Poison Ivy

I’m having some time off work and a break from life. I can’t say this makes me greatly happy.
I had a psychiatry appointment today (you know, I used to struggle spelling the words ‘psychiatry, psychotherapy, psychiatrist, and now I know them like the back of my hand…) and it could’ve gone better. It could’ve gone worse, but it wash;t great: it went something like this:
me: I’m just really struggling with everything.
dr: in what way?
me: well when I rang yesterday and I was upset on the phone…
dr:..about your mum?
me: well it’s not just my mam though is it? I’m caring for someone with mental health difficulties when I suffer from myself (the blind leading the blind…)
dr: but you’ve always had difficulties with your mum
me: yes but you’re missing the point. I know our relationship is complicated, but that’s normal for us.
dr: have you thought about family therapy?
me: yes. But I’m worried about her health, that’s what I’m saying. and when she’s ill, it makes me worse and now I panic over everything and I just don’t see how my medication (antidepressants) are helping anymore
dr: well, the medication is to combat your clinical depression. But your emotions will fluctuate and you will, in time, learn to control them: that’s just Borderline Personality Disorder. Therapy might help, but there is no medication to change the way you react.
me:…..
In short, I was pretty stunned. Clinical depression? I thought that was a layer that I had shed long ago. I thought that I had my new diagnosis, BPD, and that was that. Yes, I still feel suicidal. Yes, I still cry every day. No, my eating habits haven’t improved. No, I don’t enjoy everything I used to. But I’m trying, isn’t that enough?
I was confused before my appointment but now I don’t know what on earth is going on. I find it strange that, over writing these blogs, and as my readers are increasing, you are slowly getting to know me and become part of my life.
Yes, there are lots of things that I don’t share: but I never thought I’d ever be able to write so openly, yet everyone is very supportive, for which I thank my lucky stars.
I am beginning to wonder if illness is something that we grow into and it becomes a solid part of our character, like poison ivy on the side of the cottage, gnarling roots overtaking the ground and destructing anything that blocks their path, but from afar, it is beautiful. It covers our outer shell, protecting the walls we put up, hurting anyone who comes close.
Maybe we are just waiting for someone to cut down the ivy, to embrace the pain it brings them and excise patience. But the roots of illness (and of ivy) run deeper than we see and imagine, always threatening to rear above ground and consume once more. Is that what it means to live with a mental health illness? Do we live in fear of the potential of destruction or do we accept the inevitability but live regardless? Or is there some kind of in-between? If there is, I certainly haven’t found it yet. I guess what I’m getting at is that, I’ve always worn my depression like a thick cloak, preventing me from seeing any further than it’s perimeter, restricting my vision. But now, I’ve grown so accustomed to having the protection and security of that cloak, I would be lost without it. People say you need to get better and to recover, which means getting rid of your illness. What if that isn’t the answer? What if recovery is about adjusting the way you live? Embracing the cloak, not hiding behind it. Looking further ahead, instead of allowing it to restrict your vision. Putting down the burden when it becomes too much to bear, but never trying to leave it completely. What if, it’s all about acceptance and not an out-and-out fight. Sure, the end goal is the same: to enjoy life as much as any other person. But maybe, this way, the journey becomes a little easier. Longer, yes. But not as confrontational.