Homework

My CBT homework for this week was to think about the standards that I have set for myself and how their attainment (or not) affects my mood. Here we are then - my soul, laid bare. Be gentle.

I should want to spend more time with my children:

I really try hard with this one because I feel that they can tell I don’t really want to be with them. It is the constant demands that I find so draining, especially when we are all together and I am the default option. I feel like shouting “you have TWO parents!” at them, and sometimes I do. This makes me feel worse - they probably only had a simple request - but I find it very hard to be at their beck and call constantly.

I should enjoy spending time with my husband:

This is a tricky one. I’m not sure how much of this comes from me and how much comes from him. Given half the chance I would probably disappear every evening and sew or something. I feel that the closer he tries to get to me the more I pull away.

I should be able to look after my children by myself:

Because other people can, and I have to be at least as good, if not better, than everyone I know.

I should be having better sex:

Because other people are. Allegedly.

I should be happier:

I have a good life, a husband who loves me, three healthy kids, and yet I have depression. I should slap myself around the face a few times and get over it.

Everything I do should be perfect:

I’m getting a little less strict about this one, but things still have to be pretty near perfect. If they aren’t I point out their inadequacies to every one who cares to look.

I should know everything without being told:

Because "I am a genius", and that’s what clever people do. Clearly this gets me into some sticky situations because I don’t actually know everything. I will pretend damn hard though, given half the chance.

Back to the therapist tomorrow. I'm nervous.

Out with the old

I've been on a downswing lately. Nothing too major: just difficulty sleeping, eating, smiling, and tolerating the husband and children. It could be a response to being back in the thick of things after having a few days to myself. According to the pshrink it could be a result of lowering the depakote. Who knew - it stops you being depressed as well as manic - clever stuff. It's all change on the drug front now - switching to some other mood stabiliser that has the delightful side-effect of giving 25% of users a horrible skin rash. Not to be a pessimist, but you just know I will be in that 25%, right? So, the hair will grow back (curly, apparently) but I will look like a pizza-faced teenager. Cool.

I went to see a new therapist this week. He replaces the previous one who spent pretty much every session talking about her kids, and which school they went to, and how generally fantastic she was with all her other patients. And for this I was paying her? The new guy most certainly is not in the chatty category. Excellent. He doesn't even seem to want to know what has been going on in my life. I was delighted because, for me, the worst part about starting with a new therapist is having to begin at the beginning.

The other good thing about him was that he seemed to have me sussed within about ten minutes, putting into words all those amorphous feelings about my depression that have been floating around for so long. The guilt, the high expectations of myself, the disappointment. It seems that my depression stems largely from having my autonomy curtailed. I couldn't agree more. Given half the chance I would run for the hills and stay there for a long time. Well, probably the beach actually. Unfortunately (or not) there are three small people that persist in calling me mum, and I am actually quite fond of them. Bollocks - I really should have considered this reproduction thing more carefully.

Pinch me

It feels like a dream.

The conversation I never thought I would have.

The response I never dared to hope for.

I told my mother that I knew who my biological father was, and she hugged me. I'm still in shock. I was expecting an attempt at denial at least, and instead I got an apology. It feels like a whole new chapter of my life is just beginning - one where I have a relationship with a parent. Until now it has felt as though every conversation we have ever had was avoiding the issue. That there was no way of talking about anything without feeling the presence of the elephant in the room. Now that elephant has been acknowledged and we can start to relate to each other as real people.

I'm torn between being excited about it, and being terrified it was all a mirage - that things will go back to how they were before. Her habit of denial is a thoroughly ingrained one that I am not sure she will be able to let go of.

You certainly don't choose your family

We are travelling tomorrow to stay with my in-laws for a few days. This used to be a reasonably ok thing to do. They are good with the kids, hubby is happy, I don't have to cook - what's not to like, right? Well, there is always a caveat. In this case it is that the last time I sat down with my MIL and had a conversation she confided in me that she hadn't had sex with the FIL for 18 years, and had been having an affair her entire married life (yes, even on her wedding day - classy or what). Not surprisingly our relationship - at least from my point of view - has suffered slightly. I can't actually bear to be alone with her any more.

I do wonder what the hell she was thinking when she told me all this. What was she actually expecting me to do with the information? Tell my husband? Doesn't she have anyone else she could talk to about it?

At the time I just felt desparately sorry for her being stuck in a difficult marriage, but fairly soon I got angry. And also slightly despairing - here was a relationship I thought was alright, but it is actually a hollow shell. How depressing. Which I guess brings me to my point: this incredibly poorly thought through and selfish act on her part contributed to my illness. I don't think I can forgive her for that.

And now I have to go and make nice with the family or my husband will wonder why I am being mean to his mum. Given that he regards infidelity as the ultimate in unforgivable sins I don't think I will be telling him about this any time soon. Why the hell should I be the keeper of her secrets? I have enough trouble with my own.

Wait and see

I went to the pshrink last week and, after a very amusing conversation where he tried several different methods of referring to my fathers before settling on first names (makes sense really), we discussed medication. I have been wanting to reduce my depakote for a while (I don't like the way my hands shake and my hair falls out - petty I know) but have been afraid to. Before I went on the stuff I had a brief (and yet wonderful at the time) episode of hypomania, followed by the mother of all breakdowns. You know that you are ill if your mother moves in with you and DOESN'T GET ON YOUR NERVES. I was too unwell to even watch telly - serious business. Needless to say I am slightly worried about a repeat performance.

A week into the lowered dose and I was feeling a little like I had eaten five krispy kremes and drunk a triple shot latte. Twitchy to say the least. I didn't mention it to the husband because I knew he would panic - not so good in a crisis. Fortunately that seems to have faded a little, and I am feeling a bit less antsy. Time will tell if I become the crazy nyphomaniac that I was last time, but I'm guessing hubby won't mind too much if I do. At least, not straight away.

Confusion

The thing that has been worrying me (well, bothering me really) since the meeting is the difference in our feelings for one another. He feels fondly towards me, having known me since I was a baby, and - more to the point - having suspected I was his child. It is easy for him to show affection - hold my hand, hug, kiss.

The emotions I have for him are so much more complicated. They are laced with a heavy dose of 'but you are the man who was inappropriately shagging my mother', as well as 'what the hell were you doing at my house all the time, when my own dad wasn't even there?'. It isn't so easy to transform these into positives, as much as he might wish it; hell, as much as I might wish it. It would be lovely to have a father that was warm and demonstrative - goodness knows the other one isn't. The problem is that I think it is just a little bit too late for all that. Like 35 years too late.

And when I met him...

He was looking back at me with a blue version of my eyes, telling me he was so glad to know he had such a wonderful daughter of whom he can be proud. He is the same man that I remember from my childhood, but this time he is my father. A father who is affectionate and warm. A father like I have never had.

There were some tears. There was much confessing. There were some bombshells (she did it on purpose - wanting his baby). Most of all there was the strangeness of it all, and the wondering of where we go from here.

There is no immediate answer to that question. He doesn't want to upset his wife any more than he already has, although she has always known about the affair. I am way past the age where I would do stuff with my dad. It would be a shame to lose touch with each other, but then again it is difficult to see how we could maintain contact without hurting people around us. A bit of a minefield to say the least.

I am sure that if it wasn't for the drugs I wouldn't have been able to get through this. There is a certain levelling of emotion that comes with them; a muffling really. The feelings are there, but they are so much more manageable. Perhaps there will come a day when I collapse in a heap and can't stop crying with the delayed shock of it all, but not right now. I am grateful for that.