Bi-polar Blogging

Drugs of choice:
One Thing, Amerie
Snickers (come on, it's a Marathon really)
Tea
40mg Fluoxetine

No, I'm not bi-polar - I am either 'normal / happy' or 'down', I don't have an extreme opposite to the grumpy times.

However, the blog is taking such a turn. In the last week or so I've written about suicide and divorce (no comments about them both being blessed escapes, please) and today I will write about weddings.

Yes, for every bad thing over the last year or two, there have been an least as many ups. The best of which is new love.

In 12 weeks and 1 day's time H and will be getting married and the peaceful scene you see pictured above will be replaced with a marquee full of inebriated revellers.

Today we had a planning meeting with the venue managers and the caterer. As we sat there discussing the details I thought how fortunate I am to have H to love me, support me and live the rest of my life with me. If it wasn't for her life could be very different for me, if it hadn't finished.

I am a non-believer, but I reserve the right to use the appropriate phrases...

There, but for the grace of god...

--
Sent from my Treo

The Verdict

So, what was the verdict of the meeting?

A success. The words 'fabulous' and 'fantastic' were used repeatedly.

No, it wasn't a huge project delivery, it was just a small report put together, but it was my biggest, most constructive output since returning to work nearly two months ago, so it means a lot.

Meeting

I'm sat waiting for my first proper meeting since I returned to work to start.

Yes, I've had meetings with colleagues and the team, but this is my first meeting with a customer, showing them the fruits of my first labours with our new reporting tool.

This is the first time my work will be really judged, so it could be a big boost.

However, somebody has been playing with the dev server this morning and screwed up the data, so it may not be...

--
Sent from my Treo

Inspiration

Drugs of choice:
Inertiatic ESP, The Mars Volta (De-Loused In The Comatorium)
Hot Chocolate
40mg Fluoxetine

On the side of my blog I have links to my favourite blogs produced by others. I visit them at least daily when I'm in the office, 'desk skiving' and they are my inspiration to encourage me to keep up my own writing.

Belle de jour - I started reading this not long after Belle started writing it and have followed her adventures ever since. I even bought the book. I love her writing style, plus the more erotic (or downright pornographic) entries certainly liven up the day. There have been claims that she is a fake, not a real callgirl, but I don't care. She (or even he) is an intelligent and entertaining writer, and that makes her pretty sexy in my book anyway. Since the book and critical acclaim she doesn't post very often, but I always check back just in case.

Commuterland reminds me of 'home'. I'm a Londoner originally and spent many hours on the tube, train and buses. Besides, I cannot help but identify – boots and tights do it for me too.

Going Underground reminds me not only of home but also of my first two proper jobs – I worked for London Underground in my much younger days. IT stuff in offices sadly, nothing exciting like being a driver or anything.

Route 79 is full of references to the parts of London I know and love. It's also written by another Jag, although his is his name while my JAG is my initials and nickname. It's his diary, his cookbook, his stage and his canvas. A jack of all trades, a master blogger.

Random Acts of Reality are the fascinating thoughts and actions of a paramedic.

A few minutes spent on these each day feeds my brain and fires my emotions. I hope you enjoy them too.

Rollercoaster

Life with depression is like a rollercoaster. In fact, all life is like a rollercoaster. We just hope that when we get off we leave a good photo behind at the booth (either that or we find out the woman behind us was flashing, so we get keyrings made for all our friends).

If we take the view that a majority vote is acceptable, then yesterday was an excellent day. I had a day off with H and, after a short cycle in the morning, we decided to go to the zoo for her birthday treat. The place was full of babies, of most note being some incredibly cute baby gorillas.

We could have stood watching them for hours, being carried around in their mothers' hands, being breast-fed. The older children playing with their mothers, the silverback head of the family keeping an eye on everything. It was fascinating and beautiful. With such sad, big, brown eyes it is hard to describe gorillas as ever looking happy, but I got the impression that they were. I think evolution went too far and a simpler life would be better. Either that, or I was just born into the wrong species.

I went for my usual Thursday evening game of snooker with my father-in-law-to-be (part of my therapy – getting a new hobby and out of the house, and H's hair!). And then, for some reason that I do not know, I crashed down and came back not so much miserable, but pretty well grumpy.

This morning was no better, I felt very down and just could not motivate myself to do anything. I hit the snooze button on the alarm clock four times and on the fifth just switched it off. I had nothing urgent to do at work, no meetings I needed to be in, so I decided that rather than push myself, make myself even more tired and depressed, I needed a day off.

I had another lazy morning then, after lunch, decided to kick start my brain. An energetic 12.5 mile cycle around the hilly countryside in gorgeous sunshine. As the oxygen pumped through my brain I felt myself revived. I used to be able to cycle to work, sadly no longer an option, so it was good to get a real 'fix'.

Back up to 40mg, I think.

Celebrations

Drugs of choice:
Birthday Cake
Champagne
Vietnamese food
30mg Fluoxetine per day (40mg & 20mg on alternate days)

Today is H's birthday.

She is the most wonderful, beautiful, caring woman in the world. She is funny, clever, sexy, sensitive, understanding and loving. She makes me laugh, she stops my tears and protects me from my fears. She gives me strength when I feel weak and gives me confidence when I am in doubt. She gives me purpose, she gives me direction.

Over the last year she has changed my life. In fact, she has saved it, because if it wasn't for her I don't think I would be here to tell the tale.

Cause and Effect

So, after my post a few days ago – 'A year ago today...' it's no wonder I ended up on Prozac (or Fluoxetine as I'm prescribed to save the NHS money), is it? Oh, if only it were that simple. In fact, I thought I'd got that pretty well sorted in my head and, after some rather good counselling sessions, I confirmed that.

Hmm, I'm British (well, decidedly English to narrow it down further) and male. Two things that would normally encourage me to say 'poppycock' to the whole counselling, depression, talking about things arena. Perhaps not 'poppycock' exactly, but for the time being this blog can remain family-friendly so stronger words are not necessary. However, if you've never suffered or have never been close to someone suffering depression, then it's a very hard illness to understand. Having lived it myself, I have an altogether very different opinion of counselling and medication.

Anyway, that's another tangent to explore another day. Back on track, please.

The last couple of years have been somewhat exceptional and I guess it was just a matter of time before I had some sort of breakdown. In January 2003 my mother died and I feel that as she lay in her hospital bed becoming weaker, I became stronger. When she passed away I inherited her strength and determination and it was time for me to take some control of my life. Her death was not the cause of my depression, it was the catalyst for me to start putting right the things that were wrong in my life.

I met my ex-wife in 1990 and started work at my current employer in 1992. For over a decade I drifted, letting decisions be made for me and taking the path of least resistance. I was happy with each decision at the time but when my mother died I was forced to take stock. I realised that the way I behaved, including a series of flirtations and an affair, was not indicative of a happy marriage. I loved my children but my feelings for my wife were fading and so, in 2004, she became my ex-wife.

The positive side to 2004 was finding a new love. My girlfriend, partner, soon-to-be-wife, H. More on her another time but this time this is a love built on honesty and trust. She knows my history and my habits. I am honest with her just as, for the first time in my life, I started being honest with myself.

Just as my personal life had drifted, so had my career. I have always loved working for the company I do and have had great success there. A series of promotions, not so much applied for as directed into, reflected that. While I was working through the divorce I was promoted again, into a management position, with a large team supporting an unpopular and troublesome application.

The ups and downs of my personal life masked what was going on at work. When my Decree Absolute came through, and life started to settle, I realised that I was deeply unhappy in this new role. Despite feedback which proved otherwise, I felt I was failing. I enjoyed managing the team but did not enjoy the things I had to do as a manager. We have an appraisal scheme at this company that fundamentally goes against my personal values. How could I carry out this scheme with my team?

My work days became worse and worse. I was finding it harder to convince myself that I could snap out of what I was feeling. Having been in the same company for nearly 13 years I had little on my CV to suggest I could work anywhere else and with a large new mortgage and a (very) generous divorce settlement to pay, I felt trapped. If I couldn't give up my job but couldn't carry on with it, I started to think the only way out was suicide.

On November 30th 2004 I had my 'breakdown'. H found me hiding in a quiet corner at work, unable to return to my desk for fear of another telephone call or email request. She convinced me to talk to my manager, who told me to go home early and agreed I could work at home the next day. As H drove us home I sat in silence. At home, I went upstairs to change out of my work clothes and collapsed in tears, realising that for the previous 2 hours all I had thought of were different ways to kill myself.

Slowly I found the words to explain to H what I was thinking. It was my first step to recovery, admitting that I couldn't 'snap out of it' and telling someone else. My second step was H taking me to see the doctor the next day.

On December 1st I was diagnosed as suffering depression. I was signed-off work with 'stress' and started taking 20mg of Fluoxetine each day. I was starting my journey.

Tired

Drugs of choice:
Black Americano
30mg Fluoxetine per day (40mg & 20mg on alternate days)

So, four days into the weaning process and how do I feel?

Tired. Knackered. Bloody exhausted.

Mind you, that could be completely unrelated to the change in medication. It could be more closely related to the energetic six mile bike ride yesterday morning, a day of wallpaper stripping and mowing the lawn. That, and getting up at 0510 this morning and spending 2 hours in a traffic jam.

Still, mustn't grumble. Worse things happen at sea.

A year ago today...

Today was the first anniversary of the day I 'walked out' on my ex-wife. No point mincing words. Saying we 'broke-up' or 'separated' would suggest a joint action. And while I know there was a steady decline and all the signs of breakdown had been there for years, never mind months, to my ex-wife it was a sudden break.

I'm sure I could have handled things better, for years I kept my feelings bottled up and my life became a patchwork of lies, mostly small with one or two big ones in there for dramatic effect.

It was a sudden realisation that beneath all those lies was one truth, I no longer loved her. As soon as I realised that then it was too late to change and my heart was heading for someone new.

The toughest thing was walking out the front door and leaving behind my two children. No, 'leaving behind' doesn't quite fit. That suggests that they are no longer part of my life, but they most definitely are. Seeing my daughter cry (my son was too young to understand) was agony, like something plucking my heart from my chest. I love them both completely and make sure I see them whenever I can. That equates to daily phone calls, weekly meals out, fortnightly visits and fortnightly overnight stays. On those occasions that I see them then the rest of my life is suspended, they are the focus of all my attention and, in a strange way, I feel closer to them than ever before.

I was not a good husband but I was, and still am, a good father. Life has given me a second chance at the former, and in just under 14 weeks I will start being the best husband I can be, but that’s another entry to the blog, not this one.

Weaning

Drugs of choice:
Hold Tight London, The Chemical Brothers (Push The Button)
Vanilla Latte
Vanilla cigars
(Vanilla anything)
40mg Fluoxetine per day

Went to see the doctor this morning. I think I have seen my GP more often over the last four months or so than in my whole life. There’s something strange about sitting in the waiting room, surrounded by coughing children and poorly pensioners, yet looking perfectly healthy yourself. No doubt they think there’s either something seriously wrong with me or that I’m a Medical Rep. God forbid.

Things went well though. I’ve spent long enough working in pharma to convince a GP to have a sensible conversation with me about contra-indications and the like, and he is now researching the interactions between anti-histamines and fluoxetine for me. Only one thing worse than suffering depression would be having hayfever and depression.

The main reason it went well is that I am now moving onto the weaning stage. I have been on fluoxetine (generic Prozac) since the 1st of December last year, 20mg at first then up to 40mg in January – post Christmas blues setting back my recovery. I will now be alternating between 20mg and 40mg each day for a while, dropping down to just 20mg if I feel ready or returning to 40mg if I don’t. The other benefit of having a seemingly educated conversation with your doctor is that he will trust you to self medicate.

So now I get to find out the truth. Am I happier, am I better? Has changing my job and my approach to life made me feel better, or is it just the drugs? I’m a little nervous but at the same time almost excited, that I may actually be “Getting Better”.

So this is the start then?

A strange way to start a blog, a memory out of the blue. Yesterday’s posting was inspired by http://www.yourstation.co.uk, a site collecting stories about underground stations. A final kick-start to a blog that I created at least a month ago and have been meaning to start for even longer.

I have always had a desire to write, or perhaps a yearning to be read. My life is not overly exceptional, the last year or so has been a bit of a soap opera though. On December 1st 2004 I was diagnosed as suffering from depression. Thanks to counselling, medication, and a lot of love I am recovering – I have been back at work for a month, having been signed off for three months before that.

I don’t know if anyone will read this. I will try to resist the urge to add a hit counter, as I suspect the knowledge that each tick of it will be caused by me reading my own contributions will be somewhat demoralising. I will instead look forward to the day someone comments – not only does it mean someone is reading, it means they have been affected enough by the writing to respond.

So, sit back and enjoy. My past, present and future will slowly reveal itself on these pages.

Windswept of Finsbury Park

I have many memories of Finsbury Park. It was part of my daily trek to school and back during many of my formative years. From the British Rail platforms down through the maze of tunnels past the underground lines and out into the bus station.

It was one late evening / early night in October 1987 when I was touched by nature. I had been out that evening on a school trip to the National Theatre (I was 15 at the time) and was stood on platform six, waiting for a train to take me on the last leg of my journey home. It was dark and quite chilly, especially when the wind blew, which it was doing rather a lot.

The BR platforms at Finsbury Park are elevated. At either end of the station the railway crosses a road bridge and, apart from some factory offices opposite, the station is the highest point and therefore exposed. I stood near the waiting room, opposite ‘Doris’, letting the wind blast through me. I could have easily gone inside to keep warm, but the energy in the air that night was intense.

In those childhood commuting days I relished being part of the weather, feeling the full force of nature. I would come home soaked through or frozen, not caring as my body, my mind and the world were in tune. I hated school and regularly went through periods of melancholy, a sign of things to come later in life. As I stood there I was not looking forward to school the next day. If I could just convince my mother that I was ill the next day, a Friday, then I could avoid going back until Monday.

As rubbish swirled across the platform and around my ankles, I could almost lean into the wind. How far could I lean without falling over? Could I lean over the tracks and be saved by the wind? Or would nature and fate let me drop beneath the wheels of the next train, fulfilling those depressed teen fantasies?

My mind jolted back to reality as the train pulled up alongside the platform. I climbed in and the hissing of the automatic doors closed out the whistling gale that was building up outside.

I planned my Friday sickness on the way home. The next morning I awoke to car alarms, power cuts and a closed railway. My fake illness was no longer required, it was the 16th of October and I was going nowhere...