Major and recurrent depression is my black dog lurking in the shadows. I am sure that there is a genetic element in my condition as madness tends to run in the family. My great grand-father, a talented illustrator was apparently confined to an institution. My grandfather, his son, was told that he had died. He became an alcoholic. My darling Dad was not entirely your standard chap - maybe that's why he remains so dear to me. My grandmother was an enigma. She and my grandfather hated each other but married and had one child, my mother. As a six-year-old, Mum was packed off to boarding school. She was damaged even then and became a walking time bomb, prone to unpredictable explosion. So, the four of us kids grew up in an utterly chaotic household. Dad adored her, so he could never protect us from her rage.
I was a lonely child away from my brothers, a wary teenager and a reliable target for bullies. I stopped telling Mum about these episodes as she had no solutions. She had enough trouble fighting her own demons.
I married young, desperate to be loved and play "happy families". I was first prescribed valium at nineteen years of age. I would regularly take more than the prescribed dose just to silence the harsh judges in my head. I deliberately self-harmed on multiple occasions.
My children were my joy, However, I was a terrible mother, particular to Vanessa, during those awful two years when Chris, Zoe and Melanie all died. The only two mantras that saved us all was that I would never let my children go to bed feeling unloved and I would try to apologise every time I was wrong. These had been my mother's greatest weapons - I was terrified of losing her love and she would never admit if she was mistaken - and I was not going to repeat her behaviour.
I had a brief admission to a psychiatric unit after Chris died and before I became pregnant with my girls. Then, after my marriage breakdown and a disastrous, albeit brief move to Queensland, my mental health fell apart. I spent three weeks as a patient in Perth Clinic. My darling Vanessa drove me there. Then, I had an affair with a married man, a sociopath who left wrecked women in his wake. I took two years to extricate myself from that disaster.
Meeting Michael was one of the most joyous events of my life. He is the most gentle, tolerant, understanding and logical of men. However, even he struggles when I enter a black episode.
Yesterday, I was bombarded with a series of challenges that gradually wore me down to breaking point. Whenever I reach that stage, I become overwhelmed by memories. I hear whole conversations, I remember events in excruciating detail and I swing wildly between rage and despair. I was, once more, consumed by the past. The noise in my head was deafening. I wasn't coping and Michael was having a hard time as well.
Today, I am just exhausted. My body aches. My head is full of concrete. I have climbed out of my well yet again and I am beginning to slowly return to functional status. One of my problems has finally been solved. Michael will transfer to the Age Pension; there should be no disruption to his payments and I will continue to receive Carer Payment and Carer Allowance. I finally received this information and was assisted to complete the online transfer from Sandy at Services Australia Aged Pension team.
All this hassle was caused by a poor bastard at the call centre who didn't have the information to answer specific questions and didn't offer to find out. I only managed to receive Sandy's help after repeated calls to Centrelink's complaints line. If we had blithely continued, thinking Michael still would receive his Disability Support Pension after 4 March, we would have been sadly disappointed.
I am edging back towards my normal proactive self. I can take a deep breath and tick off one crisis. I just wish that whenever I feel I'm juggling satisfactorily that all my balls don't collapse without any warning.
Yesterday...feeling like this...
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