Guest posting over at Nadine’s

Tags

Depression, guest post, PTSD

I know that all of you regular readers know this – I spend a lot of time talking about Nadine. The awesome things she’s been doing, making and sharing. You can pretty much say I’m a Nadine fan. 😉

So, when she asked me recently to write a guest post for her Inspiring Women series, I was all over it.

And as per the image above, the post is called 5 Key Tips for Healing from Trauma.

Its the sort of advice I’d want to share with anyone who has experienced a traumatic event that they’re having trouble overcoming.

Please head over to Nadine’s blog to have a read. Perhaps share it with anyone you know who might find it useful.

~ Svasti xxx

False walls and exit doors

Tags

Ayurveda, black thoughts, catch 22, Depression, eclipsed new moon, Health, injury, mayhem, PTSD, Sadness, sociopaths, surrendering, thyroid

This is a different post than the one I’d planned to share. But I’m having a hard time finding a point in a lot of my writing right now. I’m struggling. I know these feelings aren’t permanent but all of my darkest thoughts are out to play and I’ve gotta tell you folks, it’s mayhem in Svasti-land.

Tore a calf muscle earlier this week. As if my life doesn’t have enough crap in it, I was trying to run for the train and without obvious cause I could no longer walk properly. Just a twang inside my right leg and look Ma, I’m Hop-a-long Svasti In Considerably Unpleasant Pain.

Been working with an Ayurvedic practitioner in recent times to work on a more holistic approach to healing my thyroid. Ayurveda is Indian traditional medicine and it’s amazing and powerful. Apparently my due to the many imbalances in my body right now, it’s not surprising that there’s dryness in my soft tissues. Which means things like this can happen more easily.

Great. Frickin GREAT.

Friday brought the eclipsed new moon, which I felt very keenly. Its energy brought certain truths to light that I’ve been trying to ignore as best as I could: as much as I love working in the digital industry, the people I have to work with sometimes are just killing me.

People being assholes who are more interested in stroking their ego than they are in being professional, courteous, efficient and respectful. In corporate life, there are more people like this than not. I suspect half of them are sociopaths, while the others I think are just sad, lonely people who don’t know any better than to lash out at their work mates.

But it’s more than that. I’m in this catch 22 of needing the money I’m earning in order to reach my goal of being debt-free as quickly as I can. Not to mention that right now I have a lot of health-related expenses – doctors, meds, vitamins and herbs, alternative medicine consultations and now massages (for that cranky right calf of mine).

Essentially, I need to get out of this line of work but I can’t afford to just yet.

So add all of these things up – my health, a mystery injury and admitting the truth of my career situation to myself… and I’ve been feeling a little crappy this weekend.

Not that I haven’t tried to buck myself up.

Yesterday I got another massage ostensibly for my calf, but in truth my entire body aches. Not just from the strain of limping and hobbling my way through the week, but because I still carry my old shoulder injury and untold amounts of tension from PTSD.

As a yogi, I’m pretty darn bendy but regardless of that and no matter how much yoga I do, my body retains some powerful clenching abilities. So it hurts – something that should feel good and nourishing to my body, it bloody hurts.

Post-massage and before my haircut appointment (my first since the Great Hair Debacle which I haven’t written about here) I had a meal at a fabulous new cafe, only three weeks old. It has this eclectic menu including the Asian-style jook I ordered. It was great, but what really won me over was the super-large tea pot (above) that my lemongrass and ginger tea arrived in.

So I was doing what I could to make the weekend enjoyable despite my limp and those truthful truths yammering away. My new haircut made me feel so much better about looking in the mirror for the first time in ages. Which is good.

But it wasn’t enough. Black thoughts have been welling up. They smell suspiciously like depression and I’ve noticed too, how everything is a little less bright. Colours aren’t as vivid and even though I know the way out, I can’t stop myself from wandering in a little deeper. Not just yet.

Because these thoughts, they want to be heard. Even if they are the voice of depression and loss and therefore, rather unbalanced. They go a little something like this:

Life isn’t like a fairy tale. There are no prescribed, audience approved happily ever afters. Some people get lucky and others don’t. That’s just the way it is and it seems like I’m one of those people who isn’t gonna get lucky. My sister has three children now, three! My three best girlfriends are all happily married. One of them is pregnant with her second child, the other with her first and the third is in the process of trying to get pregnant. One of these women I’ve always thought of as a little sister and yet here she is, surpassing me while my own life STILL stands still. I desperately want to let other people in, to date, to have a boyfriend, but at the same time I aint letting anyone in anytime soon. I try and try and try to get past it all, to heal, to move on. But just when I think I’m getting somewhere… SURPRISE. Here, have a chronic health problem. Here, lose the ability to walk properly. And for good measure, let’s throw in a couple of egotistical assholes at my workplace, too.

Still, I can’t find a permanent job and what’s worse, I don’t even want one. Not anymore. Not this line of work and having to deal with people who are less than honest and truthful with themselves and other people. This isn’t who I am but right now I don’t have a choice, do I? EVERY TIME I think I’m closer to my goals, the goalposts move. There is no end. No hope for me. No magical shift where suddenly my health is sorted and my metabolism starts working again, I drop that extra weight and finish paying off my debts. That’s an ending from one of those stupid chick flicks I hate so much and it’s just not real.

What’s real is what’s here. I try my best. I do service work. I do what I can for others and I take pleasure in the little things whenever I can. I do. But I don’t know what it’d feel like to be free anymore. As much as I love my nieces, I really wish I’d never moved back to Melbourne. But here I am, and I’m doing what I can to leave although sometimes it feels like I never will. Not ever.

Even though the saying goes you’re never given more than you can handle, I’m utterly sick to death of being given more to handle again and again while nothing seems to change.

I truthfully don’t know what to do next. If this was a war, I’d be surrendering to the other side right about now…

~Svasti

The poisonous layer cake of PTSD

Tags

Anxiety, because I'm stronger, chronic distress, corrosive, Depression, Healing, Hollywood PTSD, l-thyrosine, magnesium, PTSD

These days I don’t usually cry any more when I talk about it. But sometimes I do.

Right now I do.

Perhaps it’s because there’s all this “stuff” that’s been seeping from my pores, sort of like garlic does when I eat too much.

The body has a specific volume and when we hit our limit, the excess has to find a way out somehow. Any which way just so long as it escapes, snaking in rivulets of sadness and grief, words never said and tears never cried.

They escape but they become these weird ghostly apparitions of emotions never felt. Squished down as they were because back then, there wasn’t the time or space to let them out. Not if I wanted to keep my heart in my chest and be able to stand up, walk around and function in some (twilight) state. But still, I was sort of functional. Enough that if you didn’t look closely (and who ever really does except others who’ve been to these places), then for all intents and purposes I looked okay.

But because of all that, those squished and faded emotions never got a shot. Now, misshapen and hobbled they still want to be heard and felt. They aren’t going to be dismissed, either.

Why now?

The consensus seems to be that it’s because I’m stronger now. Because I’ve been to the bottom of the sea and back again, my burden is so much lighter these days and there’s more space.

Now entering that space is wordless sorrow and fear, floating without anchor. Beating upon my ribcage, my kidneys and my heart – expressing that long-held pain like a sickness now oozing with boils and a mess of other infections that just need a place to meet the air, just so there’s an opportunity for healing for these things, too.

Corrosive. That’s the word my friend Jaliya used. The effects of PTSD/depression/anxiety on the body are corrosive. Like acid, but not the woo-hoo-I-see-purple-dolphins-cartwheeling-in-the-sky kind, that people do for fun(?! yes, apparently they do). Think instead of battery acid, released from its container and drip-dripping its way through places it should never be. Corrosive just like that.

Except we’re talking about the body here. My mind was terribly busy for the longest time (paraphrasing an episode of Grey’s Anatomy) with the glue and the tape, just keeping myself from falling apart.

But best efforts in emergency situations, and especially protracted emergency situations means the parts that don’t scream quite as loudly (if at all) get ignored. Sometimes they get ignored for years and years until they’re forgotten. We forget them, but they don’t forget us.

And so it goes.

I’ve been so very sad of late, just letting the sadness wash on through. It hasn’t been easy and certainly, there’s been no joy in the process. Just a release of what was, and what I never got to feel back then when I should’ve been feeling it. Stale emotions never vanish, you see. Not until they’re done.

Hollywood PTSD

I’ve this habit of watching TV shows that depict PTSD. I don’t know why because I find them very disturbing and I can’t get through them without bawling, heart thumping and I wonder sometimes… really wonder if it’s ever gonna be not like that.

Last year, True Blood did a small piece of PTSD. This year it’s been featured in both Grey’s Anatomy and the spin-off show, Private Practice. The latter has been the trickiest one for me to watch because it is most similar to my own experience: senseless violence perpetrated viciously. I was a mess, watching that stuff.

More interesting to me however, is the way the after-effects of PTSD are dealt with on these shows because that’s the guts of it all. My main complaint is the very neat amount of time everyone’s PTSD seems to be resolved in. Of course, Hollywood likes a happy ending and neatly resolved story-lines that don’t take too long. The characters on these shows all seem to have a significant “incident” that marks their healing work as being “done”. But it’s just NOT like that.

There’s so many layers to the poisonous PTSD layer cake, not to mention the acrid frosting on top. Recovery comes in waves and it requires a shit-load of hard work. There’s so much to be undone because PTSD isn’t topical or localised.

Instead, PTSD is everywhere like a virus: taking up residence and proceeding to invade all territories. Just when you think you’re celebrating because you’ve ferreted it out of one zone, you realise that it’s deeply embedded in seven more.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad that Hollywood is taking a stand for PTSD, showing it as a real disorder that can be healed, and that it can happen to all kinds of people (it ain’t selective). And there’s been some excellent demonstration of dissociation, and weird behaviours that seem entirely unrelated but hell-yes they’re all part of it. So that’s the good news.

To paraphrase something else from one of those shows: it ain’t right to not feel things. We’ve gotta feel what needs to be felt.

Falling apart

And that’s what’s happening to me right now. I’m feeling it all, and it can be really quite overwhelming.

Of course, then there’s the discovery of what else PTSD has been busily destroying in its spare time.

Another term from Jaliya – chronic distress – this kind of ongoing strain draws on the resources of the body just to keep going.

So this morning I got weepy in the doctor’s office, trying to explain the complexities of the last five years. About why I never made it to a GP when I was assaulted, and what I’ve done to keep myself afloat and surviving ever since. I’ve done pretty well, really. But now I need some healing from the world of medicine, whereas I generally prefer alternative therapies.

The doctor (I’d done plenty of research to find a decent and open-minded one) was very kind and supportive. She wasn’t dismissive about anything I told her, and was pleasantly receptive when I told her I handled the worst of my symptoms with therapy and yoga… I feel like I’m in a safe place but still I cried, damnit!

I started telling her that I know I’ve neglected my body, until she reassured me that I was probably just too busy with my brain and my emotions to worry about anything else. It’s not uncommon, she says.

I also told her that for the first time ever, I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn’t perhaps have some medication for the anxiety. Just because hell, anxiety can be such an asshole sometimes, y’know? First though, we’re trying some vitamin supplements which she’s hoping will help me out a little more: magnesium and l-tyrosine.

Testing, testing 1...2...3...

And we’re doing a full work up. I donated some blood and urine samples to the pathology people so she can start working out exactly how much damage has been wrought on my physical body.

It’s never-ending and yet it must be ending, right? I must be getting to this particular point in dealing with everything because I am getting to the end of it, as Rachel suggested to me just last week. I really, really hope so.

But it’s a very long-fucking-road. Where am I again?

~ Svasti

Dammit, I used to be the Salad Queen!

Tags

comfort food, Depression, diamond shards, Food, fox hole, half-life of trauma habits, jigsaw puzzle, PTSD, salad queen, sleep, smack down, time, Trauma

Recovering from trauma and depression is not unlike trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle: one made of thousands of tiny shards of a diamond. Sometimes those broken pieces are blatantly obvious, while others are almost invisible and you just can’t find ’em for quids no matter how hard you look. That is, until you end up slicing open your foot, blood everywhere.

There’s always, it seems, more to do. More to heal. Unravel. Soothe. Re-program. Sure, the pieces you recover might get smaller and smaller, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less important.

Time moves on and regardless of when the initial impact occurred, you’re still picking up the pieces for years and years, because they hide in the darnedest places.

The half-life of trauma habits

2009 was huge for me. So much happened! I became a yoga teacher, was unemployed for almost four months and took enormous leaps in healing my PTSD. At the same time, I very nearly succumbed to a most heinous and black-natured episode of depression.

In 2010, life was still up and down a whole bunch but gradually a sense of lightness encroached on the territory previously staked out and defended vigilantly by trauma. I felt rather absurd in my enjoyment of life, with the stark comparison of blacker times in my very recent history. But it was all good because those feelings of lightness kept coming back!

Okay, maybe they didn’t come back every day, and maybe there was plenty of hard work still going on. But suddenly I felt supported in my struggle. For every crappy time where I still wondered if stepping in front of a bus was a viable alternative to my empty, pathetic life… there was a yoga class that drastically re-organised my inner world, or a beautiful sunset that entranced me.

Despite my improving state of mind I was still barely coping with the bad habits that trauma had engraved deeply into my life: bad eating, sleeping too much and being quite hopeless at getting anywhere on time. Others were more subtle: withdrawing from being around people, avoiding conflict at all costs, and let’s not forget that broken stress reaction that causes anxiety attacks over a storm in a teacup.

It seemed grossly unfair. PTSD and depression had moved in, trashed the joint and even though they’d been evicted, they hung around outside a lot, yelling abuse and getting drunk in the driveway. And of course, they left behind one hell of a mess.

Thankfully, a couple of those habits have recently begun to break down. Kinda. I mean, I’m still not entirely in the clear. But things are better, y’know?

The first is food

Eating regularly and properly. For a good long while after that initial impact, I had no interest in or capacity for cooking whatsoever. And because I lived alone there wasn’t anyone around who noticed, and I certainly didn’t.

I’d eat ice-cream for dinner for weeks on end. Or cheese and crackers. Or grilled vegemite and cheese. Or nothing.

Occasionally I’d get my shit together and make a huge pot of soup. I ate a lot of take-out and really boring, repetitive meals because I hadn’t the energy or appetite for anything better. Comfort food was a staple, as long as it was easy to prepare or order.

Of course, I’d still pretend to eat well – buying groceries and then regretfully throwing most of them out. I didn’t care though really. It was all just more of the same as far as I was concerned: more days of trauma and fear that left me wishing life would just call time.

So you could say that caring about what I ate was very low on my agenda.

It’s still hard. I’ve gotten out of the habit of making food for myself and it’s not like the cat is going to encourage me. I reckon I still eat too much take-out, and I keep “convenience” meals around, like rice cakes and tuna to substitute for a “real lunch”.

I sure as heck eat far less ice-cream and cheese than I used to – they give me a belly ache anyway. And I’m working on encouraging myself, which generally boils down to making sure I have plenty of time to prepare my food.

Dammit, I used to be the Salad Queen! I made completely EPIC salads, full of tuna, eggs, nuts, seeds, herbs and all kinds of crunchy green goodness. I’d make them day after day, varying the contents or the dressing. And I loved them!

And I’d be all over making simple but tasty evening meals as well. Meals that I now struggle to find the energy or time for. But hey, I have plenty of time for other things, just not making my own food.

Good news, kids: the Salad Queen is making a comeback. It’s kind of on the quiet side, but it is happening.

The second is time and/or getting out of bed

The seductiveness of spending hours or days in bed, barely moving. Comforting. Safe. It’s a rough gig when you feel that awful and still need to be somewhere on time. Like your regular 9-5 day job, for example.

Granted, I had something of an issue with time before all this happened, but that was more to do with being young and irresponsible.

Depression changed all of that and for a long time the only way to feel safe was in my bed (well mostly, anyway).

Waking up was like trying to stop myself from falling. Impossible to do, balanced on a precipice and desperate to hold on to that relatively painless state of mind, ensconced in a bubble of beautiful disassociation. Nothing hurt there, when the nightmares were at bay. It was worse than the time I had glandular fever which left me deathly exhausted from merely walking up a short flight of stairs. Worse than that. Way worse, because at least with glandular fever, I wanted to try.

Leaving the house to go anywhere was an enormous act of will. It still kind of is. That feeling of home as my fox hole is very strong, and it’s very easy to spend all day there if I don’t have anywhere to be. Perhaps that’d be okay if I lived with other people, but as a solo act it’s pretty anti-social, right?

Structure is what I need to keep my weekends operational. Places I’m expected to be, things I’ve gotta do. I’ll write a list to remember what has to happen (buy extortionately expensive cat food, fix my bike etc) and then string those activities off whatever structure I’ve managed to form in order to do stuff and not waste an entire day, again.

Though, these days I’m naturally waking up earlier. There’s more of an impulse to leave the fox hole – gasp – just for a walk in the sun, with nowhere in particular to be. More often than not I can even get places on time – having to show up to teach yoga classes has strongly influenced my time management skills.

And heck yeah, having these things in some sort of order is kinda nice.

Smacking down those habits!

The shrugging off of trauma habits moves perhaps as slowly as everything else has. Piece by piece, and I notice another non-operational part only when I see it. It feels disabling to still be lumped with habits formed for reasons that are no longer valid, but it’s exciting to know that I’m now in a position to do something about them.

Yeah, I used to be the Salad Queen

The Salad Queen!

The Salad Queen!

Once upon a time, that was then

That’s right, I used to be the Salad Queen

The Salad Queen!

The Salad Queen!

And I’m coming back for my crown once again!

~Svasti

Yoga Tattuesday & Ordinary Joy #reverb10

Tags

#reverb10, Anxiety, back seat driver, big gaping hole, Depression, disassociation, Enlightenment, fairy floss, fork in the road, Meditation, morbid alternative, ordinary joy, Self-destruction, sense of enjoyment, spaciousness, vacuum, Yoga, Yoga Tattuesday

Before I get into the next #reverb10 post, I just wanted to mention that Birdie over at Yogi, Interrupted has written a feature post on my tattoo as part of her Yoga Tattuesday series.

Go check it out and say hello to Birdie! 😀

Ordinary Joy. Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year?
~ December 27 prompt

Actually, this year has had a bunch of them. Mostly as I previously described: those moments when I’ve realised that depression is no longer running the show.

Where I’ve been surprised by my own darkness-free sense of enjoyment. Free of anxiety, even. Those moments are almost unbelievable and they appear a little bit mysteriously. Think of fairy floss magically wrapping itself around a stick: there’s other forces at work, but to the naked eye things suddenly appear to change.

Like… hey, I think I’m feeling pretty happy right now. For no particular reason… Fuck, but that can be mind-blowing when you’re used to a more morbid alternative!

Don’t get me wrong, depression still sticks its nose out every so often looking for a soft place to land and dig in. That’s its nature. Once it’s had a taste of you, it always wants more. Although it should be noted that the “it” I’m referring to is none other than our own minds. Depression is not an imposition from the outside, but one way that our brain functions or rather, dysfunctions.

Over time the onset of depression’s symptoms get easier to recognise and as long as I’m still doing yoga, riding my bike and connecting with nature then it can’t easily get a foothold.

Not that it doesn’t try.

Most interestingly, while examining my mind recently I noticed that depression shares the same root experience as meditation. A sense of spaciousness. A big gaping hole. A vacuum.

However if you’re not prepared for that kind of spaciousness, it can be very scary. It can even look a little bit like death. No matter who you are or how much work you’ve done on yourself it can be quite shocking.

I know this from my own experience – I’ve been shocked several times now, via both depression and meditation.

And perhaps depression is just one fork in the road, a really well-trodden path because the alternative is… what? Self-destruction?

Unless you’ve had any meditation experience, then there aren’t really too many other roads to take. You can’t see them and even if you could, they wouldn’t make much sense. Because there’s just too much noise going on there in the ol’ mind.

Problem is, once you’ve become acquainted with that sense of empty space, it never really goes away. In fact, it can be a little bit like the worst back seat driver imaginable. Always commenting and shadowing your actions, seemingly not being helpful at all. Butting in when you wish they’d just SHUT THE HELL UP! Ever present and waiting, causing unnecessary stress.

Until we learn to relax and humour it: the back seat driver; depression. Take your pick. Life isn’t going to end because of them, not unless we allow it to.

This is why I say that yoga and meditation had as much to do with my recovery as all the therapy I’ve ever had.

The physical practice of yoga – all that movement and controlled breathing – was just what I needed to get out of my head, because depression lives in the mind and then invades the body.

To build up my sensitivity in order to dispel disassociation. To sense and feel in ways that weren’t too scary.

The practice of meditation helps us understand the mind’s vagaries and also provides discipline. And it is this discipline that we need in order to free ourselves of the endless terrors the mind will cook up if we let it.

Endless hours of this kind of work: vigilant observation of the mind; moving my sorry ass around instead of sinking further into the couch; feeling, even when it was painful to do so; facing the truth about my experiences, as much as they hurt.

And my reward is this: these little moments of ordinary joy.

Of rejoicing in a glorious sunny day while waiting for the train.

Of skipping gleefully down some street and noticing the beauty of a tangled mess of tree roots.

Of talking to animals I come across, just to say hello.

A cute random dog I befriended on the street

Of that incredible high I get post-yoga class, body and mind engaged and experiencing life fully as an integrated mind-body awareness. Less a singular person and more a living organism, just a part of the whole.

Of all of those things and more. Ordinary moments of joy, indeed.

~Svasti

Healing and Dealing with Depression

Tags

Depression, donations to Haiti, earthquake, Haiti, Healing, healing depression, mental health

Not quite sure how this happened, but a lady named Amy has put together her Top 30 Sites for People Dealing with Depression and included this blog on her list!

Which is cool… but like Trini Girl Blue (also on the list), I think there’s other blogs that could’ve been mentioned. Trini has made a good list, so I won’t mention those sites here again, although there’s many on her list that I’d also mention if she hadn’t.

Here’s a few more (some are specific posts, others are just the blog in general) in alphabetical order:

• Anthroyogini
• A Post-Cynical Seer
• BlissChick
• Can You See The Real Me?
• Giggle On!
• Insanity Personified
• Patient Anonymous
• Shattered Into One Piece
• The Girl Who Wears My Shoes
• This Mama’s Dharma
• Yogic Muse

And to quote Trini coz she already said it so well…

…there are many people that were missed and for that I am sorry, if anyone wants to be added to this list please feel free to drop me a line. This is just a drop in the bucket, it is not exhaustive.

We all struggle with ourselves and while some don’t update as much as they have in the past there are good resources on each of these blogs…

From my perspective I like hearing about how others deal with depression, even if they are still in the woods (so to speak).

It’s a topic that doesn’t get nearly enough airtime and isn’t well understood. Consequently a lot of people with depression put up with it and end up loathing themselves when really what they need is a hug and appropriate mental health care.

Depression warps your view of yourself and also makes it very difficult to dig your way out. It can make you feel like you’ll never be happy ever again. And it’s hard to find a reason to get out of bed when you feel like that!

But it is possible. Like many of the blogs mentioned in the top 30 list and on Trini’s blog and those I’ve mentioned, many people have found healing and have managed to bring some happiness and sunshine back into their life.

And that’s part of why I write these days – to show that it is possible to recover.

As human beings, we have the capacity to destroy ourselves/other people or thrive and find incredible happiness. All people have that same capacity – all of us.

Speaking of depression, human beings and happiness…

Haiti Earthquake Donations

Have you donated to one of the Haiti appeals yet? Even if you can only afford $5, it’s still better than not giving at all.

I donated to Wyclef Jean’s foundation Yele Haiti – mostly because he is Haitian himself and I trust that my donation is going directly to the appeal as he says.

50,000-100,000 people are dead. Many more are injured and traumatised, and/or have lost people they love.

The photos of the aftermath are devastating. Please help any way you can.

~Svasti

The loss of two Jims

Tags

Contentment, death, Depression, Habits of Depression, Healing, joi de vivre, Persistence, Suicide, the Bottom Lurker

My friend Christa over at Giggle On! has a very sad tale to tell.

Her blog was created in memory of a good friend Jim (#1) who lost his battle with depression and committed suicide in 2005.

His death helped Christa to climb out of her own depression and since then, she’s been on a mission to fight the good fight of suicide prevention and bring happiness and laughter to the world.

Her message is: Don’t give up! Giggle on!

Or in other words: find another way. Christa’s way is laughter and humour.

The message continues: Know that where you’re at with your depression is NOT the end of the world. And that when we back ourselves into a corner of a small claustrophobic room called Depression, our choices seem very few. It looks like those limited choices are all we have.

And that’s when suicide can start to look like a good idea.

Very sadly, another friend of Christa’s – also called Jim – has taken his life, just this week. This Jim (#2) was a support to Christa as she grieved for the loss of Jim #1. And he helped her to create the Giggle On! site.

To Christa, the friends and family of the two Jims… I offer endless sympathy and love. No matter what, suicide is shocking and painful for those left behind.

You know, it wasn’t long ago I was engaged in my own showdown with depression – one that could’ve very easily ended the same way as the two Jims.

BlissChick has just written a beautiful post on the Habits of Depression. She describes something I’ve labelled the “Bottom Lurker” – an energy that’s just waiting for an excuse to re-emerge. It sits patiently on the ocean floor of our sub-concious in the shadows and it waits.

And while that Bottom Lurker exists, depression is always a possibility. It’s capable of robbing us of sunshine and joi de vivre, especially if we let our guard down.

I understand how bad it can feel to be alive when your mind is telling you there’s no point. But it’s a lie. It is your mind lying to you, pulling down the shades and painting everything midnight black and scary.

I don’t pretend to know why we so readily believe these lies. Why it’s so tough to see alternatives when we are depressed. It’s just so unfair, because right around the corner is our potential, waiting mutely in the wings for us to awaken.

The trick is to find a way to hang on til you do. To trust the stories of others who’ve been where you’re standing who can honestly say: There is another way out!

Because there really is a way to recover that doesn’t involve taking your own life.

My wish for everyone out there dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts is Strength and Persistence. And Trust. And the desire to Hold On and Push Through those painfully difficult times. And for a Break in the Clouds, one that’s big enough to help you remember what life can be like when you are not depressed.

Ultimately, I wish Healing, Joy, Happiness and the desire to live out your life in Contentment. For all of us.

Namaste.

~Svasti

I’ve never really thought about…

Tags

Abusers, Assualt, Cary Tennis, EMDR, Rehabilitation, Salon.com, Therapy

His rehabilitation. Apu’s that is.

The guy that assaulted me and who, for a long time on my blog I would only call Andre. I couldn’t bear to speak his name aloud or write it down or even think about it. Although, I did think about it involuntarily, of course.

Thanks to some awesome work from both of my therapists, eventually I was able to get there. H kicked things off, stirring that pot to peel that unmentionable name loose. Then AS, with the help of EMDR therapy, finally helped me elucidate those syllables and expunge the horror and denial I’d associated with his name, something that kept me a prisoner of my own terror far too long.

Thing is, I’ve never thought about him as someone who is likely to change. I know a little of his history, that he’s assaulted and intimidated women before. And I guess my assumption was that his behavioural patterns are simply too ingrained for him to change.

That might be true, but then again it might not.

I’ve just finished reading an article by Cary Tennis (a writer and something of an existential agony aunt on Salon.com), called I’m a former abuser — should I tell my girlfriend?

This is my reply (slightly edited) to that article:

Cary, as someone who’s been assaulted by a former partner I’ll freely admit your advice here did NOT make me very happy at all.

Quite frankly, it causes me some anxiety that the guy wrote this letter in the first place. He abused his ex-wife, has had some therapy, feels as though he’s “cured”, and is kind of worried his ex-wife will tell the new girlfriend of his past actions.

I can tell you if I was that ex-wife, I sure as hell would do exactly that!

And so he says he wants to tell his new love, but doesn’t want to get dumped.

The letter is problematic for me because the way its worded suggests he’s still not fully recovered and/or in control of whatever it is that makes him feel like he has the right to assault another person.

If the guy was in AA for alcohol abuse, his counsellor would recommend he stays out of any new relationship for a period of time. Because he’s not a recovering alcoholic in AA, he’s had ‘some counselling’ and has decided he’s okay… and yet he still isn’t sure he wants to come clean in case someone leaves him.

Therefore, his concern is for himself, not others.

And then Cary, you’ve provided this guy with a plausible framework to help him explain to the new girlfriend how it is that he’s changed. You’ve practically written the script to make him sound genuine!

This is highly problematic. I mean sure, you’ve suggested: “…the more evidence you can produce of your current behavior, the better chance you have…”

Which is implying (but not stating clearly), the guy needs to walk the talk to back up his claims. Great.

But it’s possible for abusers to hold it together for a period of time before they lose their shit. Absolutely.

And so, you’ve possibly helped this guy (if he has the balls, which many abusers don’t) to come clean. So, he comes clean using your advice and the girl he’s dating doesn’t leave him. Probably because he’s a charming SOB (the way a lot of abusers are).

Then, its all puppy dogs and sunshine for a while. Until the guy loses it, because he’s forgotten to stay with the program.

Rehabilitation of abusers. Is it possible? Maybe, but at this point on my own journey, I wouldn’t trust someone who says they’ve got a previous history of abuse. Not at all.

They would have to have years of evidence, not just months, before I’d even consider they were telling the truth. Just sayin’…

Then, some dude wrote a follow up reply to my letter which makes me want to vomit:

Yes, let him “come clean”, and his girlfriend will leave him because, well, it just isn’t that serious yet and she doesn’t need the headache, and he is once again alone and sad. So, by all means, destroy his life before he even has a chance to prove himself.

That is what I hate about America now – nobody gets a second chance. Nobody.

You know, bruises and broken bones heal. But there is no law against the emotional torture a woman can put a man through. There is no law against tearing someone’s soul out. And you KNOW there are women out there who do that. And they are never held accountable.

My reply to him was as follows:

Right, are you saying the girlfriend has no right to know the facts about someone she’s getting involved with?

Whether or not she leaves him is up to her. But like it or not, that man has to prove himself. As Cary has suggested, he *must* show evidence he’s changed. And not just a week or a month’s worth of change. That’s not enough, sorry.

I’d suggest this guy has already had a hand in the destruction of his own life, by being an abuser of women. No one has the right to assault another human being like that.

I am not American. I’m Australian. And yes, bruises and broken bones heal. But unfortunately, it seems the psychological impacts of assault are grossly under-reported.

For example, in my very own personal experience, assault cost me nearly four years of my life. It wasn’t just one night where a former lover lost control and showed me the dark side of his nature. It was the years of post-traumatic stress, the daily flashbacks, nightly nightmares, depression and an inability to function that almost cost me my job.

What did the guy who assaulted me get? Nothing. It was deemed a “his word against mine” situation, despite the bruises on my body and the broken glass in my front door. I managed to get a restraining order taken out but we all know how great they can work, don’t we?

So I lived in terror for months before I moved, changed my phone number, car, and everything that he could have connected to me. And I still didn’t feel safe. The cost for me was four years of not being able to relate to another human being properly. And of course, the therapist fees.

I’m doing much better now, thanks. But I still haven’t been able form another intimate relationship. I’ve only recently begun to feel happiness and possibilities for my future arising again.

Sure, bruises heal quickly but the spectre of assault lingers for a long, long time.

Clearly, I’m not all the way there yet. I can’t respond to this sort of tripe without my blood boiling. And I guess I’ve never considered whether or not leopards with habitual patterns of assault can ever change their spots.

The jury is still out for me on that front…

~Svasti

World Suicide Prevention Day

Tags

Depression, PTSD, Suicide, World Suicide Prevention Day, Yoga

Apparently 10^th September is World Suicide Prevention Day. I was alerted to this by two of my blogger friends (Christa and Clinically Clueless), who’ve been writing about their own experiences with suicide.

I’ve touched on this topic before. Many years ago I lost a friend to suicide, and it sucked. It’s never stopped sucking, really.

Something I haven’t shared with many people until right now, and certainly almost nobody at the time… (deep breath!!)… was that for many months earlier this year I was fending off the desire to end my life almost daily.

Of course, this was going on at the same time as one of my most intensely painful bouts of depression.

Ironically, I went through all of this after drop-kicking PTSD in the ass. I’d been through a great deal of therapy, and finally, finally… I was no longer suffering daily flashbacks.

Double irony – I’d started my yoga studies by this time, too. Something that’s turned into an extremely positive part of my life, as I’ve been writing about in recent times.

In other words, I was through the worst of my hard-won battles.

But I’d lost my job, and was having an extremely hard time getting another one. My family could’ve have been on the other side of the world, for all the support they offered me. Even my dear sister (actually, I suspect she deals with depression too, but has yet to admit it). Around the same time, I also lost a friendship, someone I’d relied on (perhaps a little too much).

Night after night, I’d stare down dark places that beckoned with seductive promises. I considered numerous strategies for taking my life. I thought about giving away all of my things (to make life simpler for everyone). I thought about my Guru and the many things he’s told me in the past about why suicide seems so appealing sometimes. And why many spiritual seekers end up in this place at least once in their journey. And I thought about my friend who jumped off a cliff and the heartbreak this caused everyone who knew him.

And I told no one what was I was thinking.

Because if I intended to do it, I wasn’t going to give anyone, not a single person, the chance to change my mind.

In fact, the only reason I’m writing about this now, is because I no longer wish to end my life.

Luckily, the voices in my head that egged me on were opposed by other voices. The parts of me that know life is worth living, despite the heartache and pain. That things do get better and that it is worth hanging in there.

It wasn’t an easily won battle, not by a long stretch. And what do you know? I did get another job. I was shown incredible kindness by the woman who runs my yoga school. And now, I’m gonna be a yoga teacher!!

So… I’m outing myself in this post in support of World Suicide Prevention Day.

Yet, I find I can not preach about how ‘suicide is not the answer’.

Of course, its not. But that argument doesn’t stack up when someone is trapped in a maze of depression.

In her post, Clinically Clueless writes that her mother wrote off her suicidal nature as ‘just wanting attention’. You bet your ass she did! And that’s a good thing.

Everyone on this planet needs attention, needs to feel loved, connected and as though there’s a point to being alive. Many people who are suicidal simply do not feel any of those things.

And Christa has built her blog and message in memory of her good friend’s suicide and her own near misses.

Recently, we nearly lost a blogger from this world. Someone I didn’t know before their suicide attempt, but other blogger friends did. Luckily, this person was found in time and is now on the road back. And though we’ve never met and live far apart, I’m thrilled things worked out as they did.

As Christa often says: DON’T. GIVE. UP!!

And please, take care of your loved ones. You may never get the chance to stop them taking their life. But by ensuring they know you love them, you might be one of the reasons they choose not to.

~Svasti

Yoga is a Blacksmith

Tags

belly dancing, blacksmith, Confidence, constant immersion, Depression, Eye contact, forge, handstands at midnight, PTSD, theatre, Vulnerability, Yoga, yoga for depression, yoga for PTSD, yoga teacher training

Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/the-lees/61448491/

There’s a thing that causes me to simultaneously feel dread and express tears of joy.

They are one and the same: the becoming of myself as a yoga teacher.

They’re two sides of the same coin. A coin that’s being heated, smelted, and forged into a new shape. Same raw material, but the qualities are shifting.

This re-working is an elemental process, creating change as a by-product of the end-result (which is really just another beginning).

But it’s not easy, just because it’s something I want. The wanting and the reality of the getting are entirely different.

The clamour of tools is distracting, and it’s tempting to not pick them up. Sort of. Actually, yeah. But then I look ahead.

Because it’s all about priorities. If I keep those in sight, then it’s easier to step back into the forge. Even if it means daily facing up to scary long-held patterns that scare me witless.

I’ve never seen you this nervous before, says the principal of my yoga school.

She says this after observing my very first effort last weekend, at leading a fellow student in a half hour impromptu yoga class (I was given fifteen minutes to construct a lesson plan).

Oh yes. Very nervous. Partly, it’s the hearing myself speak. And knowing the exact words to say, and being responsible for how other people move their bodies. Speaking emotively because that’s where we connect, that’s part of the work of yoga.

All of this has to come from a place of supreme openness and vulnerability, too. But also confidence and trust that speaking from this place will be well received and accepted.

So, there’s the confidence factor, which has never been one of my strong points. The vulnerability factor – I’ve spent the last four years or so feeling exceptionally vulnerable… and then there’s the thing with eye contact.

Dealing with PTSD and depression made me want to be invisible, unattractive, and hidden away from other people… it’s made holding eye contact very difficult…

So how is it I ended up doing a yoga teacher training course again? Oh yeah, because I love yoga. And because it was suggested.

Photo credit: http://digilander.libero.it/stebama/GoddessGallery.html

But y’know, this wasn’t on the pamphlet – thrown in at no extra charge, this training will help you burn through your shit.

Yesterday I had my second opportunity to lead my fellow students through a series of asana. Scary!

My extreme nervousness is a little strange because it’s not like I’m new to performing – years as a theatre actor and bellydancer took care of that. And this is sort of like a performance, right?

Except it’s not, it’s different. There’s no flashy costume or make up to hide behind. I am not being someone or something else. There’s no loud music to disappear into.

I am just me. Unadulterated. No filters.

So, this week I figured if I could just pretend like it was a theatre show and ‘learn my lines’, I’d feel more comfortable.

I spent all week preparing – writing copious notes on each pose. And practicing, even til late Friday night, trying to get some flow happening between poses.

[Note to self: handstands at midnight are just a tad too exhilarating!]

And making sure I had the right words to say, and avoiding gap-fillers: ummm, okay, what we’ll do next is…

In the process, I realised – of course!! – the key here really is preparation. Which requires constant immersion.

Because with yoga, to teach it, you really need to be living it. Theoretical knowledge simply doesn’t cut it.

But sometimes, I think it’s the immersion I’ve been running from. Because I know if I don’t, this change that’s coming will be irrevocable.

Then, that’s what I want, right? But with that change comes a free-fall from what I’ve known (even if its stuff I’m not happy with) towards the unknown…

A Svasti that lives and breathes yoga with every fibre of my being. And a Svasti that knows my stuff, and can help spread the gift of yoga to others.

So, yesterday’s session went really well! Not perfectly of course. But about a 150% improvement on the previous week. And it was such a high!

Afterwards, I was trembling, close to tears, grateful, humble and just… feeling entirely like someone else: that other aforementioned Svasti.

As I’m leaving my teacher remarks: So you’re looking so much better lately. There’s something very striking in your eyes. I noticed it last week as well. What’s going on? You look so much happier.

I replied: It’s this work. It’s changing me. It’s helping me face up to myself and burn off more of the negativity that’s been in my life for so long. PTSD destroys your self-confidence and here I am finding it again.

Then I told her that as well as general yoga, and yoga for women I’m really interested in yoga for those who deal with depression and PTSD, as I have.

Seems I’ve chosen a specialty of sorts, and the Blacksmith’s fire is still burning…

**Update: The wonderful BlissChick alerted me to the existence of an article on Yoga and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PDF file, 435kb) from The Trauma Center in Brookline, MA. An excellent read!!**

~Svasti