Friday, 5 December 2008
A Very Emotional Ride
For the first time for several weeks I actually managed to sleep last night and I didn't resort to medication to bring it about for the reason that although the medication does ensure sleep, it also means that most of the morning also passes without me being conscious and that doesn't bode well for a psychotherapy session. I fell asleep quite quickly last night and while I did wake in the night, I did manage to get back to sleep and I was woken by the alarm going off.
I got up and did all the normal Friday morning ritual, but somewhere along the way I managed to be quite a bit later than normal in leaving the house. I wasn't too worried because I always arrive early for my 10 o'clock appointment, so catching a later bus didn't worry me too much; I was sure that I would be there in plenty of time for my appointment. I was. In fact, I arrived earlier than I do most Fridays. Explain that if you can.
When the psychotherapy session started, I didn't. I found myself unable to speak, I just had no idea what to say. In the end my psychotherapist got things going by asking whether there was a reason why I had gone back to the silent starts of earlier sessions after having been able to speak straight away for several sessions. He put forward several suggestions as to why this may be and in the end I had to agree it was a combination of all of them. I was scared that the subject of Christmas might arise again, I have been feeling very low over the last few weeks and there doesn't seem to be anything on the horizon to brighten my viewpoint, and I was angry about the missed sessions.
The session progressed focusing on why I was feeling so depressed, and how I actually felt. I was already crying and talking about these things didn't make it any easier. I talked about not being able to sleep except with the help of drugs, about when I did sleep having nightmares that caused me to wake in a high state of anxiety, about not wanting to eat because it was just too difficult to cook myself something, about being unable to study efficiently or effectively because of lack of concentration, how my head and body did not feel connected, and how I wished I could go to sleep and just never wake up again.
The word suicide never actually got spoken, but it hung in the air and both of us knew that this was what we were talking about. Was I thinking about suicide? Had I made plans for such a thing? Some years ago I really did consider it regularly, and I made the mistake (well it seemed like a mistake at the time) of making it clear that I was at the stage where I saw that as the only option in a conversation with Mr Smiley. I think that he was horrified that I was at this stage and asked me what would happen if I didn't succeed, but ended up in a vegetative state or something similar as a result of a failed attempt. I think that in that conversation Mr Smiley managed to persuade me that it was not a good idea, and that it was worth carrying on. I think the only reason that I have never seriously considered actively taking my life since that time is that after the conversation with Mr Smiley, I realized that I was a coward and did not have the strength to carry it out, nor to do anything else to harm myself. Yet, for all that I still wish that I could go to sleep and never wake up again.
The conversation moved on to the subject of anger; to the things that had happened to me and which of them caused me to be angry. I can't be angry with my husband for dying, it wasn't his fault it was one of those things; I can't be angry with my mother for the way that she treated me because I don't believe that she realized what she was doing and how it affected me; but I am angry about the way that I was treated at work and how I was discriminated against, not given any support, how I was asked to look into problems and to develop ways to deal with them, but then anything that I put forward was just ignored. I think that I have always known that it was work, or the management there, that was responsible for my ongoing depression, developing lack of self-confidence, and total destruction of all self-esteem. Having reached a natural break, and with 11 o'clock fast approaching, my psychotherapist decided that this was a good place to stop and a suitable place to pick up things again next week. Yes, it was a very emotional ride this morning but I managed to survive the experience.
It was one of the most emotional sessions for some time, and hard work, but I left the hospital feeling that I had been properly engaged in the psychotherapy and even though I wasn't feeling on top of the world, I would be able to get through the rest of the day without too much trouble. Instead of heading home, as I would normally, I had to cross the road and get a bus to take me to the local DHL depot so that I could collect a package of books from the OU. This package contained the remaining books and the specimen exam paper for my Human Biology course. I collected the package without too much trouble and then got the bus back home.
On arrival at home I realized just how hungry I was (I hadn't felt like breakfast this morning, and I realized that I hadn't taken my morning medication either) so I sorted myself out and then grilled some salmon which I had with pesto sauce. I also did something that I haven't done for a long time; I had a glass of wine with my lunch. Of course, I now realize that it was a mistake because I am feeling a little light-headed, somewhat heavy-legged, and as though I could fall asleep at any moment.
I now feel fairly composed, I know that I have been crying because I have that heavy feeling in my head, but I am now feeling quite calm and ready to face the rest of today. Mind you, the rest of the day is going to be spent relaxing, watching a couple of films and anything that is worthwhile on the television, and with doing some knitting. The rest of the Christmas cards will have to wait until tomorrow now; I just can't be asked at the moment.