My new IP (bit like cbt but different) therapy (and nothing to do with my IP address) is fairly structured. This week I got to draw a mind map of my relationships with the people around me… last week was making a start on my ‘trauma line’.
What was really strange was I woke up one morning this week and suddenly realised that I’d left my divorce off my trauma line… we’d talked about my marriage ending, my meeting Jane (that wasn’t a trauma just a context point)! and most recently of all the hoohah around Janes transition.
My divorce happened over the time I was pregnant with the boy and lasted well into his second year… I could really have done without the stress… it was nasty, as divorces can be. Although Jane buffered me from much of the workings it was still MY divorce…and I went through it.
I distinctly remember a point where I said when all this is over I’m going to fall over and not get back up.
As far as I remember I was diagnosed very late in the day (18 months post birth) with post natal depression… at the time I don’t think it occurred to me to mention I was undergoing a divorce.
At that point I still didn’t accept that I ‘did’ depression… but post natal depression was okay… understandable becuase it just happens… hormones…lack of sleep whatever. It was, for me, an acceptable form of depression.
As it happened I took the tablets, like you do, farmed the boy out to nursery a couple of mornings a week (something I wouldn’t ever have approved of normally) and caught up on some sleep… thought I’d postpone falling over and not getting up until the boy started school and I could find the time to do it.
But I never did.
Jane happened not long after the boy started school…. kicked my legs from under me… but strangely enough I didn’t fall over.
I stayed up… stayed walking…
But part of me sees it as a missed opportunity… I wish I wasn’t so resiliant… I wish I had fallen over properly and not got back up.
…. my trauma line reads a bit like a soldier running towards an enemy line… the bullets keep hitting but somehow the impetus keeps him running, spasmodic with the hits, but without falling over.
I’ve missed my chance to lie down and rest.
I dream of old fashioned institutions, smooth green lawns with white uniformed nurses… a little macrame in the afternoons. I dream of setting off famous five stylee in a gypsy caravan with nary a care in the world just me and the dog and a damn fine never ending picnic.
In reality I walk the dog in the sunshine and feel the wind on my face, look at the flowers and listen to the skylarks.
I’m not going to fall over, let alone stay down… and some days I still resent that fact.