"Picking Up The Pieces"

 (Facebook post I wrote back on the 2nd of September, 2015)

A few years back I was walking to work, and started noticing pieces from a jigsaw puzzle scattered alongside the footpath. For over a kilometre the trail of pieces continued, and I thought as I walked, "this is SO like -for me, at least- what having a mental breakdown is like!" Life's pieces scattered; and a mammoth task to find them all, then attempt to put them back together. A task made impossible because some pieces are lost forever. So what do you do? Fortunately some pieces remained snapped together. I was never fully broken! I have been fortunate to have people in my life find lost pieces, and even help snap them back into place. Others have helped turn pieces upright, to make it easier to put "life" back together. Yet others I have felt, watching over my shoulder, resisting the urge to just reach over and put a piece they've spotted into place; because they know I'm stubborn, and, well, that can really irritate a jigsaw puzzler! There have also been times where I've tried desperately to slot a piece into a spot where ultimately it won't go, so I have to return it to the pile. And, alas, I KNOW I don't have all the pieces back. The tradition of finding and placing the edge pieces has made that quite apparent. My life has holes that, in some places, are quite large, and judging from the surrounding area those missing pieces obviously contain important details. What do I do with those gaps? Some I leave empty, hoping that one day the wind will blow that piece back to me. Others I fill in with self-drawn impressions of what I THINK should go there. Some are only crudely drawn with crayon, but others I have filled with vibrant hues of fine tipped markers that I have grown quite proud and fond of; so much so that I may well be reluctant to swap these pieces out if the original ones turn up! Some I continue to search for desperately, because I urgently want them back. Unfortunately I am well aware that there are some sections in my incomplete puzzle that are only now held to the greater part by thin isthmuses of a few interlocking pieces. These have a nasty habit of constantly breaking off, causing me to panic wildly and reach desperately to snap them back in place. Like the pieces by the footpath, some have not weathered well, and no longer snap tightly together. These sections will only be strengthened once more pieces are added back. To those who have helped to pick up the pieces -and some of you may be completely unaware you have- I thank you. And I thank those who have made it through this stream of paragraph-less, tense-changing consciousness. And yes, those ARE photos of the trail of pieces I saw that day!

The REALLY, REALLY, HORRIFICALLY URGENT thing you need to do.

(I originally wrote this as a Facebook post back on 16 Aug 2018. Posting here for ease of finding.)

Imagine you're on a bus. (I know that may be difficult for some of you, but humour me.) Something occurs to you that causes you to feel the need to take urgent and immediate action - in much the same way you would react upon seeing a child step out onto a busy road. Hold that "feeling" and stretch it out for a few minutes. You REALLY, REALLY, HORRIFICALLY URGENTLY need to do something about that "something" that occurred to you! Your legs are throbbing with adrenaline, your heart is pounding, you look frantically out of the window of the bus, and... see something you've never noticed before, on a route you've travelled hundreds of time. It's a football field you've seen many times during the day, but never before have you seen it at night under lights, as you suddenly see it now; it instantly conjures up the feeling you're in the middle of a scene from "Field of Dreams"! Then you realise you've been distracted- YOU have an IMPORTANT THING to URGENTLY ATTEND TO!!! NOW! Now. Now- what was it!!! The urgency is still there, your legs are still ready to run, your mind is racing again- but for the love of All Things Bright and Beautiful you CANNOT remember what it was!!! So all your focus, attention, energy and adrenaline are turned towards trying... Trying to remember! You are SURE it was vitally important... Unless. Unless your mind is just being a mongrel. You get home, still anxious, but now trying to tell yourself your mind is just being a mongrel, and there never was something requiring your immediate attention. There wasn't. You'd remember it if it was so very important, so there really wasn't anything. Was there? You eat your dinner, lovingly prepared by a wonderful, patient partner, and then try to destract yourself doing something you would normally enjoy. Maybe... driving a Toyota Supra along a beautiful section of Italian countryside? Maybe a friendly race with other drivers out enjoying the freshly-rain-dampened road? Usually something you'd normally enjoy (because- if you're perfectly honest with yourself- it's the only "place" you really feel safe "behind the wheel of a car") - but not tonight. The heart hasn't stopped racing, the legs are still in fight/flight mode, and you are just angry. Angry at the Artificial Intelligence that just cut you off on a corner. Angry that your GPS is giving you really vague directions. Angry that some fool decided to plant a palm tree "right there where you can't help but hit it." Angry that the race that is meant to be distracting you from your anxiety is just feeding and growing that anxiety, so you make dumb mistakes, that you then blame on "distractions" that happen around you - but not a lit-up football field this time, but your partner who has just come home from yet another trip out playing mum's taxi (because there is no dad's taxi, because see-above) and is just playing with the cat. And you recognise how much of a jerk you just were, and turn off the game. It certainly wasn't helping, which doubly hurts because you've lost (at least for a while) a coping mechanism. You fumble around with a round-about sort of apology to your partner, and explain (also to a cluey child who is present, and old enough to know what's going on) the lead up to what they were hit with. And it seems empty, and foolish, but they seem to get it. Anxiety sucks. It is hardly surprising that depression is it's bedfellow. It strikes without warning, in the middle of a thought, in the midst of happiness or sadness, often with no discernable trigger. Asking "what prompted that" is meaningless. Sympathy and attention is not wanted, just a hope for an increase in understanding. Your reality may vary. This is mine. Except now I'm trying to write this with a cat on my chest. Yes, the cat is real. I think.

"So, what are you doing with yourself now?"

(So few people are subscribed to this blog that this is the easiest place to put this post in case I need to "explain my circumstances" to someone. If you do happen to stumble upon it and decide to read its riveting contents, knock yourself out. In fact, reading it may well have that effect!)

The question, though fully expected, still catches me like a possum in the headlights.

"So, what are you doing with yourself now?"

Most people who follow me on Facebook know that I was made redundant ten or so months ago, but since then my feed has been full of self-taken photos of beaches and mountains and other bushwalking-type images. So the question is probably a reasonable one (barring the question of, "Who's business is it, anyway!"), but I still hesitate a moment as I run through my said-in-my-head repertoire of replies:

"I work as a Sub-Contracted Mercenary and Assassin for a Group of Chartered Bounty Hunters."

"I'm a Submarine Propulsion Technology Consultant for the Swiss Navy."

"I and my team, are in charge of Reversing the Polarity of the Neutron Flow in the Large Hadron Collider"

"I'm a Horse-Whisperer at Flemington Racecourse"

And then I fumble with a mumble of an answer, "I'm still sorting things out," or "I'm between jobs," or, fudging between the ridiculous answers and the feux-truth, "I'm doing some photography/ conference videography/ photo restoration." The cold, hard truth though, is that after months of living off a redundancy, mixed with facing up to gruelingly impersonal demoralising interviews, waiting, more reviews, waiting, and more interviews, I have been formally placed on a government Disability Support Pension.

No Swiss Navy or Whispering to Horses, but also no "solid self-sufficient-income self-employment"?!? What am I doing, you ask? I'm a pensioner at fifty-one, and we're surviving.

For twenty-five years I worked at the same place, on a low wage, paying taxes, surviving. I'd often be asked through those years that very same question, "What are you doing with yourself?", as if your very value to society hangs in the balance - your answer immediately determining a pass or fail. And I would answer, and watch the look in the eye as the coin was tossed. But I always knew in my depression and anxiety-ridden mind that it was a double-tailed coin; a fail fait accompli. 

The judging then comes. "You're smarter than that; capable of far greater things than that; why are you not doing A or B, or even C? You're a natural at those!" These things are sometimes even said verbally by the other person, saving me the agony of yet-again saying them myself in my head for the thousandth time or more! And yet, there are no accompanying carefully pre-prepared replies to share. That would suggest a mind that plays fair. 

Now (being placed on a Disability Support Pension), those questions -spoken or unspoken- will be asked louder, and with more incredulity. And with added judgement; maybe in their minds, but definitely in mine. "A disability Support Pension? What? I see no wheelchair! No cane or guide dog! You slacker! You bludger! You drain on the public purse! YOU ARE BETTER THAN THIS!" You may not say any of these things aloud. You may not even (and may whatever merciful God you might believe in, bless you) say these things in your head. But that is all for naught, for I have already said them for you, in mine; many, many times over. But paradoxically I have enough self-evidence and external diagnosis to also give me the truth, even though it is that very truth that makes it hard for me to accept.

A recent wind storm ripped through an area of forest I often walk the tracks of; ironically I take these walks to relieve the symptoms of my disability, and consequently self-judge (for my family and friends) that this very activity is more evidence that there is nothing wrong with me. The day after the storm I walked my oft-travelled path, only to be confronted by obstacles of fallen tree limbs, and even whole trees. Some of these trees were very familiar to me, and I was shocked at how strong the winds must have been to fell these seemingly immovable, strong timbers. It was only upon closer inspection of a few that had been snapped off at their bases, that I realised it wasn't just the strong winds that dropped these trees. Under a layer of solid-looking, invincible-seeming bark was a compromised, rotted out, weakened interior. It was only a matter of time for these mighty-in-appearance timbers to topple.

Yes, it is a simplistic analogy. But I reluctantly accept it has merit. I have seen the report that reads "Colin has fragile mental health and he meets the DSM-V diagnostic criteria for chronic anxiety (Generalised Anxiety Disorder), Panic Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder and sleep disturbance (Insomnia), which all lead him to feeling helpless and hopeless as his medical and mental health will never improve to a level which would permit him to return to the workforce in any capacity now or in the future." And still I hear "Faker!"

I have read the report that says, "Colin (has developed a) lifelong fear and anxiety due to hypersensitivity of his autonomic and sympathetic nervous system as a result of his 'fight and flight’ response being permanently turned on historically and indeed most definitely currently… Colin's conditions mean that he is in chronic and permanent state of fear, anxiety and panic all the time with his conditions flared with even the smallest task or daily living activity out of his comfort zone." And I hear, "Bludger!"

I have read the report that reads, "it is clearly evident that Colin be eligible for the Disability Support Pension given that his mental and medical conditions will never be fully resolved - he will never recover from his medical nor mental conditions as they are progressive in nature, and it is thus highly unlikely that he will ever learn to seIf-manage his anxiety, panic, and depression, as a result of these conditions being linked to the wiring of his brain rather than a chemical imbalance correctable with medication or an environmental stressor which can be changed." And yet I still hear the voice cry loudly, "You drain on the public purse! YOU ARE BETTER THAN THIS!"

I share this, not for sympathy, but for understanding. Understanding that whatever I do that seems "normal" or even "adventurous" or "overly ambitious" are my often-futile (buying a motor scooter to gain greater self-mobility? Trying to get an overly-ambitious short film made?), BUT occasionally wonderfully spirit-rewarding and sticking-it-to-my-stinkin'-mental-illness (finally getting a slightly less ambitious Short Film made, and still having most of the cast and crew still speaking to me? Pushing myself and my son to do a weekly podcast? Recognising that something is "special" enough to photograph, and actually photograph it? Donating blood products? Or, more essentially, just getting out of bed? Getting out of the house?) attempts to at least thicken that outer bark; to do whatever I can to improve my outer-resilience, because my inner is pretty well fried. Apparently. Or I'm just a pathetic slacker. It's hard to tell when you aren't confidently able to identify your genuine reality. My mental illness lies to me, for good and ill, constantly.

Now you know all this, may I ask a few things of you? It may seem counter-intuitive, but nine times out of ten a suggestion of "Have you tried X? I hear it's very effective/ my cousin uses it / it completely healed my own (sounds a bit like you've got what I've got) mental illness." I am very willing to ask advice of individuals, but this post is not an open invitation for unsolicited advice. I could certainly write a post at least as long as this one covering all the things I've given a good ol' go at, so it's more than likely that I've tried "it".

Also, and this may seem unrelated, I implore you that if you are currently in any way supportive of the yet-again proposed drug tests for welfare recipients, and a Cashless Welfare Card, I ask that you spend as many hours as I have sitting in a Centrelink waiting area. You will quickly realise it is NOT filled with "junkies squandering your taxes on meth and ice". It is filled with "You"- but "you" who has just been laid off, or injured and suddenly unable to work, or replaced by a robot/computer/consolidated team running out of Melbourne. It's filled with people like You, and definitely people like me. If you want "easily-potential-you" or definitely-me to have to be watched peeing into a cup for a drug test that has been a huge waste of money in places like New Zealand, or to only be able to buy things at designated stores using a restricted (and most likely privatised-and-making-a-rich-person-richer) debit card, then so-help me, unfriend me now. The utter humiliation and frustration of enduring the Centrelink "system" -which is now a jumbled mess of cobbled together "smart ideas" from decades of election promises, including the expectation that everyone young and old should be able to navigate their way around an app that seems purposely designed to befuddle, confuse, and crash - is already cripplingly dehumanising. Add drug-testing and payment restrictions to the already down and poor and you are not capable of true "friendship" in my books.

If you've made it this far through my ramblings, I thank you. Understand that most days I'm doing okay. Ask me to do stuff with you; there's a good chance I'll decline - but please keep asking. I don't do "peopling" well, but it's another potential way of thickening my bark.

Also understand that today, as I write this, was not one of those "I'm doing okay" days. The last few have been particularly sucky, in fact. If you need that as an excuse to filter this post, though, I suggest doing so with caution. It may have reduced my abrasiveness filter (for which I am sorry if that is truly the case) but I believe all I've said is what I intended to say in the first place - but maybe with half the words!

With love,

Colin

Submarine Propulsion Technology Consultant for the Swiss Navy

The Impossible Task

This post is a "reprint" of a Twitter thread that I have stumbled upon a number of times over the last year, and reread each time. I share it here mainly for my own benefit for finding it again, and maybe increase the chance that someone who needs it may stumble upon it.

I claim no responsibility for the content, and have maintained the enforced Twitter "Paragraph" structure as much as possible, except where the author indicates a flow on to the next post, where I have joined them up. I have also put a break in where M. Molly Backes returns to the thread a few days later to respond to the overwhelming reaction her original thread caused.  The illustrations are also in the same location in this reproduction as they are in the original Twitter thread post.

I thank her again for her succinct words, that ring so very true for me, and hope she is OK with me sharing them here. The title I have taken from the post itself:

The Impossible Task

A Twitter thread by M. Molly Backes

Aug 28, 2018

Depression commercials always talk about sadness but they never mention that sneaky symptom that everyone with depression knows all too well: the Impossible Task.

The Impossible Task could be anything: going to the bank, refilling a prescription, making your bed, checking your email, paying a bill. From the outside, its sudden impossibility makes ZERO sense.

The Impossible Task is rarely actually difficult. It’s something you’ve done a thousand times. For this reason, it’s hard for outsiders to have sympathy. “Why don’t you just do it & get it over with?” “It would take you like 20 minutes & then it would be done.” OH, WE KNOW.

If you’re grappling with an Impossible Task, you already have these conversations happening in your brain. Plus, there’s probably an even more helpful voice in your brain reminding you of what a screw up you are for not being able to do this seemingly very simple thing.

Another cool thing about the Impossible Task is that it changes on you. One time it might involve calling someone, but maybe you can work around it by emailing. Another time it’s an email issue. Then when you think you have it pinned down, you suddenly can’t do the dishes.

If you currently have one or more Impossible Tasks in your life, be gentle with yourself. You’re not a screw up; depression is just an asshole. Impossible Tasks are usually so dumb that it’s embarrassing to ask for help, but the people who love you should be glad to lend a hand.

If you have a depressed person in your life, ask them what their Impossible Tasks are & figure out ways to help—without judgment. A friend once picked me up, drove me the two blocks to the pharmacy, & came in to help me refill a prescription. TWO BLOCKS. It was an amazing gift.

The one good thing about struggling with Impossible Tasks is that they help you to be gentler & more empathetic with other people in your life, because you know what it’s like. You know. The trick is to turn that gentleness & empathy toward yourself.

_________________________________________

Sept 2, 2018

Hi everyone! I am overwhelmed & deeply gratified by the response to this thread. I have loved hearing from so many of you, & it has been beautiful to see you lifting each other up. I have been trying respond to everyone but I'm afraid there are simply too many to keep up with!

To answer a few common questions:

1) "Impossible Task" is not an official name, just what I've always called it. A psychiatrist might use the term "executive dysfunction."

2) Experiencing this does not necessarily mean you're depressed; it can be a side effect of many conditions including anxiety, ADD, ADHD, OCD, PTSD, autism, grief, stress, fatigue, chronic pain, etc, and/or a combination of the above. If you're concerned about your particular experience, I recommend seeking professional advice (& yes, I realize that can be its own Impossible Task!)

3) Different strategies of treatment--including medication, talk therapy, CBT, meditation, exercise, smooching puppies, etc--work for different people. What works for one might not work for another, & what worked for you in the past may not work in the future.

Let's not be too prescriptive with each other, because statements like "This worked for [whoever], why doesn't it work for you?" or "My cousin was depressed until she started training for a triathlon--why don't you do that?" often feed our inner voices of guilt & shame and lord knows that none of us need MORE guilt rattling around in our brains.

4) Unfortunately, there is nothing you can to do fix someone else. You can't "make" someone get better, no matter how much you love them. It sucks, I know. And sometimes, you can't even help them!

People who are struggling with depression, anxiety, etc, may not allow you to help them with their impossible tasks because they're so embarrassed about them. That's ok! In those cases, you can always leave the door open to future help, & just love them fiercely in the meantime.

5) If you're currently struggling with one or more Impossible Tasks, you're not crazy, you're not lazy, & you're not alone. Try to be gentle with yourself. Beating yourself up isn't helping! Consider asking someone to help--sometimes just having company during the task can help.

6) And finally, despite what depression tells you, this won't last forever. There will be a day when you're able to tackle a whole stack of old mail, or drive straight to the post office, or get out of bed without effort. There may even be a day when you WANT to! Those days usually come incrementally, not all at once. But one day, hopefully in the near future, you'll feel like your favorite version of yourself again, and it will feel like seeing the sunshine for the first time in ages. It's coming, I promise. Until then, hang in there.

Take care of yourself, even if that means cutting major corners in your life, or not being "productive," or living on Netflix & takeout for a while. It's okay. And try to let others take care of you, too, even when you don't believe you deserve it.

Remember that people want to help you because they love you, & allowing them to do something for you is its own form of kindness. Don't rob your friends of the chance to feel good by helping you do something that's impossible for you but a cinch for them!

Last thing: whenever you're tempted to beat yourself up for being "lazy," remember that you fought harder to get out of bed & get yourself dressed today than the average person could even imagine. You're not lazy. Your mountains are just that much steeper. Keep going. ❤️

After Two and A Half Years...

For more than two and a half years I have been doing what once I would have considered inconceivable. For the first year consisting of two visits a week, then once a week,  I have been seeing a psychotherapist.

On Tuesday,  the twenty-fourth of September, I had my final visit. I said farewell to someone who has become a dear friend, and now knows more about me than I know about myself. She is moving interstate and so, like a bird with a once-broken wing, I am being set loose into the wilds.

I have such mixed emotions right now, but things are good. I have changed a lot over the time I've been seeing Lizanne; I am certainly not the dazed, confused, and outright suicidal blubbering mess that presented at her door the day before being admitted to hospital.

But some things haven't changed.

I  still  struggle with major anxiety, being prone to panic attacks at totally unpredictable times. I wish I could do a brain switch with those who cannot comprehend how real these are. The bouts of depression certainly are less severe, but the black dog still visits. Crowds still freak me out, and to be honest, people freak me out! If I can avoid social gatherings, I usually do. Meetings kill me; if I turn up to one it is a miracle - if I participate,  even more so. I also still have a hard time accepting praise, belittling the reason for it, not feeling worthy of it. Praise is just awkward!

That being said, I feel joy once more! What may be insignificant to many has taken on new meaning to me; the exquisite taste of banana, fluffy clouds (even snow clouds!) the swirl of the Milky Way overhead on a clear night, the tantalising odours of the main local restaurant strip, a walk in a rainforest, a dip in the ocean, or lake, all bring joy where once there was none.

Mental illness is a cruel, insidious, deadly brute.  I deem myself incredibly lucky to have a tender, long-suffering wife who has been and continues to be an incredible strength to me. I have been fortunate to have received incredible community health nurses, who have shown genuine concern and given professional care. I have the utmost admiration for such amazingly dedicated professionals. I have (after some very disturbing and horrific mis-fires) been put on medication that, although not without its side effects, has smoothed some of the bumps and dips. I consider myself most fortunate that work has been very supportive, and that I have some at work whom I call true friends, who put up with me and watch my bottom - er - back. Family and friends have been of immense support. And there have been a great couple of podcasters who have on innumerable occasions put wind in my becalmed, cabin fevered sails, and made me laugh inappropriately in public. They may never know how much influence for good their hilarity has done.

And I am grateful that after one bad experience with a therapist, and an ineffectual one with another, the community Psychiatrist put me in contact with Lizanne.  I STILL don't know how conversational psychotherapy works - the sceptic in me is still incredulous at what these sessions have done for me. But they have, I totally concede, been of immense benefit.

The mountain that overlooks the city in which I live has been the topic of many a session; it is another source of joy. After riding home by bus after a session that happened on the same day I picked up my new camera (another source of joy!) I stepped off the bus and happened to glance up at the mountain. I was in awe - so much so that I walked a hundred metres away from my house to get a better shot. I had the photo printed on a small canvas as a "thank you and farewell" gift. She was a bit overwhelmed,  as was I. She said that she'd love to put it in her new consulting room. We discussed that a bit and concluded that some may find it foreboding and gloomy. It just shows how far I've come, I guess. This image makes me happy!

So... I'm therapist-less. I'm not seeking a new one; the thought of picking at newly formed healing scabs makes me... well... depressed! So I'm going it alone - except I'm not. There's all those I mentioned before with me, plus others. If you got this far reading this... stream of consciousness, then you are probably with me too. No doubt there are going to be some times of turbulence, and times that I'm not going to be so fun to be around (that hasn't changed!) but I'm hoping I can tolerate all this company.

Thanks!

12 of 12, February 2011. Where have you been, oh Semi-Sane one?

OK, first things first. The last thing I want this post to be is a big, dramatic, "let's feel sorry for essgeethree". However, I feel some explanations are in order for those who really care about me, who may not be aware of where I've been lately. It is fortuitous that I occasionally participate in a 12 of 12 project (The 12 of 12 is a photography project designed to capture a day in the life of people through 12 photographs on the 12th day of each month), that may (or may not!) make this a little easier.

So, this is where I have been since the 2nd of February:

Yes, I'm in hospital. And maybe should have been some time ago- even years! Back in August maybe, when things got very dark, very panicky, very anxious, and very depressing. And got worse... and worse... and medications clashed... and well... things got pretty bad.

The view from my bed, looking up.

I was fortunate to score a single room...

With bed...

An en-suite...

A table and (after four days) a chair...

A view of the oldest continuously operating Theatre in Australia...

And the Pub next door to the theatre, that has provided some "excitement and entertainment" some nights (yikes!)

My good friend Gorbak provided much needed hours of entertainment (I love it!)

I am quite enjoying some books that are most entertaining (if you've seen the show QI, you might get an idea of the type of things these books might contain)...

And I'm not so enthusiastically reading the books they'd probably prefer I read!

But they are keeping me fed.

And I'm getting better. Honest.

But for the cachers out there, maybe you may now understand why I call my MIBH period my "Van Gogh/Spike Milligan" period.

Please don't be offended, but I'm really restricting visitors.  Truth is, I overwhelm easily at the moment, and, more importantly, if you haven't been to the Psych Ward before, you won't know what hit you! It is a very confronting place!

I now have occasional release (so I'm whipping this blog post off at home), but don't have my laptop in hospital. I do have a phone that allows me to check emails, and check any blog posts, etc, so I'm not completely cut off from the outside world. But I'm not good at talking on the phone!

Sorry if this has come as a shock, but let me assure you it's been more of a shock to me!

Take care all, and I'll hopefully see you on the trail some time soon!

EDIT: I arrived back at hospital after posting this, went back to be let back into my room, only to be told that "I'm afraid we've had to move you to another ward, in a 4 bed room!" I'd been warned that that could happen at any time, but it was still a shock to the system! However, it was an inner comfort to realize that it wasn't anywhere near as overwhelming as when I first arrived at hospital, and was put in a 4 bed ward- for about 15 minutes, before they asked if I'd like a single room!

My meal was lost in transit, so I ate whatever was spare, and rang Wendy with the news. I then went back to my room to make it "home" as much as I could.  The next moment the nurse came in, and said the Doctor wanted to see me.  Odd, because it was Saturday evening... I hadn't met him before, so we had a bit of a chat. He asked how I felt I was going, and I said the last four days had certainly been an improvement.  He then dropped the bombshell: "would you like to go home?"  He gave full disclosure- "Beds were real tight, but we'd never send you home if you, or they, didn't feel I was ready."

So... I'm writing this Edit at MY kitchen table! There is a long road ahead, but I'm feeling safer, and happier, than I have in quite a while. I'm still fully expecting stumbles. I haven't been to work since the first of December, so that is going to be a challenge, to get back on the horse (they have been so wonderfully supportive at work)

Just understand that I'm changed in many ways. My passion for things is variable. My memory is shot. My attention span is very random, and my ability to spell (which was already woeful) has suffered too. I may seem rude, abrupt, or distracted (OK, maybe that hasn't changed!)

But I now have a far greater "appreciation" and understanding of the absolute reality of Mental illness.  I ache for all those I passed and nodded greetings to in those lonely hospital corridors. I ache for all those I have judged flippantly in the past, with a casual "Oh, get over it!" without having a clue as to what they were/are going through. And I long for the Black Dog to stay out of our yard!

God bless.