A Canvas of the Minds has, for the past couple of years been leading the call for the destigmatising of Mental Health issues and asking members of the blogging world to open the platform for discussion within their own forums. I did initially create “Alice Through the Macro Lens” as an outlet to try to make some sense out of my own journey through the murky fog that has been my world for many years, and more prominently to understand how my behaviours affect those closest to me. So it was a little ironic that, when things became really tough, the blog became dormant.
But I have returned with a renewed determination to continue my writing, along with the photos, and I will take the pledge asked for by the Canvas group:
“I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.”
“The rain to the wind said,
You push and I’ll pelt.’
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged–though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.”
(click on the picture for a better look)
And just when I thought it was safe to re-enter the social arena with some semblance of functionality…
it happened again.
This morning, despite a terrible night’s unrest, I woke up feeling quite positive. I did the normal things people do to start their day off: Got out of bed (trust me, that’s not always an activity that comes easily!), got dressed, ate some cold, home-made rice pudding left over from last night, brushed teeth and hair, and even remembered to take the dog over the road and threw a ball for her for a while. Then I caught the bus into town and met up with a tutor at the local college who gave me a guided tour around the Art Department. The idea of spending my days creating art on a serious scale set me buzzing so much that I happily filled out the application forms to attend during the next school year.
Life felt good, and I admit a little part of me let myself believe that I was cured. I mean, I had finally managed to secure a couple of appointments with the psych (after a nine-month fight to see one). He prescribed me a new medication, and it’s now about that time when “those kind” of meds are supposed to start kicking in.
On top of that, I’d had a productive weekend. On Saturday morning, I’d attended a workshop called the “Totality of Possibilities,” and I’ve been looking into the mirror and sending myself positive affirmations ever since. Then I tried a “Life Drawing” class for the first time ever on Saturday afternoon and discovered I’m not that bad at charcoaling naked people either.
Even on Sunday, I managed to stay cogent enough to tell half of my life story to the Court-appointed psych, who has been assigned the hefty task of furnishing a legally binding opinion about what he believes went wrong with my son and me for the family court judge next month.
But today, around lunchtime, within minutes of arriving at one of my “safer” places to visit – a drop-in community centre that I have started to attend when I just feel the need to have a cuppa, or chat, or to crochet a flower or something – my mood, without warning, dropped like a lead balloon. All of a sudden, there was no talking to me, no reasoning with me; no niceties or pleasantries could talk me round. My head became full of white noise, and I hated everyone and everything. Most of all I hated me and my life. Within the space of minutes (if not seconds), the proverbial fan was bombarded with the proverbial s–t, and I plummeted into the doldrums of irritability and blubberingness once more.
For what it’s worth, the worst thing about these ever-increasing, ever more serious episodes of unpredictable moodiness is the fact that I am sorely aware that they are happening, as they are happening – and that they are wrong – yet I feel powerless to prevent them. The best I can settle for is that, in my consciousness, I am still able to fight the searing impulses that tell me to hurl across the room any inanimate object that isn’t glued to the floor, or to take a nosedive through the nearest shop window. Instead, today, I managed (just!) to grab my coat and leave the premises without insulting anybody, before catching the bus home and falling apart as soon as I made it inside the front door.
I don’t suppose any of this bodes well for appealing my sanity. And yet there’s almost something safe, consistent maybe, in the knowledge that my unpredictability is a predictable occurrence in my life.
But don’t worry, the irony is not lost on me either.
© Alice through the Macro Lens