I took this particular blog below out of my Published format a while back now. I shoved it into Draft status. Said goodbye to negative content in the site uploads. On reflective reading again it was a very important decision to write it. The fact of depression comes from inside and outside sources. Since retirement? It has become a wonderful journey of positivity. It’s strange as to whether the experiences below belonged to the overwhelming nature of an unwanted lifestyle. Supporting others over a thirty year period and possibly feeling inadequate in abilities to do so effectively. I don’t know. There were times when I felt on top of the world as a nurse and supporting Deaf students. There were times of wringing your hands in angst. It never happened before when younger. Because when an ‘in artist persona’ existed it was a period where freedom and excitement existed in the acts of self expression. Musician, potter, photographer. That is why I have recent blog inclusions of why journalling and self expression in writing is a well being consideration. Fountain pens are more than an interest. They heal! Blogging and retirement are also great healers too it would seem.
The Blog. From a while back now.
“Until you’ve experienced the awful mind games? What happens? They Freeze your life’s purpose. When you should be experiencing Free your life’s purpose. Those unlooked for and unwelcome feelings of this mental health hot potato? It’s inherent badgering thoughts of ‘man up coz you’re supposed to be strong’. Express yourself in a positive light. Lose your boring negativity. Your boring me now. I’m boring myself now. People, I imagine, would say ‘If it matters that much to you, if it affects you that much? Just go see a doctor or a therapist and tell them you’re………….’
But it hasn’t got a simple name that lets you shout out your situation. And even if it had you’re too ashamed to actually reveal it. It’s always “This? This thing. This cloud of God knows what made it come alive and snigger and tease your mind”. It’s my problem. It’s part of my life. Part of me. And I live alongside it and it is has become my ‘fragile and quick to thump me in the stomach until I wanna throw up’ friend. My friend? It goes on holiday for a couple of days, but comes back and waves and tells you it’s stories….all over again. It even stays away for a few weeks and even better, months, enjoying it’s rest so it can come back with purpose and stronger than ever. It taps you on the shoulder and says ‘Hey! I’m back’.
I just don’t really ever, ever understand, or want or need to understand the despair inherent and the reality of this ‘I can’t see a way of getting out of this‘ situation. It lives it’s life and you live it’s life. It doesn’t kiss and make up. It throws it’s petulance with alarming force. So……what are we as supposed strong blokes to do? You imagine that many would snigger and say ‘You should be strong and man-up’. So you keep quiet.
Maybe we should all have a go at reading any written personal experiences and insight words that may change the self situation. The situation? You know? That wringing ringing in the brain that wakes you up at 04.18 am or an actual ringing 05.45 iPad alarm in the morning. A familiar ‘wake up call’ alarm on the iPad that trills that, as said, same old familiar Groundhog Day tune. It wakes you up with a mind battering ‘gasp’ and snapped eyes open expression of breathless……..ness. ’Hey!…..what just happened in that dream status’? A pulse rate at 150 beats a minute with grasp at images of the just escaped dreamed dreadful imagery. Then? It’s followed by fogged confusion and then the reality of ‘face up to another drudge filled and frightening‘ everyday and the same old, same old mixed up with a heaped spoonful of darker than dark darkness. Groan with ‘what the shit will the day bring and where do I go from here’ whispering on our lips. Dreadful. Not kidding. Absolutely dreadful.
You know what? I’m going to change the iPad alarm’s tune. Choice? A different one for everyday. iPad Apple, bless them, offer a whole list of trills and farts. There you go. That ‘Rainbow Cascade’ is going to be bin dumped and I’m waking up to Monday Mozart, Tuesday bird song, Wednesday waves on the shore, Thursday…….you get the picture.
So…….I’ll look for answers. The blessed bright spots in the day that actually do occur. Grasp them. Pull them in and hug them. Smell their freshness and vitality. Look for a self-help book or CD, music, hobby, walk next to the ocean, amongst the trees, up to a hill top, meditate, anything…..anything. Simply anything or, actually, anyone else’s story of surfing and survival of times where their monster was kept at bay.
Kept at bay? It’ll always be on the shore. But. As a staff nurse I myself taught ACT (the mindfulness based Acceptance and Commitment therapy course) to the local community. It’s one true, stand apart sentence? “You are not your mind!”. I have to practice what I pretend to preach. I am not my mind.
And then………..Some of the lines from ‘Hope for the Heartbeat’ lyrics by Bill Nelson spring into my mind.
Tender or brittle, take your chance,
Come to your senses, enter the trance
Here is a rumour I have heard,
You believe in your past like a weeping bird,
Sleep is the key to another world,
The things I dream nearly blow my mind away
Hope for the heartbeat
Hope for the heartbeat
Luckily. I have a wonderful ability. I can pull up my other mind. A more beautiful mind. I don’t have to believe one is inherent. It does exist. I write stories that show it is inherent. Sometimes it’s deep down there somewhere. Sitting, relaxing and getting stronger from having a holiday break. I can pull up the anchor that’s dragged it down to the oceans floor, head out to the sea, start a different journey and rub my hands because adventures await. Wave bye bye to that swirling part of my life cloud that hovers over the beach I’ve just left behind. Look to a new horizon. Look at the stars. Look at my family. Look at my friends. Anyone that gives hope. Anything that gives hope. That way. I’ll feel a little stronger and feel………I maybe actually belong in this world. Start over again. ‘Hope for the Heartbeat’ as Bill Nelson sang…”.