"Crossroads", a British soap opera set in the Midlands motel of the same name, initially ran for an astonishing twenty-four years. The soap featured story-lines of love, lust, bigamy, incest, murder, attempted suicide, attempted murder, disability and of course Australian terrorists. Because of, or in spite of these fanciful scripts, "Crossroads" was a hit with the Poms, who faithfully tuned in for their weekly dose of fantastic mayhem with glee and alacrity. After exiting the screens in 1988, a short-lived revival in the early 2000s didn't quite cut it, mainly because all the original characters had sailed off into the sunset - the character of Meg Richardson from the original run apparently left for America on the QEII, but only after she was supposed to have perished in the motel fire...
This post was supposed to have been a serious discussion of My Life At Present, but as usual, my irreverent sense of humour has dispelled such a ridiculous notion. Having said that, I have been juggling several challenging circumstances, all of much have ignited my inner fury.
In addition, I am anti-depressant free for the first time in nineteen years. How am I feeling...As mad as a cut snake, with flaring emotions roaring out fairly spectacularly without warning. Fluoxetine, the SSRI I have taken for so long, is known for dampening internal wildness, whilst improving tolerance and agreeability. Back at the beginning of my anti-depressant journey, I remember a shrink saying to me - "don't get too tolerant"...
Was I particularly upset by the onset of these unpredictable emotions? Not necessarily. I was actually rather grateful to be on this alternate path. However, throw in ADHD and I was becoming exhausted and overwhelmed at times. Last weekend, I was at my own version of Crossroads, wondering whether I needed to return to an SSRI to dampen the ferocity of my feelings.
Enter, stage left, a gloriously quirky woman with stunning red hair named Ange Hellewell, who had journeyed to Heavenly Beverley to play with ceramics, being offered gently inspiring tutelage by local Kelly Duncan. As luck would have it, they were going to be using Marion's Studio space within the East End Gallery. Whilst waiting for Marion's departure, Ange initially explored our Gallery and then sat with Kelly at our table. After tea and cake, Ange agreed to give me a Tarot reading, which she had previously offered to Kelly earlier in the day.
Ange's reading was the catalyst for me recognising the bleeding obvious. Agitation is fine if not anchored by the past. My focus needed to return to the present and the future. Working out the fights that were worth the effort. Looking after myself to prevent being sucked into a vortex of anxiety and anger and self-destruction. Remembering who and what was really important.
As a result, I have already made some changes. I could continue to hit my head against the brick wall that is the WA Country Health Service's abysmal performance or I could just accept their grovelling apology and move on. I have decided on the latter. I have hand-balled the current farce of the NDIS back to Alex's Support Co-ordinator for the time being. I have permitted myself to remain outraged at Telstra for their abject communications failures and I may be seeing some results on the horizon. My spray of contempt at Michael's referral to Wheatbelt Mental Heath being triaged into the "wrong inbox" has also paid dividends with an appointment becoming miraculously available in June. We are finally having all our medications reviewed by our GP, having vacillated about this issue for months.
Wow - progress. And allowing my body to rest. I have fallen asleep in front of the telly for the previous three nights. I am dreaming less and sleeping more. I am really dealing with my entrenched physical and emotional weariness, understanding my revival may take some time.
With the advent of the open fire in the Gallery, Michael and I just naturally gravitated to sitting in front together, talking with no interruptions. He is tired as well. So the decision has been made. We need to return to our beloved Outback. We shall hit the road in August, staying away until after his 70th birthday in early September. He is crystal clear about his desire to just be together, with our canine fatheads, somewhere else on his birthday.
Thank you to Ange from the bottom of my heart for being a blast of common sense when I really needed that. All my love to my extraordinary husband Michael for putting up with me on this latest, somewhat stormy voyage of discovery. Without a whiff of suicide or murder in the air...
Am I going to remain SSRI free? The jury is still out but I now am quietly confident. And quietness is most unusual for me!
Knowing we have to do this...
No comments:
Post a Comment