After a few good weeks, I found myself in a low mood from the minute I woke up. I have no idea where it came from, and could not have predicted it. I remember getting some advise centred around looking for early warning signs and taking positive action to 'head it off at the pass', but I don't see how I could have done that today. I had slept in, but only an hour longer than usual. The sun was up, but before I was aware of being awake, I had the prickly feeling across the temples that things weren't right.
My usual grumpy morning self medications of sweet food, two cups of tea and a shower failed to cheer me up. I sat pressed to the chair most of the day, with nagging feelings that the house needed cleaning and that must be pleasant things to do, but I was still unable to get moving. Late afternoon I made a half hearted stab at cleaning up the kitchen and bathroom. This made me feel even worse, and I got tearful, unable to tackle it with any logic or efficacy. After the tears, I got a rush of unjustified anger that the family had left the mess, feeling they had done it deliberately. I split the kitchen bin bag and had an urge to spread the rubbish over the floor and walk away. the world ended when I took the bag to the wheely bin to find that it hadn't been put out for today's collection. I left the half-made dinner to burn, and went and sat down again. I wanted to feel looked after, but nobody was about, and once the family drifted in, they took a look at me and migrated to the far ends of the house. I can't say I blame them.
The bad feeling started to lift at around 7.30, so I took probably the best advice about depression that I ever received and got out for a walk. It was warm, with the sun low in the sky so that deep yellow tones came through the trees. I was thinking about how much the Memorial Park has figured in my trying to fix my depression. At my very worst, most days I used to refuse to go out in the daytime, so Nick would take me for walks in the dark and the rain every night. I'm not sure how long that phase lasted, it was a period of several months. One time at this park, I got tripped out visions where I saw the grass not as green, but in its constituent colours of purple, silver, brown, navy and yellow. I had been advised by a nurse not to read up on the depression 'you'll frighten yourself', so I didn't know that for some, the condition heightens the senses to an overwhelming degree (there is a medical term, but I've forgotten it). Some people can use their depression creatively because of this. Now, I wonder if impressionism was developed after a depressive episode, the grass looked a bit like an impressionistic painting that day, but with strong colours, not wishy-washy pastels. I didn't tell anybody about it at the time. Even as I saw those colours, I knew it was madness.
The weirdest Memorial Park event was when I hexed someone's face off. I felt (and still feel) that myself and many of my friends were deeply wronged by a former colleague. I had no way of confronting him or defending myself from his actions. At the time, if I wasn't weeping I was blank, immobile and mostly emotionless. Depression is not really the same as feeling sad. My doctor said that I seemed to be suppressing my anger and that I should try to let it out. She advised that I went for a long, brisk walk and focused the anger on every breath out. It was worth a go. At that time, I took every bit of advice and treatment that I could. A nurse once came to offer me assertiveness classes, would I accept them? I told her deadpan that if she told me to walk around the ring road naked I would do it if she told me clockwise or anti-clockwise. Anyway, I left that doctors appointment at 8.30 and walked all day. Round and round the park, talking to myself and pouring all of my hatred for this one man out on to his smug face which seemed to float in front of me. I stamped on his face, stabbed it, punched it, it was eaten by maggots and chewed on by dogs. I got home at 3pm to the sound of the phone ringing. It was a friend calling to say that this man had been involved in a freak accident. He had been building a pond when he slipped on mud and fell into a wall. He had de-gloved his face, lost his nose, several teeth and broke his jaw. He was in intensive care.
That story is 100% true (everything in every blog is true actually, but when I tell this particular story not everyone believes it). for a long time after, I genuinely believed that I had harmed him. I'm normally on the side of rationality, and whilst I mostly think it was just a coincidence, there is a part of me that feels that some sort of cosmic justice had been served that day.
At the park, the rhododendrons were in bloom. You don't see too many of them in the Midlands, but they are very popular in Cornwall, they do well in the acidic soil. I like them because I used to see fairies in the rhododendron bush at the bottom of the garden. That wasn't because I was ill though. That was because I was four years old and had an active imagination. I didn't see any fairies today, and the grass was just green. I'm fine now. Thanks for asking.
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