I thought I had the Black Dog at bay. That he’d retreated into the shadows and I was in control, in charge. What a crock. I’d become far too smug, too self-satisfied. I’d forgotten that the Black Dog can sneak up on you when you least expect him. I have learnt, once more, that he is savvier than I am. He has so much in common with The Bitch, whom Michael battles every day. I let down my guard and the Black Dog rebounded, snarling with vicious and withering intent.
My descent into Hell (or the Well) also occurred subtly, quietly, so I failed to recognise what was happening. I was aware of my lower mood, of my unexpected despair, of increasing fear. So I consulted our local GP and I started seeing another psychologist. She was compassionate and encouraging and introduced me to a new technique. I congratulated myself that I was successfully incorporating this skill into my life and I would start feeling better in no time.
Then the noise in my head increased. Memories were crowding in, threatening to suffocate me. I had never felt so full and so empty at the same time. My body was also in pain, my elbows, my lower back and dragging nauseated sensations in my belly.
I have been having particularly vivid visions of a time, long ago, when I was carrying my girls and knew something was terribly wrong. Being disbelieved. Feeling like an idiot. How could there be anything amiss with this pregnancy? I’d paid my dues. I’d had a late miscarriage and then a second loss, when my first born baby boy died at 48 days. I was told I was just having a difficult twin pregnancy. So, when their stillbirths were confirmed through ultrasound, we were all stunned.
So, when I started feeling this pain in my pelvis, I became terrified, convinced I had ovarian cancer. I had blood tests and an ultrasound. I haven’t heard anything, so I assume I’m in the clear. I just wish the GP would ring and reassure me.
I think that was the very last straw. First, I lost my nerve to drive. I retreated into the house, into myself. I stopped using social media. I could not think, could not concentrate. I’d look at the garden and feel nothing at all. My place of pleasure had evaporated.
I was terrified Michael would leave me. He was bewildered and worried. He just kept holding me, trying to save me from the nightmare. I went back to the GP. Then I managed to get an early appointment with a new psychiatrist.
I’ve seen the psychiatrist. With Michael. She was empathetic but brisk. She was kind but matter of fact. She didn’t think I was a drama queen or a hysteric. She listened to me, made sensible comments and responded positively to all my fears. I had been convinced I would end up in hospital that day. I’d even packed a bag in readiness. She adjusted my medication, added a new antidepressant and promised to closely monitor me. I burst into tears of relief. After booking the next appointment, Michael and I were back in the morning sun.
The bleak fog that had been enveloping me for days showed its first signs of thinning ever so slightly. Even more surprising, I was actually a bit hungry. So we wandered across the road and found a little eatery. I had sushi and a smoothie for breakfast. Tasted delicious.
I drove home from Mundaring that afternoon. I am trying to do more each day. Baby steps though. My brain is still unreliable and my concentration flits around like an anxious bird. Sustained conversation is sporadic as I lose my train of thought very easily.
I’m in the gallery today and I’m actually enjoying being back in the saddle. I’ve had one enthusiastic couple through. Now, Tim Burns, our mentor, friend and extraordinary artist has dropped in. He and Michael are chatting animatedly about the building and expanding the gallery.
The Black Dog and I are carrying on with our merry dance, but his hold is lessening. I am determined to regain the upper hand. And I will never underestimate his power again.
Now for the wanky bit. I am so bloody grateful to all our friends who have given me so much support during the recent past. Love to you all.
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