Heavenly Beverley : Dancing (Again) With The Black Dog.

Here we are, at the advent of July. In sixteen days, I shall be turning sixty-four years of age...

Will you still need me...when I'm sixty four...

The last month or so has been a master class of riding a wildly unpredictable hypothetical rollercoaster. I have, mentally, soared to great heights and then teetered on the abyss that ends in hell. I have really truly experienced each one of my emotions at full throttle with no emergency brake. I have been engaged, exhilarated and exhausted by the process. And terrified by a seemingly total lack of filter or control.

Mental health issues/conditions/illness are still taboo. Let's face facts. Although 25% of us will have at least one episode of a mental illness (there's that word) in our lives, this malady of our minds is still mentioned in hushed tones, in shame, in minimisation or in complete denial.

Why? Because we are concerned this admission will diminish our job opportunities, our chances at meaningful relationships, our very ability to speak freely in any setting. That we will be considered less of a human being due to an inadequacy, a weakness, a breakdown...

Why can't you just snap out of it? Why are you sad all the time? If you're happy today, you couldn't possibly have a mental illness. You have so much to live for. You're being selfish.

So, we hide in the shadows, bury our feelings and wear masks, so that others don't discriminate. We only share the darkness with our closest loved ones, if at all. And then we worry, because we are such a burden, that we will be left alone to navigate the chaos on our own.

Then, there is the hidden anxiety about being "reliant" on medication to live as "normally" as possible. Which is how my frantic dance with the Black Dog of the last month began and saw me staring into the depths of my well of despair.

I am obese. And I have Hf - PEF (Diastolic Heart Failure with Preserved Ejection Fraction), Pulmonary Hypertension, slow coronary arteries flow and SAD (Small Airways Disease). These brain-rattling definitions mean that normal exercise has become almost impossible due to severe breathlessness. So, I have become fatter and fatter.

I have been using SSRIs, a family of anti-depressants, for control of my Major and Recurrent Depressive Disorder for nineteen years. SSRIs also cause weight gain. So, I bit the bullet, weaned myself off these drugs and hoped that I might find weight loss easier.

I thought I would be "strong enough" to cope without a pharmaceutical life buoy. Instead, I began to rise and plummet with frightening speed. I discovered rage with all its manifestations. My volcanic anger would then be followed by a vertical dive into grief and hysteria. I began to self harm again. The highs and lows intensified into a galloping cycle which I couldn't stop.

And the music. Banging away in my head. Preventing me from rest. Waking me up. The dreadful fear that I was truly becoming unhinged, mad, insane.

The decision to resume anti-depressants came with incredible guilt. If only...I was strong enough...my self-esteem was at rock bottom.

Our wonderful GP Andre, gifted me a glimmer of hope. He knew I was coming off the SSRIs. What he didn't know was I wasn't replacing them with another anti-depressant. When I explained the awful state of my mind, he immediately reassured me that I wasn't weak or gutless or cowardly. I just require a drug to keep me on the straight and narrow, to assist me with my caring responsibilities and the myriad of tasks I have to achieve every single day.

To give me back control of my life.

So, I have started on a new anti-depressant. Which is not on the PBS and costs about $70 a month. Plus, I have started Ozempic again for weight loss. Which is not on the PBS. The price varies between $160 - $260 per month. Which just proves I really need a decent income to lose weight and dispel madness!

Am I going to keep quiet that I have a recurrent mental illness? Fuck that notion. Are I going to try going without an antidepressant for the foreseeable future? To "prove" I can cope? That would just affirm that I am completely off my rocker!

I am still pretty fragile whilst the new drug takes effect. I am not hiding this fact. Plus, I will never, ever deny my mental health condition again. In fact, I intend to stout from the rooftops, starting right now.

I have Recurrent Major Depressive Disorder and that is part of who I am!

PS if you want to take a peek inside my head for a look-see of the last month, check out "El Tango De Roxanne" from the movie "Moulin Rouge!" Don't say I didn't warn you...