Until the morning I found myself cutting my long hair off - a form of self harm for me - and then wanting desperately to burn again. I reached out. I let my best friend know that I wasn't OK. And she rang me. Often. And she messaged me. And the black lifted a little. And I told another close friend. And it got easier. And I was honest with Susan at our next session.

This wasn't a depressive episode this time, it was only a couple of weeks of darkness. I used the tools and insights I have gained over the last three years. And the black lifted, the grey eased and the colours crept back. We won this time. And I was proud of myself.

But the black still scares me.

Yoga block

This week has been hard. It's been super busy starting a new job, juggling the needs of others while trying to meet what I need to stay well. The youngest minion is embracing his new life and opportunities at High School by joining groups and attending after school events - which means no buses and trips over there to collect him and ferry him to the next event.
And on top of that was the therapy session - the one that seemed pretty low key. But it wasn't. Because I came away from there angry. so angry it exhausted me to the point of crawling into bed when I got home and sleeping for an hour. So angry that I stayed awake in the early hours of the morning, listening to Lily Allen's Fuck You. OVER and OVER and OVER.
Who was I angry with? I was able to compile a list today - once I had calmed enough down to be rational enough to think. My list went like this.

 I am angry with:

Rebecca
My mum
With Susan
My life
The world
The universe.

So maybe the label "rational" is stretching this a bit.

Now this is the bit where we get to the yoga mat. The bright orange yoga mat. My sanctuary. My space where I have learnt to tune into myself, to feel, to trust my mind, body and spirit. But today I am angry with my mat. I refused to get out of bed and get on it this morning. I stayed in bed so long I had no choice but to step over it with disdain as I got ready for work. I stepped over it and thought it was such a stupid fucking colour. I stomped over it as I returned and thought that I was so stupid to be so attached to an inanimate object. I was angry at the mat. And at yoga. And at myself.

I went to the beach for 1 1/2 hours this evening. I sat and then stood on the rocks for this time, reflecting on these feelings, thinking about what I was feeling and why. I focused on the energy beneath my feet, within the rocks, around me on the wind and in the waves and above me in the rays of the sun. I tried to breathe, to connect to all of these things, to connect to myself, to let go as I have done in that same place many times before. But all I could feel was the anger swirling within me, the tenseness in my jaw, in my back and hips, and especially in the clenched fists that would not relax. And I realised that the anger is irrational, that I don't understand it, that it scares me. I could not just let it go - because I don't understand what it is that I need to let go.

And this is the block that stops me getting on the mat. It is fear. Irrational fear. Fear of the irrational anger. Because I don't know if I want to understand this anger, I don't know if I want to let it go, I don't know if I am ready to understand the emotions beneath, the emotions which the anger covers. And it is knowledge. The knowledge that the mat is a place where my understanding grows and expands. It is where I am connected with myself mind, body and spirit. But right now it is that very connection that I am afraid of.

Breathe Deeply

Breathe Deeply

Breathe deeply
Hear  the drops of rain fall from the leaves
Hear  the stillness, the peace between the drops

Breathe deeply
See the small green pitopito, pushing up through the dark leaves
Emerging so slowly it cannot be seen, but still moving forward

Breathe deeply
Smell the rain of Tawhirimatea
Cleansing, refreshing, promising new growth

Breathe deeply
Feel the strength of Papatuanuku
Trickling into my palms, into the soles of my feet
Calming, bringing stillness and peace to my soul

Breathe deeply
Everything will be okay, I will be okay.

6th February 2013

Pride or ego or denial?

13.10.2012

EGO

Pride goes before a fall

I thought I was different
I thought my story was different
I thought if I wasn't like them
It wasn't so bad

... I thought if I didn't feel sadness
And I didn't feel hurt
Then it didn't deserve that label
I could, should, shut up and get over it

But I was wrong

I blame her so much more than I thought
I hate her
I wish she didn't exist

But she is me

I should have remembered
That fear is anger is sadness

I denied the sadness and the hate
I pushed back the fear
And now it overwhelms.
 

Ripeka

Circles of abuse

My life seems to be a canvas of interlinking and never ending circles - even though I would like to claim that it is a carefully controlled and linear landscape.

I just re-read a blog post by Cruiseroo Vigaland: Out From Under  where she wrote about women who stay so long in abusive relationships - her post was specific to women escaping from the control of their abusive fathers.  I didn't have to face that - it all stopped as I got older and my father was not abusive. But I have struggled and still have days of total denial that my husband, the man I met at 18 and married at 22, the man I have lived with and loved for 22 years, the man who would stand up for me with all his being if anyone ever hurt me, the man who works to provide support services to families in need, families experiencing trauma and abuse, has created an environment of abuse for my children and I. This same man is an alcoholic, who has controlled so many facets of my life, who has a mean and manipulative side that emerges when he drinks, a side that emerged more and more over the years, a man that I have lost trust in and even begun to fear. And I don't understand how it got to this place.

So, Cruiseroo asks the question - why do women stay in abusive relationships? My answer is there are so many reasons ... denial that it is really that bad - he never hit me therefore it wasn't that bad

FEAR - such a big one. The fear that no-one would see beyond the nice guy, no one would believe me - the same fear that stopped me from ever telling as a child. The fear that he was right and I would not be able to cope on my own - that our son, a child with behaviour problems, would be unmanageable, that I would not be able to financially survive - such a huge trigger for me. The fear that in leaving him it would trigger the rage that lies beneath his surface and that his manipulation and nastiness would escalate with me as the target. He has always boasted that he destroys anyone who crosses or hurts him - and I have witnessed him do this.

My children -everyone tells you to not stay in a relationship for the children's sake - I know this, and yet I did. I shut my eyes and told myself that it did not effect them, that they were okay.

But, I have become a stronger woman, through therapy, through setting goals to let friends into my life, to trust them, to share with them the true me and the truth of my life, they have validated that I truly am okay, that I am worth it, that what I experience isn't normal, it isn't okay for me or my children.

And so when he woke me to inform me that he had written a letter to me, and he read it out, giving the ultimatum to stop being miserable or to separate, I didn't burst into tears, I didn't beg him this time to stay, this time I didn't promise to be better - I quietly agreed that we had reached the end, that I couldn't do any more to make our marriage work.

That was a month ago. And I am surviving, and perhaps even thriving at times. I AM stronger than I thought possible, I no longer return home anxious to see if he is home or not, if he is sober or not, if he has taken the children with him out drinking. I am safe, my children are safe. And we are getting there.

And the circles ARE there, I am slowly recognising the patterns of behaviour, the patterns which were laid down as a child, when I had no control, when I believed I deserved no control, when I didn't believe I was worthy of controlling what happened to me or my body. Now I take back the control, not in the wide sweeping swathes that the adult me wishes to gather, but instead in small baby steps which do not scare the child inside who struggles to believe that this will be okay. But she is learning and gaining confidence, and with each small baby step, those confused interlinking circles are untangled and a new picture is emerging.

Does this explain it a bit?

"Substantial documentation exists in scientific literature of the association between CM and a broad range of emotional, behavioral, and physical health problems. These consequences may vary depending on a child’s age when victimized, duration and severity of the abuse or neglect, the child’s innate resiliency, and co-occurrence with other maltreatment or adverse exposures such as the mental health of the parents, substance abuse by the parents, or violence between parents."
(CDC - ACE study - Preventing Child Maltreatment through the Promotion of Safe, Stable, and Nurturing Relationships between children and Caregivers. http://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/pdf/CM_Strategic_Direction--Long-a.pdf )

It really makes me get angry with myself when I think of what happened and my overall long term reaction to it all. Because I think to myself - who are you to get so fucked up over what - by comparison to so many - is really quite minor. Now I realise that this is part of my minimise/denial strategy but it doesn't stop the knee jerk hate myself/you don't deserve to feel like this reaction.

I really struggle to accept that I have so many "classic indicators" of a survivor of sexual abuse. I struggle because even after 15 months seeing a therapist, and I still want to deny that it was so bad - some days it takes her to remind me - she reminds me that I struggled to get away, she reminds me that I had no control when he came in my room, she reminds me that they pinned me down. And still I get so scared that I try to justify what happened - I don't want him to get in trouble. I love him but I hate him.

Why can't I?

I just read Elizabeth Beck's latest blog post, and it made me cry. Again. She said you can never have too many friends. I find it hard to make friends. Real friends. Friends I can trust, friends I can turn to when I feel like I do tonight - sad, alone, when the desire to not be here starts flashing again. I know I'm stronger than that, I look at my boys and know I need to be here for them, but the monster whispers in my head that I'm fucking them up too - if only I could make the strong decisions, somewhere inside I think I'm probably strong enough to make it on my own, other women do, surely I can do it too.

Tonight I thought the boys and I were going out for dinner at a friends house. I thought I had organised it on Sunday. But when I rang this afternoon her husband answered the phone and he knew nothing about it, he suggested maybe later this week - even though I thought he knew we were going away tomorrow. In my head I crumpled. As irrational as I knew it was I knew that what had happened was that they had got sick of my shit. You see, one of my goals in therapy has been to trust more - to open up with a couple of close friends about what is happening, what happened before. And I have trusted his wife, my friend. At the same time as this has been happening my husbands drinking has got worse, his verbal mind games have got worse and there are times I have been afraid of him. He is burning bridges around the community and damaging friendships. And I am scared my friends have had enough. Maybe it's just too hard to maintain the friendship with me. Maybe I'm just too much, too fucked up. I didn't know all this shit was inside of me. I'm sorry.