Great Expectations/No Expectations

I set off on this trip with Michael with such great expectations. This break would be my silver bullet, my panacea, lightness of spirit and hope bursting out of my very soul.

What a load of bollocks. I spent most of the trip in abject misery, afflicted with panic and anxiety. whilst the love of my life, Michael wondered what the hell to do with me.

And I was having falls. Lots of falls. Mostly onto rocks, spectacularly onto glass , tripped up by the dogs' leads, the steps to the caravan, inside the caravan 

And I was terrified of losing items, of forgetting words, of being afraid all the time. I was dropping items, spilling food and drink on me, on Michael and inside the caravan. I spent most of this time enveloped in self-pity. Fucking hell, I was such a pain in the arse.

Then, I had met a retired doctor called Tim urged myself to spoil myself, to be kind to myself and not have too many expectations, Michael had been trying to support this idea of no expectations, but mostly I rejected him, caught in this inexplicable cycle.

Then, two moments collided to make me rethink this horrible state. Tim revealed there were many "self haters" in the world (which was a revelation) and if I couldn't love myself, perhaps I could make an effort to like myself...hmmm. Still I couldn't surface out of the fog...until Michael and I had a blazing row which was entirely my fault. Jealousy at him having fun with Tim and Lizzy, not being totally in my orbit all the time  and making me wait before we walked the dogs on a sweltering Marble Bar evening.

He had just had enough, Tired of me crying all the time, tired of  me not being responsible for my actions, tired of being cooped up with me in an 11 foot caravan and having nowhere to go, He was ready to go if I couldn't get my act together.

Suddenly I was dumbstruck. My ever patient, ever tolerant, ever caring and adored husband was being serious. I thought of his anguish and hurt with his previous wives and stupidly, I was going down the same path as them. On that fateful evening, I knew he had called my number and the onus was on me to change my appalling attitude.  

I knew I had to change. But I also wondered if there was another trigger that had contributed to this emotional anarchy.

Knowing me, I consulted Doctor Google. I had a hunch that the very expensive anti-depressant that I had begun taking over twelve months ago could have been, at least partially, the culprit. I was gobsmacked by my research. This drug caused panic and anxiety and dizziness leaving one susceptible to  falling. I also wondered I was atypical, due to the fact I had been told to cease taking my very reliable SSRI, because I might get fat! By a cardiologist who was only interested in prescribing as many drugs as possible. Fortunately another cardiologist had conducted a "tabletectomy" on most of the medication that she had prescribed.

But still I remained on this bloody anti-depressant  and even was prescribed more (mostly due to my short sighted insistence) plus a mood stabiliser.

Had these drugs been helpful at all? I began to doubt this entire drug regime. So, I made a decision. I was going to wean me off this destructive stuff and before I introduce any more drugs, just looking for who I used to be,

Michael is concerned I will turn into a loony as a result of a drug-less state but I have to try...before I introduce any other drugs.

I have only had one more wobbly day and I am determined not to be overwhelmed again. So I gritted my teeth, thought of my wonderful husband and had an afternoon nap, Upon waking, I regained my equilibrium. 

I have also started reducing my meds. I plan to see a new GP  and talk through what I hope to achieve in the future, both immediate and long lasting

Plus, I will reunite with my beloved Barry,  my thigh throbbing exercise bicycle and return to the "dog park" at the Beverley oval, seeing my doggy friends and their parents, all on the day after coming come. And of course, Chop our cat. I just pray he doesn't give us the hairy eyeball for too long..

The last six months have been a hell of a ride. Not any more.  I have far too much to lose.and I an not going to go down that path again.

Dedicated to you and love to you, Michael. And I will work at having no expectations.

That is all.

 

 Bugger me, I have had a light-bulb moment (or two)!

 

Revelations, Reflections and Realisations

We have been away from home for nearly seven weeks. We have both acknowledged that this trip has not been restful and relaxing. And that is the first revelation for me.

I worked for weeks like a navvy preparing for this trip. I packed and repacked, sourced more than enough alkaline water for Michael, organised scripts and more non-perishable food than would be needed for an Antarctic expedition. I cooked some meals to be frozen, cleaned and dusted the house from top to bottom, ironed every piece of clothing and washed and changed the bed on the day our house renters were to arrive. The house was neat as a pin, the caravan and car were both groaning and we didn't actually leave until after three o'clock on a winter's afternoon.

And that's when all my preparation led to exhaustion, disillusionment and hollowness. After discovering that the caravan park north of Perth didn't accept dogs (as we were on our way), we changed tack and ended up in the Midland Caravan Park.The place was serviceable but no more.

The other two days we spent there were no more relaxing. We collected Michael's dark multifocal glasses, an extra CPAP mask and accessories that were an eye watering price and spent the next day trying to make sense of all the stuff we'd packed.

That was when Michael and I began to bicker. This was not the dream start to the trip I had been imagining. Then we encountered disaster after disaster. The caravan park in Dalwallinu was dirty and dusty. The bathrooms were disgusting. We fled onward to Yalgoo after two awful nights.

Yalgoo had received a lot more rain than usual. We were hampered by muddy tracks that could not be traversed. The rain continued on and off for a week. We were eaten alive by midgies. We began to feel trapped as we could not leave until we received our  Centrelink pensions and rent for the house.

We gratefully left for Northampton. This is a pretty town and we manged to snag a spot under some trees at the edge of the park. We moved onto Carnarvon, and as I had booked a cheaper park, we were soon covered in dust every time any car went past us. At least the weather was better. 

Worryingly, Stella began to bark relentlessly at people, dogs, bicycles and gophers. This was when my imagined bliss about the trip well and truly began to fall apart. Michael was perplexed by my despair. I kidded myself that by applying "Danshari" principle to my brain, I would be alright.

Except I wasn't alright. Moving onto Onslow (where I had such fond memories) left me aghast. We were placed in the hottest and windiest position in the new "upper" caravan park. There was no shade at all and high winds for over a week destroyed what was left of my well being. Even the beach was different where sand had disappeared in the wake of the latest cyclone and left sharp rocks and mountains of shells. Only at low tide could we find some mud flats for the dogs to be able to run and play.

Onslow looked like a building site - "they paved paradise and turned it into a parking lot." A hundred caravans were crammed into the upper level with only one laundry and one camp kitchen that was eight hundred steps from our van. The two washing lines were filled by nine in the morning. The reticulation line behind our van blew apart in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of me and the dogs. The mess left by this explosion of water took a day to clean up. We had booked three weeks and could not move to Point Samson officially until 4 August. The place was filled with cliques of people travelling together and very few people talked to us.

So we collected shells and walked the dogs, mostly at low tide. Stella was becoming quite aggressive to other dogs because she was leashed most of the time. By this stage, I could not speak without crying. Michael took photos of me walking hunched over on the beach, consumed by this over whelming sadness. I was wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Michael was just as perplexed and I grew terrified that he would leave me because of my emotional state.

We were scammed on the last Saturday night before we left Onslow. Suddenly. I could only use my credit card. And I dented the car on the same evening. I just sat at the pub and wept and wept. 

I was having flashbacks of most of my life. Then came the next revelation. My dreadful mood was all to do with my mother. She was a mercurial, manipulative woman who could be quite vicious towards us all. She used punishment as standard procedure. Her mood, her self obsession and her actions meant I was always a lonely child who was never allowed to have friends to our house. Not that I had many. All of us went through stages where we believed one of us was her current 'golden child'. She never consulted any of us and certainly never considered our feelings. 

Her legacy was one of chaos. She would end communication with me if I had offended her in some way. Which happened frequently. At one stage she didn't speak to me for six years. Michael asked me why I didn't contact her.  I reflected long and hard about his question. I realised that I had always been afraid of her, even after her death. I had thought that I was dealing with the grief and sorrow well that she had caused by this time in my life.

I finally came to the revelation that my fear of her had coloured how I reacted throughout my life.. Suddenly, over the last few days, with the assistance of my GP, raising the dosage of my drugs and organising an appointment with a new and recommended psychiatrist. And I have come to the realisation that not only had I disliked her lack of understanding and attention of me ( and my brothers) I had lost any remaining feelings at all for her. And that understanding has been huge for me.

I know I have a long road ahead of me. I am tired of these episodes of despair. I need a plan to deal with my emotions when a flashback arises and I feel guilty and worthless. 

I am so lucky that Michael has stuck by me. I suspect that without his continuing love and my beautiful dogs,  I may have committed suicide. But my mother has not won. I have started calling her 'the Witch'. Which rhymes nicely with Michael's relationship with his nicotine addiction who we refer to as 'the Bitch'.

We are onward to Marble Bar on Friday. Mostly to collect my new debit card that has been sent to the Marble Bar post office and engage in a bit of fossicking. We are not sure how long we will remain there. I also do not want to be travelling and miss my appointment with my new psychiatrist. 

We are both feeling that home is calling us. This has been such a fraught journey for both of us that we need to rest and recuperate at its closure. We have also made the decision to sell our Aliner, named Will because he has always been willing and able. He is just not for us any more.   

 This trip has been a cathartic experience but one I had to face. I have so  much gratitude to my beloved Michael and our 'girls' for helping me back from the brink.

Thus ended this rather lengthy tome. And enjoy these photographs of Stella and Lexi.

 

 

                                                                                                                                          

 

A 

 

And of course, this amazing, tolerant and compassionate man I am so proud to call my husband.

Love you with all my heart, Michael.