Monster Within

Poor Thabo. We were having a great weekend. He made a little remark and I turned it into a monster. I turned into a monster. Something said that wouldn't even normally have registered as being remotely offensive and I cracked the shits (could barely uphold the pretence that everything was okay, in front of our friends).

Things which don't normally piss me off, have over the past months grated on my nerves, and my irritability and general lack of tolerance spilt over on Saturday night. I hate the way I do this to him. There is no warning. I just explode with such vitriol that I hate myself even more. Quite clearly, trying to act like I'm on top of what I'm going through isn't working. It just builds up until I feel out of control. I'm concerned because it's occuring with rapidly increasing frequency. I'm scared because what if he stops understanding or gets sick of me or stops loving me?

I had a particularly difficult day at work because of this bubbling anger within. I'm fucked off with the world, with my life, with everything. The one good thing in my life, I'm trying to fuck up as well.

Friday Afternoon Shit Fan

Nightmare. Absolute nightmare of an afternoon at work. At 4.30pm, all other staff members had pissed off leaving just myself and one of the nurses, Mirabelle, to continue a full clinic. One of the them (let's call her Kimberley) wasn't even professional enough to hand over a patient who required further management - just left without letting anyone know. After closing time, the patient was still sitting at reception wondering whether or not we were going to provide a service which the clinic proportedly provides. Besides creating an absolute cock-up for the patient, I felt even more furious at Kimberley. Her turfing of every other patient my way was one of the reasons why the clinic was running behind; I helped with every one she sent across and I expected the same courtesy of her. Obviously, that expectation was too great.

Poor Mirabelle. Ordinarily timid and quiet, her feathers were ruffled at the inconsideration and disrespect shown to her by her nursing colleagues (unfortunately, she sometimes bears the brunt of my wrath when shit is hitting the fan, as well). I've not seen her voice an opinion so emotionally and so forcefully. No one offers to remain and help at the end of the week. Management are aware and have apparently resolved the situation. She's the only one who stays behind to close clinic well after other staff members have left because someone has to and no one else will.

I said, "Mirabelle, you have to say something about this."

Her response, "We're all adults. We're professionals. I shouldn't have to say anything. They should know that when it's busy they should help. But they just think, 'It's just Mirabelle, she's so quiet, she won't say anything.'"

And she's right. Instead of hiding in the lab avoiding work or killing time as some so, or racing off after the last of their own patient has been seen, it should be a matter of teamwork. A couple of people extra can make a world's difference compared to one person doing the job of three.

I think I'm going to have to champion her cause and be her voice. And try to not offend anyone in the process. It could easily turn into a case of "because of her, we all have to stay back." Well, too fucking right! We're all paid to work the same hours, not some of us work late and the rest piss off at 3pm.

Things I Wished Didn't Happen This Weekend

1. While leaning over the couch to plug in the telephone cord, I hit my head on the corner of the heater. Fuck, it hurt. Now, I have a massive lump marked with a red (blood) line on my forehead.

2. Watched the Wallabies game on TV. Can't say I'm a fan of experimental positioning. However, if it means that a decent team can be created for the lead up to the World Cup, then bring it on. Right now, we are embarrassing.

3. Got drunk which resulted in miscommunication and a whole lot of fury. And me sleeping on the couch in our former home.

4. I told them all the appliances were working. I knew that their TV wasn't but said that we had only ever used our own and wouldn't know if theirs was okay or not. I don't know why I lied. I feel so guilty about it because they were such wonderful landlords.

Red Red Wine

Pity I don't enjoy white wine. Spills are much less conspicuous. After wine was accidentally spilt over my shirt, I knocked over my own glass onto someone else. Three girls, all drunk, and all wearing white shirts. When we left, our clothes were accessorized by splatters of red wine. The sleeve of my shirt was also caked with chocolate.

Vanish, you are a saviour. White shirt now gleaming and stain-free. If only there was an instant fix-it for my hangover. I've just devoured a steak sandwich for lunch and no doubt will eat another steak for dinner. It's the right thing to do, marrying red wine with red meat. Things could have turned out much worse - I could be vegetarian.

Moving

We're supposed to be moving this weekend. Thabo is in Austria for work. His humourless vulgar fat cat clients are giving his group the run around, so now he has to stay for the weekend. Of course, I'm annoyed, left to sort out the whole move myself (nothing is packed yet). But I'm more fearful of a future where he's consumed by work and I'm the "single" partner. Actually, the present is often like that already. No, I'm fearful that there is going to be no let up and this is how it's always going to be. In which case I wonder, what is the point? I hate London. The whole reason I'm here is for "us." And all too often there is no "us." What does that leave me?

Baby Brother

I don't know why I'm surprised by my state. It's not as if there wasn't a history of depression, in myself anyway. Certainly, not in our family. But we're not really a family that verbalizes emotions.

My baby brother probably went through a depressive phase in his high school years. He was always angry, getting into trouble at school, fighting, engaging in petty criminal behaviour (there was one time...another story), hanging around "the wrong crowd." The alternative explanation is that he had a mild form ADD. He got bored too easily and was never able to be still. Sitting at a table or desk was a serious challenge met with him doing something which inevitabley got him into trouble.

Despite all the above, he's deeply spiritual. He'll enjoy the beauty of a scene for all that nature has to offer. Only until recently, he believed that he was doomed and bad karma was all he had to look forward to as punishment for his past wrong-doings. But he learnt (through an abridged and illustrated book on the teachings of Buddha) that he could change that and his fate was not set in stone. His ideals regarding parenthood and friendship reveal a depth and maturity beyond his years.

He made a peculiar remark a few years later when he came to visit me to explain his behaviour. "Something happened to me..." That's all he said. And I felt the immensity of his statement. He didn't give details nor do I have reason to believe or be concerned that he was abused. I still don't know what happened.

He's on the straight and narrow having a great time and a full life in Tokyo now. The 24hour sensory overload calms him, I think. He has a real job that he loves and pays extremely well, a girlfriend who wants to marry him, regular weekends away to fulfil his snowboarding passion and all the boy's toys that one would desire . He still enjoys time back in Australia and stocks up on the things he loves - eats three times his weight in meat pies, steaks, seafood and mum's cooking, gets a daily dose of sun and surf and just chills (well, goes fishing, driving, just doin' shit) with his mates.

I love him to bits but I don't know if he knows that. I think he does.

Oh, I've exhausted myself. I was meant to be writing about my own history of being depressed. Another time.

Please Don't Ask Me...

What's set it off?

When I have a break down, yes, some minor thing might have precipitated it. But it's only because I'm depressed that I'm unable to cope and I cry in despair because how I'm really feeling is unmasked. "It" is always there.

What needs to happen to make you feel better?

As much as it would be great for us both that I could take a magic pill or some thing happens to make everything good again, unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. I've been feeling like this for such a long time, that my brain chemical circuit has been rewired such that good things happening in my life won't make a difference. Take for example, granting of my full registration and my HSMP. The lead up to both caused such dread and anxiety that even with their resolution to a good outcome, I still have the same dread and anxiety. In fact, they've been compounded precisely because I haven't experienced the weight of the world lift off my shoulders. Hence, I answer your question of will moving back to Sydney make things better, with, "No."

Why don't you come our for a beer with -anyone- and I?

Because it's getting harder for me to pretend, to act 'normal.' I don't want the world to see me this way. I'm finding it difficult to be amiable because the current me keeps threatening to blow my cover. It's the same reason why I rarely answer phone calls from friends, or find going out a chore. I don't want those dearest to me or those who don't know me (lest they think that I'm a depressing person and don't want anything to do with me....or they see a drunken party princess always up for a good time - that's just me overcompensating), to see the failure of a being I've become. I don't want to feel the shame of that.

Most people don't really understand what it means to be depressed. It' s not a generic term for having a bad day, or feeling crappy, or feeling a bit emotional and moody. I know well enough some of the people around me to know that that is what they'd think. And trivialize. And I'd be more hateful of their ignorance and condescending sympathy.

Sick Day

Converstion 1:
"Hi. I'm calling to let you know I'm sick and won't be coming in to work today."
"Okay. Hope you feel better soon."

Conversation 2:
"Hi. I'm calling to let you know I'm sick and won't be coming in to work today."
"What's wrong?"
"You don't want to know."

Conversation 3:
"Hi. I'm calling to let you know I'm sick and won't be coming in to work today."
"What's wrong?"
"I'm unwell in that 'I want to kill myself' kind of way."
"Oh..."

Conversation 4:
"Hi. I'm calling to let you know I'm sick and won't be coming in to work today."
"What's wrong?"
"I'm unwell in that 'I want to kill myself' kind of way."
"Okay. Hope you feel better soon."

I'm going to make an appointment with my doctor. I can't keep hoping or pretending that this will pass. I hope he understands and is kind.

This Is My Life

I woke up this morning feeling angry with the world, highly irritable and anxious. Walking to work, like every other day, I pass bleak, old, London pollution covered buildings and crumbly walls. But today, all I can think is, "This is it. This is my life. This is what my life looks like." A familiar heaviness descends upon me again. And I'm not sure how to face the world with effervescence and friendliness. I don't. I'm snappy, curt and border on being rude. The tunnel vision created by the feelings I have makes me oblivious to those around me. I hate this shit. I'm so tired of it. I feel paralyzed.

I read a blog in its entirety. The topic was, "How do you know if you're depressed?" Why are there so many of you out there? And why am I one of you? Just going through the motions of life but not really living. Why did I stumble across you and why did I read you knowing full well that it would only dredge up what I've managed to suppress so well in the past few weeks?

Depression has become my security blanket, keeping me insulated. It's also my noose, strangling me and holding me down. All I need to do is see my GP for advice but I'm too fucking apathetic and pessimistic. I don't recall anyone ever paying complements to the sensitivity and competence of their GP in London...AND I would need to wait 2-3 weeks for the appointment. It wouldn't matter anyway. My inertia would prevent me from filling the prescription in a timely manner if it came to that. So instead, I sit here bitching and moaning about how shit my life is and doing absolutely nothing to change it. I am pathetic.