Friday, October 12, 2007

1 Year, 49 Days - Posted 1 Year, 50 Days

Imagine if you will, a book lying open. On one side of the page you find my last entry - on this side, you see the words “I signed up for Online Dating”. What would you think to that?

I think I might be i-n-s-a-n-e. I had a moment of madness mid mania last week, thinking “My depression is not the sum of all my parts… There’s more to me than my depression – maybe I should focus on that for a while… It might be good for me”. So, I signed up, filled out all my likes and dislikes and what I was looking for. So hard it was (without sounding like a giant martyr), as I have no idea when the last time I allowed myself to think about what I wanted. Certainly not in this life it seems. Bending and shaking to last boyfriend and the one before that’s whims and fancies (or what I thought where their whims and fancies) was what I did best. Then, after all that fillin’ and demandin’, I freaked out (of course I did) and had to lie down while simultaneously checking to see if anyone had added me to their virtual shopping basket - every five minutes. Eventually some of the strangest sounding/looking people I have seen, decided they liked me and sent me the nod.

Then I freaked out again, because I decided that I had nothing to offer and that it was an entirely unforgivable act to chat away to possible suitors being a deceptive depressive.

The freak passed and I chatted with a few guys over the following week and got talking to one guy in particular. Then last night he, out of the blue, suggested we meet. Gah! That, I hadn’t expected. Then came the “Do I tell him now or later that I suffer with depression?” Jesus. So I asked friends and then I felt guilty and as if I should give him a get-out-of-jail-free-card. So I did. Via email. 24 hours later I was checking my Inbox every minute. Nothing, nada. Shit. Ah, it happens again. The rejection of the crazy lady with the doe eyes, as she is no longer fancy-able because she dribbles.

So, last night was spent wringing hands and pacing. Then sleeping for about four hours on the couch.

However, more people had put me in their lady shopping basket this morning - I think I might have been in the “Specials” aisle overnight - and that just made me more confused about my actions. Would I be considered a tease if I couldn’t deliver a non-shaking, ‘up for it’, dateable girl at the end of all of this? Or of leading people up the garden path? Women have been burned at the stake for less. Christ, all I was looking for was a bit of banter and to try and get some confidence back – this was/is not helping.

Mid boy crisis – all my light bulbs decided to go pop, I found several wasps, convinced myself I had a nest somewhere in my house, my TV broke and my Internet screwed up yet again. It was like something out of The Shining; I fully expected the blood in the corridor (I already have the twin girls). Then my CPN arrived and I found myself letting go and telling her about what had been going on last week and this with the mania, the trashing the flat thinking I’d fixed it, etc, etc, etc. I told her about the row with my parents over my medication – how they told me to decrease my meds as they were sure the mania last week was because of the Venlafaxine, regardless of the fact that I had spoken to my own GP on Friday, he had said all was OK after doing lots of tests and to carry on. I figured because I have been under the weather these past few weeks with a urinary tract infection, requiring two doses of antibiotics and a hefty chest infection, requiring a Ventolin inhaler and antibiotics, on top of all my other meds - that I was feeling pretty shitty anyway, regardless of side effects.

In my book, it's to soon/hard to unscramble it all to work out if we've got the baby, the bath water or nothin'. It’s hard to sit on the fence between retired GP (step) father, worried Mama and Shrink. I know they are worried, but them telling me to decrease my medication when my Shrink has told me to increase is difficult. Especially when I have little trust in the medical profession and am trying desperately to believe that my “team” are working with my best interests in mind.

My SPIRIT Trained CPN listened and agreed with me that the antibiotics and other tablets would be making me feel awful and unbalanced and advised me to carry on with the plan as decided between my shrink and myself at the Biscuit Centre. Phew. She would come and see me weekly instead if bi-monthly until things had calmed down. Phew again. Plus she made me promise to monitor how things were and report back to her in between times. We also looked through some SPIRIT workbooks that I had asked her two weeks ago at our first appointment if we could have a look at. They are designed for the patient to look through charts and diagrams, mull over information and complete certain tasks in the hope that it will help you get to know/have a better understanding of your illness. It also aims to give you more tools to use when decision making (using your newly found and sometimes addled way of thinking), how to identify, challenge and change unhelpful thinking and behaviours such as the self harming. I got pretty excited, maybe a -5 instead of -10 at the prospect of a bit of theory (all be it light) and some flow charts to analyse. In my case I firmly believe (I obviously have the right to scratch this theory at any given time) that information and therefore understanding is the/my way outta here.

Once she had gone, all I was left with was time. Time to think about what a dumbass I’d been to think I could be normal and have a boyfriend, never mind someone to email. I called my Kindred Spirit friend and she pretty much talked me down off my self-built ledge, reminding me that I didn’t have to divulge anything until I felt safe enough to. My original plan had been exactly that, until I let my sister and her “I would have written it on the front page of my Personal Statement” theory, talk me out of it by getting inside my head. I was reminded of the barley in the field of my last relationship, bending and swaying to keep the plonker at my side. I’d be buggered if I was going to behave like that again – or had I already? The whole point is after all – that I am the sum of ALL my parts, but no one part is my sum. Or something…

And then he emailed and I got all excited until yet another three, yes three (I changed my profile pictures last night and have received numerous new fans since doing so) lovely handsome, (some strapping) young men sent me a wink and a smile. Who said online “dating” wasn’t fun?

Not me Sailor.

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