Oh dear, navel gazing

This is the man, the guru, Aaron Beck MD from the Beck Brain Institute. He is reputed to have developed Cognitive Behaviour Therapy for use in clinical depression and other manjor mental illnesses. Like any therapy it takes years of practice, and typical me... when I know I am heading downwards on the Bi-polar express, it is so difficult to dredge up the will to do the thought auditing required, let alone connect the analytical with the emotional and mobilise action. I am very good at staying above intellectualle and knowing the effect of my thinking, but I am very very bad at translating the 'common sense' across to what always feels like an overwhelming swarm of self-hatred.

It is so hard to put these things into words, for fear of being judged. To be seen as self-indulgent. If one has suffered from situational depression then you have an idea of just how debilitating the condition is... but when you add the constant pull towards clinical depression wrought by my illness, it is almost unbearable. Of all the people who should (oh dear just used the no, no word),
be able to call up an inner strength and harness my intellectual capacities it should be me. But at the start of this blog, I promised to be honest and take any readers through the Bi-polar express from a safe distance.

Well, as you can see from the many gaps and lack of daily posts, whenever I felt in the 'grey zone' or what people call 'normal', I forget to blog. I just get on with life in all its 'grey mundaneness'
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But when the colours are brighter, the sounds orchestral, the aromas gastronomic then there is a pull to the keyboard. To capture this moment. A fear that if I do not capture these emotions and ward off the inevitable fall down to grey again. And similarly, when the mood swings towards the black pit, with the 'dog' nipping at my heels again I refuse to sit and type for fear that I empower the blackness and am drawn irrevocably into the abyss.

Yep, for the priliveleged well people this sounds so overly dramatic, but simple words are so powerless in describing the intensity of the swings. So for well over 30 years now I have happily worn the description of drama-queen, what other choice do I have but self-acceptance? I have made the ultimate promise to myself that I will never act on any suicidal ideations so I ust have to wear the negative labels. This is a small price to pay for the sacred life I have been given, that my parents strugdled to nurture, and the life that pushed so many loving people away when they felt so powerless to stop my spirals.

I guess this is the reason I am so sad when new friends run a mile in fear when they learn of my illness. They fear this sense of responsibility or the confrontation of raw emotion on this scale. I wish they could trust me that the 54 year old woman is no longer the self-centred, hurt the world type who woud act on her anger and pain.

At the core of my downward spiral would have to be the saddness of being alone. And I do not just mean partnerless. I mean alone... intrinsically devoid of any kindred spirits to walk my journey with me. Who could expect anyone to voluntarily choose this path? I wouldn't. I fell alone because you can never expect even the best friends to be there all the time. It is so draining for me, let alone someone else. Above all I feel very sad that my illness also conjures memories of pain for other friends who have lived and loved someone with Bi-polar and have never recovered from that pain and dissppointment that the relationships were inherently doomed from the start.

It is for this reason that I run away from relationships and put on so much excess weight to fend off any intimate relationships. I did it when I left the workforce to stay home with my son and now that I am at home again, on my supposed three month leave of absence (to attend to my mental health swings), the weight demon is calling my name.

When working as a salaried employee I feel intrinsically valuable and my self-esteem rockets. The more people expect the more I strive to produce and live up to their (and my own expectations), I feel good, I begin to look good and I am happy, for that wonderous prolongedperiod of time. But of how tenuous it is to attach self-esteem to employment status. I know this thanks to CBT and Dr Beck and Co... but I seem unable to ward off the feelings of worthlessness when I am not employed and am in receipt of welfare sickness or diability benefits. Yet I am disabled... so totally disabled that I am under seige. The pull of self-destruction is so intense. Ido not sleep. I cannot concentrate.

The smallest professional task takes Herculean effort, as does the dredging up of the 'party-face' to keep small linkages with my colleagues and possible future employers.

Party-Face.... so tiring. I am so over it. If only I could strive for acceptance, warts and all. But the 'outisde world' is not ready for this. So... the self-esteem plummets, the call of alcohol to ease the pain is assuaged with chocolate... for those supposed endorphins of whatever. After all fat is a battle I am prepared to wage over again, but alcoholism is my one of my gravest fears... to lose even more self-control and willpower, I doubt I could survive it.

Well dear reader/s, this is the thinking at minus three on the mood scale. The tilt to minus four is even scarier. It is coming and I will write about it. Yet I also ask for forgiveness and acceptance when this cess pit of loathing curdles on the screen.

Not a Recipe Exchange blog...

Why the macaroons I hear you ask? Well it is just a reminder of how I put on the extra 70 kgs in the first place. I didn't often cook macaroons (indeed can't ever remember having cooked them) but when I was/am stressed and feeling out of control I crave sweet calorie laden cakes and desserts. Well that's today. It is a cold wintry day reminiscent of my childhood. My mother would always spend Saturday baking the weekly cakes, cookies, slices and desserts. The kitchen always had a sweet aroma and trays of goodies cooling. My Dad didn't think there ocould be a night-time meal without a dessert, and there was always weekend afternoon teas, mid-morning snacks and even suppers during card and board games. It was a fun way to live but not good for a person with a tendency to stack on the kilos if not doing rigorous excercise. Needless to say my whole family was sporty and I had my moments but when I stopped acting (and dancing classes) I began to pack on the weight.

I can say that I am pleased half of the excess is now gone but my emotions are playing havoc with my will-power, despite hypnotherapy! It is holding in as far as fast food and fried food, both really repulse me but it just cannot defeat sugar and chocolate. It is that whole need to reward oneself at times of stress... a reward for surviving it? No sense at all but hey we are talking the sub-conscious here.

Also my alcohol consumtion is vastly reduced (due to it also being calorific and EXPENSIVE... at least anything I like drinking).... so the cakes seem really obtainable instead. GRRR. will need even stronger mind-control and respect for my new body.

Can someone, probably a woman tell me how to respect my new body when attempting to deny a broken heart? It doesn't get easier with age, I can assure you no matter how many times you rationalise and tell yourself that you won't succumb. My dear old battered ego needed a good dose of flattery and I fell for it all.

Am trying to get out and about but when feeling emotionally isolated one's eyes are always drawn towards the apparently happy couples everywhere... well not everywhere just where the middle-classes come out to play. I have been seated amongst roughly 3 - 4,000 people in theatre audiences and galleries lately and what is disturbing is my shallowness. I am judging everybody on their appearance... clothes, what they drink, how they speak and treat one another... particularly the blokes. It is scary that only 3... yep, 3 blokes have passed my supercritical gaze... Is it any wonder I am alone and eating cakes on a Saturday evening?

Well as you can see my dear friends I have loads more work to do before I can claim any semblance of emotional wellness or mood stability... but I am working on it.

Winter Solstice

I found this fabulous graphic on Witchy Wisdom webpage. I wish I could 'not speak' through winter, and just think, reflect and regenerate. However, for those of you who know me if my verbal torrents ever do cease, then is the time to worry. My mind is never still and it is as if all those thoughts just have to burst forth into the cosmos. Not that they are earth shattering or anything, it is just that there are too many ideas to contain in my head.

After my dear friend's performance last Sunday, I allowed myself to actually stop.. but as is always the case after being on the move so much, I succumbed to a niggling head cold, I am assuming I collected courtesy of delightful fellow Virgin Blue travellers and the recycled airsystems on planes. It happens nearly every time I fly (well at least in Winter).

Stay home I hear you say. Hibernate, rug up and enjoy the peace of winter. I would if I could guarantee avoidance of SADS (seasonal adjustment disorder). Yep, you got it, I am one of those lucky few who were in the same mental health line when the divine being gave out this disorder also.

Not bad, huh... I am becoming and ACRONYM... I hear you laughing K & S.... "typical".

So I am BMDSADS afflicted or is that blessed? I guess it all depends on how my brain chemistry is settling.

At my wonderful unnamed University yesterday I catered for Xmas in July as a social event for the other Postgrads. It was a fun night with a sit down dinner for 14. Really, I am glad there were no more as I was literally run off my feet. Ever tried to cook vegetables on the third floor of one building (whilst bread rolls crisping in separate compartment), steamed vegetables and gravies on the second floor in a microwave, roast lamb in one oven keeping warm (opposite end of thrird floor) and in a completely separate building (ground floor), a roast turkey and roast pork keeping warm. Add to this plum pudding ice-cream in the third floor freezer (same end as roast lamb), then arrange and serve hot soups (one from that same third floor stove top) the other for the vegetarians in the microwave (second floor).

Add to this dips, chips and bickies, wheat-based and gluten free, cakes and mince tarts (wheat and gluten free) and vegetarian option for dessert. Add to this the ususla predilections for alcohol and non-alcoholic beverages.

I am still exhausted today. One friend, S said just think of all the excercise I was getting... but I defy even the fittest normal sized person to do all those stairs (plus getting the stuff there, claened up and packed away, room decorated etc) whilst still carrying an extra 35 - 40 kilos in body weight. (Well that's according to my idea of goal weight). It is exhausting. Like an Olympic marathon.

No-one can know what it is like without ever having been obese... not that pesky little 10ks you need to shift before summer but those pesky 90kg to shift before death!

Add to this that at every social event of this nature there is an accidental smuggness on the part of the marrieds. They know they have someone to go home to and have these occasions regularly with extended family.

I usually spend Christmas Day alone (a hospitality Industry widow). It is nice to have a lie in and watch crap DVDs over one or more bottles of sparkling... but just occasionally I get the twitch for the seemingly 'greener' grass on the other side of the fence.

It is also interesting when a person queries your morality... and you need to step back and look at things from another angle. I pride myslef on being a feminist, yet when questioned about whether or not one should sustain/partake in an affair with a married man, I am decidedly hypocritical. the received wisdom went something like this... what about the sisterhood? What about his wife?

I would like to know just when the sisterhood ever put the needs of another woman over the needs of an individual member? Some of my worst colleagues in the workplace have been self-proclaimed feminists.

I also argue that the nuclear family is a convenient patriarchal model of control exerted over women, much to the benefit of men and detriment of women. despite the fairytale happy-ever after imagery, it is simply a structure which allows men to feel confident of the DNA of their offspring by having a 'captive wife/breeder'. She of course has no such reassurance that hubby is not randomly 'sowing his seed' elsewhere, as primitive mankind is designed to do... after all why so many sperm if that is not the case?

As the mother of a son who I would not have, had it not been for an affair I cannot regret my decisions. Nor should I feel I need to justify them, yet here I am attempting to do so.

The old joke (of mine) goes something like this. At my age, the only single men are gay or living at home with Mother issues. If they are divorced (one or more times) I can guarantee the problem was on the side of the bloke. If they are married they are probably the genetically superior of the species. And if they are out to play... then seriously if the wife is that unaware the marriage is not on the strongest ground in the first place. Also who's to say that there isn't an open relationship at work? Without the freaky couples' sex play, how can anyone know what happens behind suburban fences.

Just how many marriages are marriages in name only. Convenience economically, easier on the kids, easier than starting again, easier than braving the world alone. What ever gets you through the night is what I say, and I'll be damned if I will buy into that all older single women are cougars, predators or whores. Nor are we Nuns either!

All of this is so uppermost in my mind. After recently spending time with a friend in Sydney, we passed the time doing the 'writer-thing' and spent the day couple-watching. It was a revelation, just how much one could tell about the two concerned. She, possessive and insecure constantly playing out ownership marking rituals, the tidying of fluff from the jacket, for him the hand lightly placed on the small of her back when another male approached. I could go on for hours. My journal is bulging with such observances.

Then let's add today... I actually had breakfast at a hotel restaurant. I wanted some good nourishment (all 250mls of it). Every table bar one (and mine) was a couple.

NONE spoke to each other. The men read the papers, the women ate in silence. Perhaps the silences were comfortable... but there were no shared smiles or eyes connecting furtively, and after all this is a tourist resort and 'holiday' destination.

Of my God... spare me this slow death by apathy... but spare me my last years flying totally solo also.

The Book Launch

I left off yesterday's blog feeling very Bea Arthur.

Perhaps I should see myself as more Vera Charles than Dorothy Zbornak!

Again my thoughts dwell on friendships. Thinking of Bea Arthur draws my mind back to my wonderful friend Dizzy and to the days when we would sing Bosom Buddies and promise each other we would play Mame and Vera when we were old enough... well my darling Diz, I am now old enough and you have left me forever. I miss you so much. You areone of the reasons I began my PhD. I need to capture our special times and experiences forever. They will never come again so they can live on in my novel and finally allow me to finish grieving... perhaps I may be able to go on and become Blanche Du Bois, after I've reconciled my loss of dearest Michelle also. I would love to be as light hearted and open to romance as this famous TV character.

Ah, it always had to become a blog about sex, eventually!

My new friends from work are showing me alternate female gender roles. It is amazingjust how many of the professional women academics have a very traditional domestic family arrangement.
Yet, when I first began lecturing so many years ago my colleagues were predominantly gay women and singles. Why has there been a change or is it simply that the location and type of higher education institution explains this change? Does outer suburbia lend itself to convenient employment for qualified married women, and allow the time to combine motherhood and career responsibilities. I can't see the same family friendly work practices being overtly available at the big research G8s, where career and the University must come first, for academic survival.

It is so good that at least one of my new friends and colleagues is a post-second wave woman, sexually liberated, very much in the mould of SATC. If she had a higher academic salary those would be Manolos on her feet, and not for her a Big, but toy boys and sexual freedom. I am so jealous... I sometimes fantasize that the way forward for me one day will be a toy boy, where I can be the older wise experienced woman... but it is just that; a fantasy.

Even with my anticipated weight loss and avowal to be a cougar, it is not likey to happen. If I have to be honest with myself I really would like a realtionship with an intellectual equal. Yeah, that's likely to happen. Most of my solid male friends are gay. So much for intellectual stimulation within coupledom... just not gonna happen.

This also brings me to male friendships. I watch another new friend who idolises his wife. They too share the traditional gender roles within their marriage whilst he is also free to explore his snagdom. But that is an external image he cultivates. In reality, he needs all the emotional maintenance from his partner as most married straight men I have met.

Next is a very very new friend. I am getting quite worried about him. Whereas when we first became friends he was very open and forthcoming about his dreams and hopes. He was excitedly embarking on a new set of life challenges and was confident that everything would fall into place. Now suddenly he has become more reticent and less likely to socialise and confide. I notice a distinct saddness and feeling of disappointment. This new adventure was never going to be easy but I had hoped for him it would be rewarding.

He is no longer glowing. He seems tired and a tad disconnected from his new friends and colleagues. I miss our frank conversations and cameraderie of last summer. I am wondering what happened and whether it is wise for him to be so self-contained if there are issues he needs to resolve.

I also fear that when he learned that I had BMD he is so frightened to speak openly, as my response cannot be assured as he fears he 'might set me off' or trigger my madness in some way. Since I told him I had BMD he has distanced himself as a friend. I am grieving for this. My illness is suddenly the elephant in the room, the unspoken thing. Yet, I joke as usual about it, because that's the only way to live with it and not allow it to be damaging to myself and others.

Why is it that my new female friends and colleagues are prepared to understand my illness, as part and parcel of me, yet my two new straight male friends and colleagues are less prepared to get to know me further. I hate feeling like I have a communicable disease.

I guess that's why I feel I will always be alone, if that's how educated men my age respond, what hope is there to meet someone (of the male gender) who reacts differently and isn't gay?

I adore my gay friends but hey enough is enough... your domestic bliss becomes too much for a single white female to cope with as my loneness is spotlighted!

Thoughtful Thursday

Yep, another recap... sorry.

After spending some time on the PhD (yep that's right... I worked on it at last), and attending a hypnotherapy session with Dr Caroline, I had to change hotels. I had decided to stay in Melbourne on Thursday night after attending either (or both) the Alumni Chancellors lecture and/or a colleague, Geoff's book launch.

I was able to rest my feet as the new shoes I purchased in the sales killed me and gave me the usual new-shoe blisters. I had decided that I would do more than window shop and that new boots would be great when I met my two 'oldest friends' fo dinner at the Casino on Wednesday night.

I had hoped to eat at a trendy celebrity chef restaurant there or at Southbank and had justified it by saying we could use a pre-dinner special of two courses and wine, so that we would eat at reasonable prices. It was good in theory, until I forgot to do my research and arrived at the Casino without any clear directions.

One friend saw a sign advertising half a kilo of prawns for $19.50.

We decided that if our other friend wanted seafood we would dine at "The Pub", a horrid American style chain version of a British Pub.

Yep, you got it... and absolute horror in my eyes.

It used to be where Planet Hollywood once was and even that was bad enough but this one had cheap and nasty oozing from every hard wood surface! I scanned the menu... not a great option for a post lap-bander despite listing around 50 mains! Horrid old-style pub stodge. What's the bet that everything came with "fries" and the soup de jour would be seafood based or bad pumpkin? Panic set in. Our friendship has only just blossomed in all its former glory in the last twelve months and honesty is still an issue... as are budget concerns for two of us. The third has less of a problem with dollars but here common sense and practicality rule out impulsive spending like we used to indulge as younger women.

Suddenly, my mind remembered that Crown had two Buffet's and from my memory of taking my son there as a fussy eating pre-teen we always found suitable cuisine for both him and I, and at what I remembered were reasonable prices. We could at least check that out first before succumbing to The Pub.

So I had finally conquered my own impulsivity and thought through the options and decided the celeb chef bistros (Maze grill, GA&S, Nobu, Phillipe Mouchel's Brasseries or even Tutto Bene in Southbank, or MaHa Bar and Grill were off the list of options. Bugger!)

Hate this thing called common sense.

Anyway things turned out fine. The bloody buffet, Sante had the same prawn deal but with full buffet also included. Thus my dear friends could share 1.5 kilos of prawns courtesy of my share, and I could search amongst the traditional fare. ( I found mushroom soup, an old favourite, and some rice with tofu, salad and an Indian curry puff... so I was okay). The roasts and fried foods looked horrendously over-cooked and mass produced, but what sealed the deal, apart from the prawns was the dessert station... a girl's heaven. My friends had two large dinner plate assietes of mixed desserts before I had even risen for my main. Even the wine was reasonable, a $15 Sauv Blanc... just what two drivers and one hotel guest required.

A mandatory visit to the chocolate box, and one friend's ciggy break rounded off a great evening.

The conversation was again thought provoking after the fact.

Where both women friends were in sms contact with respective daughters, I too had a very brief call to my son, which was strange. I am usually totally footloose and detached from my domestic life when I am in the City. Son and I were actually discussing the fact that he could meet up with arranged service people and I could stay another night in town, given that I had not blown a fortune on alcohol and fine dining (or boots for that matter).

My feet would be so grateful for a comfy bed and a chance to get blister pads on Thursday morning.

Once back in my hotel room, I realised how very far our lives have travelled. One friend is widowed and working very hard but slowly building a solid wealth base for retirement once she has been able to stop supporting her two adult kids. The other is in pain. She actually needs us together now like no other time in the past.

Just in this one year, she has lost her mother, thus embarking on that frightening life stage as the adult orphaned 'child'. After dealing with Estate matters and family war zones over the will and inheritances, her former familial ties have unravelled. Add to this a final move to end her unhappy marriage and a tempting possible affair with an old first love (who won't leave his marriage), she has come to see that her life is suddenly very different. She has to face being on her own as her adult kids grow up and eventually fly the nest. And in a totally C20-21st century dilemma her mind is turning to her oldest daughters forthcoming wedding. The loneliness of the parents of the bride table, is the stuff of Hollwod B grade comedy movies. She beseeched us both to be with her on this fraught day.

So you get the picture, one widow, one divorcee and a bitter and twisted old feminist sharing this "joyous occasion" (yeah sure)... with the ex-husband from hell. Please let this next stage in our friendship be as fruitful as I am already imagining it to be... an Australian version of the Golden Girls rather than Sex and the City!

ASIDE: Vale, Rue McLanahan!

What a performance and six marriages... wow, move over Liz Taylor, why can't American women learn from their mistakes??

So Thursday was to be another Melbourne night... more material for booktwo or screenplay, and more chance at deep friendships with new colleagues.

The only whinge about Thursday was that I had to move hotels. Mine was fully booked and there had been no cancellation when I had returned from Crown. So whilst surfing and looking for the best last minute deals that would fit my remaining budget, I was drawn to the firey spectacle refelcted in the calm black Yarra waters.

I am alone and wishing I had someone to share this beauty with, and a good bottle of red whilst snuggled in fluffy white towelling robes I contemplate what the future would bring for me as a single woman. Would I become a career woman in the near future? Would I ever meet a companion who could look beyond my mental illness or my physical attributes and age?

Do I really have to become Bea Arthur?

Pretty in Pink

Just when I thought I was in for one of those weekends, I wake to a wonderful image on the front of the newspapers. To see 14,000 people prepared to pay $50 and brave the Melbourne winter to raise money and awareness for breast cancer just re-affirms to me there are wonderful people in our community. How I would like to know more of such people. They are self-less and caring and prepared to back their beliefs all the way.

It takes some doing to travel to, parkthe car and attend the MCG on a cold Friday night. Well done all.

I should have joined you instead of sitting home and weeping because my plans went awry.I'm sure that the evening at work was quite entertaining but perhaps it would not have been as uplifting as going by train to the MCG. I'm sure they would have accepted a cheque and I could have covered it on Monday. Thus I would not have had to sit at home being berated for my selfishness and falling into a childish sulk.

I would willingly have spent this $50, as I probably would have had to spend that just to go to the work 'do' ($25 fuel, $10 tolls, $20 alcohol and then perhaps some food to soak up the damage.)

The thing that sticks in my craw [what's a bloody craw???] is that despite my tears and tantrum last night at missing the 'do', I would not have been missed.

It was more about me reaching out to feel connected than actually celebrating the occasion.

Perhaps I need to disconnect even further, emotionally.

Whilst my work colleagues have been supportive, there is room for only the occasional 'basket case' moment per friendship group. It is tiresome to always be worrying about an acquaintance, and that is all I will ever be out there. Deeper friendships require a common belief system, common social and political views and intrinsic ethical similarities. I can now honestly say, apart from sharing a work space and numerous laughs, I am often the odd-one out. AGAIN!!

I seem to take life 'too seriously', and do not adhere to the Aussie drinking and smoking culture. I am more happy sitting in a restaurant/ bistro sharing a good bottle of wine over stimulating conversation than sitting chugging down drinks whilst seeing who can come up with the sharpest put-down lines. Whereas lately I have happily worn being the brunt of many jokes... I am getting over that. I need to feel valued for who I am.

My body, illness and age are not going to be the subject of cheap jibes any more. Yes my calves are large but hey, I am working on it! Are you similarly striving to improve your health? How long have I sat on this little hurt? Months!

So in the cold hard light of a new day, I can see another chapter of my life drawing to a close. I just wish I had a sneak preview of what lies ahead. Is a new door beginning to creak open? If so where?

It is so hard to trust that all your efforts are not wasted and that the time spent will come together.

It certainly felt like all my skills were going to be recognised in the communications dept at work but that did not happen. I was caught up in the excitement of the promises and possibilities but there was no actual existing emloyment.

Also, I feel that my work skills remain undervalued within the public sector, yet I am too frightened to step outside the comfort zone of 'the ivory tower'.... and a regional one at that.


It is surprising just how much my self-esteem has fallen since being an 'at-home' Mum. is it any wonder I became morbidly obese... I hated myself. I wanted this 'no-body' to just disappear or die.

I am aware how dangerous it is to attach one's self-worth to employment and career, having made this mistake before in the '80s, but it seems to be a lesson I am very slow to learn.

In the same way I must take care not to define myself through a lack also, the lack of a significant other. Interestin this lack of partner is also held up in sharp focus at work... hmmmm, I wonder what that is telling me? Economically, I mean?

When I venture down the Main Street of Sorrento I get sharp pangs of jealousy as I see the 50ish couples sharing their Saturday morning lattes in the sunshine at the various cafes. These people dress well, in casual chique leisure-wear, read the broadsheets and generally seem so comfortable in their skin and with each other.

It is my fantasy, to have such a relationship, and the economic freedom to indulge in this past-time in one of my favourite locations (out of holiday season).

How can I become comfortable with who I am and not focus on what I do not have?

My wellness routine must find a way to deal with loneliness and I need to develop more resiliance. I have spent the last 30 odd years defining myself by what I do, or by the role I have... "sole-parent, welfare-Mum, single-mother, fat-Centrelink slob" , failure at relationships". Yet I want to be seen for who I am. Caring, giving, concerned, with a social conscience, commitment to equity and justice, and above all.. FEMININE!

Am I asking too much?

Why does this not seen 'enough'... after all I am physically healthy.

Unlike the people at the MCG last night whose lives have been touched by illness and tragedy, at least with my illness I am a survivor.