It’s easy to lose your marbles in the loony ball pit of depression

There  is something so therapeutic about the ocean. A powerful ebb and flow that serves to remind me just how unimportant I am really am in the greater scheme of things. I am humbled and captivated by the sea – it’s actually the right scene for the space I’m in. Nature has a way of pulling me closer to God, and the sea and surf in particular seems to nurture my inner peace when I find myself in personal chaos.  With what has transpired in the past two weeks, I needed to reflect on events and I needed time to appreciate life in general.

Since my last blog post, “What’s in the belly of the monster?”, I was drawn further into a depressive darkness that swallowed my hope and joy.  I almost left my husband, I contemplated how much better people’s lives would be without me, and a friendship of over 20 years terminated in a spiral of unfortunate events. Additionally, a perception of being unappreciated in my career and the fact that I could actually lose said job, was the icing on the cake. 

I found myself in a down-slide that gained momentum with every day.  Between seesawing episodes of tearfulness and anger, I visited my doctor, changed my anti-depressant medication from Zoloft to Wellbutrin XL and was booked off work with a depressive episode. Unfortunately for me, my depression actually worsened and I experienced several bad side-effects, amongst others, insomnia, increased agitation, and aggression.  All this culminated in a mini breakdown of sorts.

Toes in the sandAfter a second visit to the good doctor and a diagnosis of burnout and anxiety, I was changed back to my former medication and given another medication on top of that to help me cope. Now, after strict instructions to get some rest and relaxation, I am at the coast doing just that!

I’ve found that my toes in the sand, a salty sea breeze in my nostrils and the soothing sound of breaking waves in my ears are the best prescription. I feel happier and more at peace than I have felt in a while! It’s a first step to getting back on the wagon; and since I’m taking this whole ‘getting better’ thing day by day, that indeed makes it a very significant step.

What’s in the belly of the monster?

There is a time for everything:  a time to laugh, a time to cry, a time to grieve and a time to dance, a time to love and a time to hate, a time to embrace and a time to turn away.  Where are you in your life? 

We live our short existence in seasons, and that’s ok, because there is a time and place for almost everything under the sun. But for some of us, we find ourselves ensnared in one never-ending season:  winter.  

I think back to my days as a younger woman in her early twenties. I had lost my father to depression and alcoholism and was left alone to my own devices.  I had no siblings and a dysfunctional relationship with my mother. I found myself in a place filled with turmoil and unhappiness. I even tried to end my life.  But eventually I found God and was pulled out of the muck and mire.  I was happier again – for a short while – before slipping back into the arms of a former lover, that is, the comfortable misery I had once known.

I can truly imagine how Jonah must have felt when he was swallowed by the whale!  In my opinion, the belly of the monster [depression] is a dark, cold and desolate place to be trapped in.  Yet, I’ve been in this place before; I’ve actually come full circle! While crying helplessly in the shower yesterday, apparently for no reason whatsoever, it dawned on me that I’m familiar with this feeling of despair.  I am also concerned about how much of the so-called depression gene I have inherited from my father. Perhaps I really do suffer from dysthymia?

Melencolia I. Print of Albrecht Dürer

Melencolia I. Print of Albrecht Dürer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

According to research, the Greek word dysthymia refers to a ‘bad state of mind’ or ‘ill humour’.  It is characterised as one of the two forms of clinical depression, although it apparently has less serious symptoms than major depression, but lasts longer.  The American Psychiatric Association defines dysthymia as a depressed mood most of the time for at least two years, along with at least two of the following symptoms: poor appetite or overeating; insomnia or excessive sleep; low energy or fatigue; low self-esteem; poor concentration or indecisiveness; and hopelessness.  Some experts surmise that dysthymia ‘runs in families and probably has a hereditary component’. Other proposed symptoms of dysthymia include ‘a strong tendency to be critical of oneself and others, pessimism, guilt, brooding and gloominess’.

Where I am, I don’t want to be. I feel as if I’m mourning the life I wanted to have. I know I have so much to be thankful for, so much to celebrate – right now I’m just in the belly of the monster, and I can’t find the exit sign!

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Down the depression rabbit hole

I’m not in a good space right now. The positive spin on this is that I know rough times foster the need for change, the need to do and act differently, to challenge the status quo and cross over into a better situation. That’s apparently where I am – on the pathway to something better.

Despite knowing this, I of course, still need to get through this bad patch. I fully realise that I can’t keep blaming my past on how I feel today. I know that my reactions and feelings stem from my insecurities and my innate inability to believe that I can be loved. Yet, acknowledgement and awareness is not actually helping me to change how I behave.

I am trying so hard not to be sucked further into this black hole of depression and this pit of self-despair.  I try harder to keep a smile on my face and to appear happy.  I’ve even started to keep clear of confrontation.  Me? Steer away from confrontation? That, in itself, should be a warning sign!

On the Threshold of Eternity

On the Threshold of Eternity (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Based on past experience, I recognise all the warning signs:  the hyper-sensitivity, the tearfulness, the feelings of being unloved and being unworthy, the increased shopping expenditure and consequent credit card debt, the need to look and feel more in control by focusing on my physical appearance – and yes, shying away from confrontation because I know I’m not emotionally strong enough to handle it at this juncture.

Am I bipolar? Apparently, after chatting to a friend that is bipolar (and doing a bit of ‘google-ing’), I’m not. Is my life, my job, my lifestyle, my relationships, so bad? No. There is no logical answer for my destructive behaviour – except that I do still feel this way. Previously I turned to antidepressants as a miracle cure for my depressive state of mind. I can’t do the same now – after all, surely 50 mg of Zoloft a day should be doing the trick?

Honestly, I don’t have the answers. I am caught in a spiral and I am trying to claw my way out.  Hopefully, dear reader, I will succeed, because there is one huge difference between now and the depression I suffered in the past:   I can now write about it and openly share my feelings without fear of admonishment or undue remorse. I can draw on the strengths and experiences of other writers and bloggers who are, or have, gone through the same trials and tribulations. 

I am not alone.

Celebrating ye olde English of ye olde times

During one of my many trips to Durban and back, I picked up a delightful book on sale at a bookstore in the King Shaka International Airport.  Although I paid small change for this book titled “Lost English Words and Phrases That Have Vanished from our Language” by Chris Roberts, this little publication has given me hours of entertainment and is worth its weight in gold.

As is the case with most languages, the addition of words and phrases is dependent on prevailing circumstances and the influx of other cultures, amongst other factors. For example, the two World Wars saw a melting pot of nations and cultures influencing the English language as it was known then.  Chris Roberts describes English as possessing the largest vocabulary of any language in the world, an attribute he says is because of the language’s “magpie-like tendency to adopt words from pretty much anywhere as well as having been shaped by successive waves of invaders, bringing with them Danish, Anglo-Saxon and French words”.

This is the true beauty of the English language:  its adaptability.  As words are added, so other words become obsolete.  After paging tirelessly through his book, I’ve picked out a fifteen of my favourite words that are now sadly out of commission.

Poodlefaker:

A term used for a young man, often a newly commissioned officer, who habitually socialised with women. The word “poodle” was 19th century slang for a woman, and “faker” in this context refers to the pretence of emotions.  “Poodlefaker” is a great old word for what we would call a “player” today.

Knickerbockers (knee breeches):

A sort of loose-fitting trouser gathered in at the knee or sometimes the calf. Today the more stylish versions are called cropped pants or Capri’s.

Pully hawly:

The word has a “pull and haul” context.  Here, the phrase “pully hawly”, originating in the 18th century, meant a sexual encounter.  So a “pully hawly” is a bit like a “slap and tickle”, a “roll in the hay” or a “romp”.

Oojah:

A word similar to “thingamabob” or “doohickey” used by a person to describe an object or item he/she has temporarily or permanently forgotten.

Pell-mell:

Another descriptive word denotes disorderly or reckless haste.  Chaotic, helter-skelter, higgledy-piggledy or jumbled would be good alternatives.

Rubber Johnny:

Simply put, an old English term for a condom

Doxy:

An archaic term for a sexually promiscuous woman.

Rum:

“Rum” was often used as a prefix, either to symbolise admiration or warning, for example, “rum cove” (a dextrous and clever rogue) or “rum doxy” (a beautiful woman).

Sawbones:

An old term for doctor, or more accurately a surgeon.

Vapours:

An attack of the “vapours” would describe a number of mental or emotional conditions such as depression, hysteria, mood swings, fainting etc.

Tussie-mussie:

A small posy of flowers either carried by a bridesmaid or matron of honour at a wedding, or pinned to her dress by means of a small decorative vase. “Tussie-mussie” seems to stem from the medieval word “tussemose” or “tussock”, which is pre-dated by the Victorian era when a bunch of aromatic herbs were carried to disguise unpleasant body odours due to the poor personal hygiene in those days.

Cove:

A “cove” was generally a conventional, home-loving sort of person. The word may have been derived from the Romany word “kova” simply meaning a person or thing.

Egg on your chin:

A polite way of telling a man that his zip or buttons were undone.

Gasper:

“Gasper” is a dated slang word for a cigarette.  We call it a “smoke” these days.

Galloping consumption:

“Consumption” was once the most commonly used term for tuberculosis (TB) and therefore “galloping” was the vivid way to describe how the disease consumed and wasted its victims.

The debate of UK English vs American English

I am fascinated with the English language It’s a passion I learned, late in life, not everyone shares. People enjoy different things for sure! Me? I thrive on researching grammar, spelling and language issues in general.  

 There is one language related topic in particular that truly blows my hair back:  the variances between the use of American English, British English and South African English.

For the record, I do not confess to be an expert on the topic! I am merely an English language buff who has spent a substantial amount of personal time clarifying, in my own mind at least, the correct use of English in writing.

My vocation requires that I edit and write, and being a proud South African, I am continuously irritated at the inconsistencies in magazine and newspaper editorial, amongst others, in relation to the use of American and British English standards.  Often – and to my utter dismay – any particular editorial can contain both language styles:  the American English standard and the British or UK English standard – all in one writing sample!

faceWhat really gets my goat is the spelling of words with “s” or “z” (e.g. organisation or organization) and conflicting sentence punctuation, especially when using quotation marks e.g.:

  • “It’s a beautiful and sunny day”, Lisa said. She emphasised, “I wonder when it will rain?”.
  • ‘It’s a beautiful and sunny day,” Lisa said. She emphasized, ‘I wonder when it will rain?’

You see, my peers and I were educated to use the “s” and not the “z” – although both are correct in British English, while American English prefers using the “z” only.  Yet the “z” creeps persistently into our writing!  So which version is correct?

In my humble opinion, South Africans should stick with the following simple language guidelines:

  • Using British/UK English spelling e.g. programme, cheque, kilogramme, metre, dialogue, neighbour, honour, archaeology etc.
  • Using the “s” and not the “z” in spelling e.g. organise, analyse, capitalise, emphasise, standardise, urbanise etc.
  • Using double quotation marks for direct speech and single quotation marks for a quote within a quote.
  • Placing the comma or period outside the quotation marks unless the comma or period forms part of the quoted material, in which case the punctuation mark is placed inside the quotation marks.
  • In body text which already contains direct speech using double quotation marks, single quotation marks should be used to highlight or emphasise specific words or to enclose slang and jargon.
  • Use of hyphens to separate identical letters as in co-operate and re-introduce.
  • Hyphenating compound modifiers, if used in adjectives before the noun e.g. full-time job, well-known expert, large-scale project. However, if used after the noun, a hyphen is not used e.g. the job is full time, the expert is well known, the project was large scale. Also, modifiers ending in “ly” do not require hyphenation (thanks to www.copyblogger.com for this easy to remember tip)  
  • Hyphenating compound numbers and fractions.

So there you have it! Use it or don’t use it – I’ve put it out there!

Why is the ‘chase’ just so thrilling?

I’m not sure what it is, but the thrill of the chase is a much coveted game between the sexes.  Ok, I lie; I too love a bit of mystery and a few breadcrumbs along the trail when in hot pursuit. 

By now you should have realised that I am an undercover psychologist.  I missed my true calling to be a clinical psychologist, but nevertheless I still love analysing the reasons behind why people do and act certain ways.

Man chasing woman

Image from billyspostcards.com

Relationship experts and psychologists seem to allude to a few elements that define why the chase is so exciting.  Ego and man’s natural competitive nature to desire the unattainable are high on the list.

In an article in the Huffington Post UK, “Men Really Do Prefer The Thrill Of The Chase, Say Scientists”, relationship expert Dr. Pam Spurr is quoted as saying that “almost everyone – men and women – put a certain added ‘value’ on to something that’s not easily attainable. This is why can feel so good to save up for something like a special dress or handbag – and when you get it just feels priceless”. Dr. Spurr says that “it’s the same with sex and the classic chase – many men find the chase exciting and it strikes their ego to feel they’re the one who is finally going to get her attention – and into bed. Add to this the fact that men are very goal focused and an elusive goal can seem all that much more interesting”.

I think this basically sums up the intentions behind the ‘thrill of the chase’.  Yet I would not be me if I didn’t seek out further viewpoints – so I decided to ask a few friends what they thought on the topic.  I posed these three questions to four different people and here are their thoughts:

Friend 1 (Male)

Why do you think men like the chase so much?
“I think it’s a well documented fact that men are “hunters” – it stands to reason then that they like the chase.”

What is the ultimate goal?
“The ultimate goal is to make the object of desire his own.”

What happens when the chase is over?
“The chase is never really over, it just changes context. I think the woman should always ensure that she keeps the man chasing…”

Friend 2 (Female)

Why do you think men like the chase so much?
“It is an instinctive behaviour, almost an animal instinct.  Men are programmed as the ‘hunters’, it is part of their identity to go out and acquire things, on a most basic level food, shelter, a partner; and as we evolved, men no longer have to physically hunt for food, they focus on other ‘hunting activities’ – women, wealth, status, power, adventure etc.”

What is the ultimate goal?
“In adolescence and early adult life, the chase is a learning process – what behaviour gets what sort of results, as men mature they now have the skills to ‘hunt’ for their life partner. To a large extent, men never stop the ‘hunting game’ – all men want the affirmation that they are capable of ‘chasing and capturing’ someone’s attention or heart.” 

What happens when the chase is over?
“For some this means moving into a new phase of life and settling down, building a home and working with their partners to fulfil their joint life goals.  For others, they lose interest and need the thrill of a new ‘chase’.”

Friend 3 (Male):

Why do you think men like the chase so much?
“I don’t think its limited to the male species. Maybe from an anthropological and evolutionary point of view it could be justified that because men were the hunters way back when we still express some of those prehistoric traits from our ancestors – but now more than ever the fairer sex from Generation Y are becoming more assertive more dominating.”

What is the ultimate goal?
”It’s all about asserting your dominance, scaling up  your ego, proving that you are more than even you think you are, or maybe playing up a fantasy hidden somewhere in the deepest darkest depths of your conscience. Also, let his be known no one ‘chases’ another person knowing that they won’t ‘get’ them.”

What happens when the chase is over?
“For most – it’s onto the next challenge. There is always an insatiable urge in whatever context. People are always chasing something:  romance, friendship, sex, acknowledgement, sadism. Generally, people are F!@#ked up!”

Friend 4 (Female):

Why do you think men like the chase so much?
“Only if women pose a challenge do men chase them.  If things come to easy for men they lose interest and the novelty or excitement  is over.”

What is the ultimate goal?
“Men like to be stimulated.”

What happens when the chase is over?
“Many guy friends have said to me if a woman gives it up to quick and easy nothing is left for them to be excited about.”

How accidents remind us of life’s fragility

“I’ve been in an accident”, those were the words uttered by my husband on Friday evening. My heart sank as I asked if he’s ok and where the accident took place.

I rushed to put on my shoes and a cardi. Minutes later I was out the door with my cell phone and car keys in hand.  My mind was racing as I put my car through its paces rushing to the scene of the accident.

The sight that met my eyes filled me with dread.  Ambulances and emergency personnel were on the scene, police vehicles haphazardly parked on the curb.  Already one lane on either side of the double carriageway had been closed.  Traffic control officials were directing oncoming cars past the accident, and an excited – and growing – crowd of witnesses and bystanders were milling around.

AccidentIt was through this scene that I half ran, half walked; scanning the crowd for any sign of my husband. He said he was ok on the phone, yet I was filled with uneasiness, anxiously wondering in exactly what state I would find him given the clear severity of the accident.

An older model BMW X5, silver, lay on its roof, its front lamps still illuminating the ground ahead of it.  Paramedics worked systematically to release the vehicle’s occupants. It seemed surreal:  seeing such methodical calmness amidst such chaos.

Eventually I caught a glimpse of him, standing head and shoulders above those around him.  My footsteps sped up.  In a few seconds I was clinging to him, my eyes dewy and my heart drumming in my ears.  I was praising God that he was ok. Praising God for the fact that he had not taken my husband away from me.  Praising God that we would have another day together.

Despite the hard times, despite our differences, despite any challenges we faced together as a couple – all that seemed trivial in light of a crisis that could’ve easily taken his life and separated us forever.

Did I tell him I loved him before he left the house that evening? I realised that I hadn’t.  The lesson couldn’t be more pertinent.  Every day is a blessing.  Every day could be our last. The people we love the most in our lives are often the ones we take for granted.

Thankfully my husband walked away with only minor injuries. I am eternally grateful – now I have another chance to tell him I love him … every single day … for the rest of our lives.

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