Continued from here. Finally! Let’s get this show done…
B changed our number and made it silent. Within a week she dragged me to the doctor for help. I was going manic depressive. My moods were swinging wildly. Sometimes hourly. I could barely sleep. When I slept I was having nightmares. The doctor put me on antidepressants and made a follow up appointment.
The antidepressants. They created what I can only describe as a bandaid effect over my emotions. I felt nothing. I slept 8 hours. Seriously, there was no waking me up before that 8 hours had gone. Follow up appointment the doctor asked how I was feeling… I feel fine.
This was a new doctor. My old doctor had moved to a new medical centre. This is all she ever asked at every appointment. How do you feel? I always answered… I feel fine.
For months things seemed okay. Except for the whole not feeling anything and the sleep of the dead thing going on. Then my moods began to show up again. I still had this ‘band of nothing’ over my emotions but I would go manic above it, or drop below it. There was no warning. I felt nothing. I was high as a kite and could climb every mountain. I felt nothing. The world had just fallen in. One night I tried to drive into oncoming traffic. Each high and drop would be higher or lower than the one before. B said something was wrong, but I was incapable of thought. I was almost incapable of anything.
Until. One night. I stood in the doorway of the bedroom my son and B’s daughter shared. They were both sleeping. The room smelled that wonderful smell young children have. I stood at the door and watched my son sleeping. His angelic face at rest. His little limbs stretched out in his cot. And felt nothing. I didn’t feel that surge of love that used to overcome me when I would watch him sleep. I noticed the absence of that love. B was right. Something was wrong.
We went to the doctor the following day. B did most of the talking. I was numb. A psychiatrist. We wanted a psychiatrist who could prescribe medication and oversee my state of mind. Someone who knew what to ask, what to watch for. An appointment was made. Appointment kept. New prescription. My condition levelled out and my depression eased. I wish now that I could have kept seeing him back then after my depression had come back under control. Yeah I know, if wishes were dollars and all that crap. I’m getting somewhere now. Better late than never.
We didn’t extend the lease on the house we were sharing. Besides having the neighbour from hell who I should write about one day, B had entered a new relationship and would live with him. I wanted to go back to my parents and rest. A few months later, the day before my birthday, I was offered a cute unit to rent through the government. In a suburb they had originally told me I would die before a unit would became available. Fate?
I signed the contract on my birthday. It felt like fate. V and I moved into what would become our new home for over 10 years. My number was silent. I didn’t change my address on the electoral roll. Family had strict instructions to NEVER give my phone number out. They could only take a message for me to call whoever back. This was what caused many of the conversations between my mother and S. He didn’t like not knowing where exactly we were. He didn’t like that I would call him back from a silent number. I had found my safe haven. I had gone into hiding. It was the beginning of my isolation.
Oh my. Finally! I so need to get a hang of doing short. I do understand what drove me into isolation. It was the fear that would take control of me each time S made contact. He would talk, trying to connect as we had originally. He would make suggestions… always reasonable suggestions. He would take a more direct approach… forcing me through guilt or similar emotions to do what he wanted me to do. I couldn’t do it anymore. The day I left him, when I saw all the ways he used to get me to do as he wanted… *shakes head* I couldn’t do it anymore. Later, every time he tried, it was like alarm bells going off in my head. I couldn’t explain it to myself. All I felt was fear. Fear that one day I wouldn’t say no to him. Really, I didn’t trust myself.
But. I wanted to be fair. I wanted him to have a relationship with his son. I wanted him to have the opportunity to be a father. To know this wonderful little boy that he helped create. I was always good at kidding myself. All I ended up doing was giving myself reasons to fear life.
At some stage I’ll write about my isolation, my attempts to come out and the effects these attempts had on me. But. Not yet. Little steps. Although putting all the Shh… posts out there… pretty big. Getting the words out. I’ve found a lot of the Shh… posts have been kind of dry. Facts as opposed to thought changing things to write. In other words I’ve yet to do the ‘inner’ work on myself about the fears I still carry. To integrate the experiences. I’ve also been thinking a lot about insight, understanding and what part it plays in healing. It plays a part, but isn’t the solution. Action and change needs to follow. So many things I want to say! One at a time.
Image Credit: © Carlos Sanchez Pereyra | Dreamstime.com