Me versus the Depression

For a long time I thought the depression was going to win and here's the thing:  when you are depressed you always think the depression is going to win.  But here's the other thing:  it doesn't if you keep fighting.

When I was first diagnosed I wanted to know when I would get better, how long is the recovery period?  Like when I broke my ankle, I knew I would be in a cast for 3 weeks, then physio for 6 weeks and then I would be almost good as new.  For the most part, this was true, give or take a few weeks.

With depression, there is no defined recovery period.  I have seen people bounce back after a 3 month dose of citrolapram and never look back.  I've seen people who have fought all their lives against this insidious illness.

In the early days, my psychiatrist assured me I would get better.  I asked him how long that would take.  He said something vague like "a while".  When I pressed him for something more concrete, he was unable to provide any time frames.  At the time I thought he must not be very good at his job.  But now I can see that there really isn't any way to predict recovery.

The effectiveness of medication changes over time.  The effectiveness of therapy is wildly variable.  What happens in life is outside a clinical study and therefore cannot be factored into a recovery timetable.  In other words, you just have to ride it out and have faith that eventually you will get better.

But if you think that getting better means going back to the same person you were before you were ill, you are in for a big surprise.  You never come out of depression the same person you were going in.  Many of the behaviours and thoughts you had before were the very things making you ill.  It's like drinking poison, recovering, and expecting to stay better but going back to drinking the poison.

Everyone comes out of depression fundamentally different than when they went in.  Same as when cancer survivors come through but their lives are fundamentally changed thereafter.

Here are some of the things that have helped me recover to the point where I am today:

1. Take the prescribed medication as and when your psychiatrist prescribed it.  Don't mess with that.  If you think you might be ready to make a change, discuss these with your psychiatrist and agree a plan.  Follow that plan to the letter.  Trust me.  I once took myself off my meds because I thought they were making me worse.  That was simply put, one of the worst decisions I have ever made in my life and probably set my recovery back a year, perhaps more.
2. Get a tribe.  You will need to be surrounded with people who get you and get your disease.  You will need people who will allow you the freedom to discover a new you.  You will need people who will love you unconditionally.  You will need people who will come to you even when you tell them to go away.  This tribe will consist of some old friends and some new friends.  Family may not or may not be included.  My children get it better than my husband does.  Maybe that's because children generally get unconditional love better than adults.  I have lost a few people I thought were my friends along the way but I have more than gained in the overall friendship sweepstakes.  Ask that tribe for help when you can.  Give back to that tribe.  They are invaluable and deserve your investment.
3. Find contentment in the present moment.  Don't strive for happiness.  It is fleeting and impossible to sustain.  Instead be at peace with what is happening, good or bad, in the present, right here, right now.  When the shit hits the fan, feel free to duck and cover but be at peace with the exercise.  Know that this too will pass.
4. Invest in yourself.  Increase your self awareness.  Change your habits if you don't like them or just accept them as part of your rich tapestry as a human being.  Be as kind to yourself as you are to others.  Forgive yourself and those around you.  Embrace yourself as a totally unique individual that has limitless potential.  Sounds new agey and hippy groovy, but when you stop having expectations and judgements of yourself and others, you will start to feel contentment in the moment.  Avoid drama.  Not your monkeys, not your circus.
5. Breathe.  When all else fails, breathe.  I know this sounds stupid and I've lost count of the number of times I've rolled my eyes when someone tells me this.  But it works.  When you think you can't face another moment, stop.  Stop thinking.  Stop moving.  Just stop everything.  And breathe.  In slowly.  Out slowly.  And again.  All day if you have to. 

I am certain my journey has not ended.  The shower (& bath) proves to be an ongoing nemesis.  I find contentment when once in I'm there but getting there is a major struggle every day. So I've changed what it means to be ready to face they day.  That may or may not include, as is more often the case, a clean and fresh smelling me.  My tribe loves me regardless.  Social situations are challenging but I am taking them one at a time and engaging more often than not these days.

But the proof is in the results.

1. I am writing again!  This is the biggest achievement so far.  I abandoned my first novel as it had me in knots.  I started a whole new one that had been assembling itself in my brain for a few years and in just 10 days over 110,000 words came out of my head through my fingers and hit the keyboard.  I hit save.  I'm actively sending it out to potential agents every day and have some interest.
2. My life modelling becomes a bigger and bigger part of my life.  I model nearly every week at least once and most weeks more than 3 times.  It helps me to be still, physically literally and mentally in practise.  I use the time for positive affirmations, meditating, and breathing.  It also helps me to accept the beauty (both inside and out) of who and what I am in that moment.  I can't envision how I would have recovered without it.
3. I don't listen to others thoughts on how or what I should or should not be doing unless they are part of my tribe.  Even those in my tribe, know that whilst I may take their advice under consideration, I am free to choose what I feel is best for me.  And they love me still.

Near as I can tell I am winning, 1-0.

 

Spirited Bodies Part 2

During the first workshop, Lucy at Spirited Bodies announced that the Daily Mail (a UK national paper) would be doing a feature on the event for their Sunday magazine, You.  They were wondering if there were any models who would be willing to be interviewed.  I put my head down. 

Esther caught me at the second workshop and said she had noticed that I was a blogger and as such perhaps I wouldn't mind being interviewed by the Daily Mail.  If I choose so, I could remain anonymous although obviously, they wanted some people to be identified.  My initial reaction was that I didn't mind being interviewed as long as it was anonymous.

As the workshop finished, I had decided that there wasn't really a downside to being identified by name in the article so I had agreed.  Spirited Bodies was very grateful.

The day before the event I sat at my desk doing the things which I do at my desk (which resembles writing but involves quite a bit of internet surfing) and the phone rang from a number I didn't recognise.  I don't normally answer those calls.  But I was feeling frisky.

The caller identified herself as a journalist from the paper and very politely proceeded to ask me questions for the next 30 minutes or so.  Most of the questions were around my motivation for agreeing to pose nude.  I waffled on for a bit hoping those reasons would sound clearer when I said them out loud than when I said them to myself.  I was slightly comforted by the news that the journalist would also be posing nude so she didn't want to derail the story too much and make it all seedy.

When I hung up the phone, I felt my heart start to palpitate.  I started to sweat.  I felt committed.  No longer would I be able to use a lousy sore throat as an excuse to throw this opportunity into the gutter.  Now I had to go.  I was soooooo nervous I thought I would vomit.

The entire evening I struggled to sit still.  Surreptitiously, I tried out poses sitting on the sofa hoping that my husband wouldn't notice that his wife was developing a passion for dramatic seating, standing, kneeling, and sprawling positions for watching television.

I woke up early Saturday morning, showered, and stared at myself naked in the mirror.  normally I avoid this sight at all costs.  But I couldn't avoid it anymore.  I did my hair but not too much.  I did a bit of makeup.  But not too much.  I dressed in something easy to take off, stuffed my dressing gown in my bag and set off for London with a large cup of coffee.

I arrived in plenty of time and watched the models arrive one by one.  It would seem nude modelling isn't something you do with friends although there were a few couples together.  We all recognised a couple familiar faces from the workshops in the crowd so could chat idly waiting for our big moment.

After what seemed like forever, we were told it was time to get changed.  As discreetly as possible we all stripped off and donned our dressing gowns.  It felt odd to be getting undressed in front of strangers but no one seemed to be caring so I tried to keep my eyes down and preserve my dignity until the very last moment.

 

We then all walked into the room, approached the stage, dropped our coverings, stepped on to the platform and struck a pose.  And that was that.  I was modelling nude for a group of over 70 artists.

 

You couldn't really tell who was drawing you.  Vanity took over and I wanted to make sure that I posed in a way that the artist would find interesting and would be compelled to draw me.  Me!  Me!

 

The room was silent but for the scratching of pens, pencils, brushes, charcoal on paper.  Models moved about on the stage and changed position.  Artists' gazes shifted from one model to another; from one group of models to another.  Before I knew what happened the first half of the day was over.

 

We were afforded a short break for lunch.  We nibbled on lentil salad whilst milling about in our dressing gowns as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  Some models left and new models arrived.  Then we did it all over again.

 

You could feel the anticipation of the end of the day approaching as the efforts of the artists become a bit more frenetic as the scurried about trying to finish a few pieces to hang on the walls.

 

As I got dressed I was somewhat stunned by what I had just done and a wee bit apprehensive about the art I was going to view.  What would I think of myself when I recognised my body?  What if I didn't recognise my body?  What if no one found my body interesting enough or attractive enough to draw?

 

The models and artists met up in the great hall.  I felt overwhelming pride when I spotted myself in a the pieces of art.  I had some artists tell me that my body, yes, my body, was beautiful.  I was astonished at how beautiful I felt despite my bumps and rolls and bulges and droops and sags. 

 

I was a piece of art.  I was several pieces of art!  Beautiful wonderful art.

 

I got into my car.  I took a deep breath.  I put my head into my hands and had a good cry.  I felt so emotional at having had strangers tell me how beautiful I was when every other way I turn tells me that I am not beautiful.  let's face it, women my size struggle to even buy clothing.

 

And then I had a good laugh.  I laughed at the adventures still ahead of me.  And hopefully, many of those adventures will include the opportunity to do some more nude modelling.  I've added it to my long list of job titles.  And watch out for the feature in You magazine sometime in December!

Spirited Bodies Part 1

My husband thinks maybe I have a brain tumour.  You know, one of those that causes someone to start doing crazy, out of character things and nobody says anything and then one day that person dies and everyone says afterwards, "Yeah, I thought she was acting strangely."

Trust me, I don't have a brain tumour.  Well, at least I don't think I have a brain tumour.

 

But I am adrift.  Adrift in the sea of life, reflecting on the last 20 years and wondering about the next 20 years.  My eyesight is clouded with fear, excitement, curiosity, anxiety, and fear.  Mostly fear.

 

I'm not like Oprah.  I don't know many things for sure.  I know the sun will rise in the east and set in the west but apart from that I can only be sure that someday I will die.  Given current life expectancies I also am fairly certain that my life is well over halfway finished.

 

That sobering thought causes me to squeal "But I haven't done everything I want to do."

 

It is with the determination of that statement that I have decided to take some risks in life, not something I have ever been entirely comfortable with, and do somethings I never even knew I wanted to do but know I have to do once I hear about them.

 

When I read about an event sponsored by an organisation called Spirited Bodies, I wanted to be a part of it. 

 

I love art.  Art has the power to make me laugh and move me to tears.  I an stare in wonder at a drawing or a painting for hours.  I'm not just looking at the picture but appraising the talent of the artist who saw what they saw and was able to put that down on a canvas for all to see in a way that I never could.  I mean, I still draw stick figures.  My eight year old daughter has more artistic talent in her pinkie finger than I have ever had in my entire body.  Artists amaze me.

 

The opportunity to be a part of art was irresistible. The opportunity to become that art was mesmerising.

 

It was with this ideal that I volunteered to pose nude for the event with London Drawing.  Spirited bodies would provide the nude models and London Drawing would provide the artists.

 

Initially I attended an introductory session with Esther and Lucy, the two wonder women behind Spirited Bodies.  Along with a dozen nude modelling virgins, the process and boundaries were explained to us.  You could have cut the apprehension with a knife.  But these two women made it seem very safe and almost clinical.

 

I decided to attend the next two workshops where hints and tips of posing nude were to be given.  Initially I thought well, how hard can it be to pose nude?  I mean, you take of your clothes and stand there, right?  But the introductory session introduced the concept of holding a pose.  For 30 minutes.....uh oh!

 

That evening I went home and tried to stand still.  My husband kept asking if I wanted to go get an MRI scan done.  I just kept standing in the middle of the lounge in all my glory thinking that my right big toe was killing me and my right arm was never going to stay aloft at that angle for 5 minutes.  I must be doing this wrong.

 

I attended the first workshop at Battersea library.  My stomach was in knots but as I had absolutely no intention of getting my kit off, I told myself this was ridiculous.  I had brought my dressing gown (robe) as instructed but just so I could say I had followed instructions to the letter.

 

Esther and Lucy encouraged us all to get some paper and pick out some drawing tools.  I choose a pencil, eraser and some charcoal, although what exactly I was planning to do with these implements remained unclear (see reference to stick figures above).  We had settled into our chairs in a circle and Esther, who had changed into a sarong wrapped loosely around her body, explained that we would all draw each other whilst we each took turns modelling.  She expanded that it was entirely our choice as to whether we posed fully, partially and not dressed.

 

And with that she dropped the sarong to the floor and stood before us in all her glory.  Lucy instructed that we had 5 minutes to draw Esther.  5 minutes?  To draw Esther?  A day wouldn't be enough for me to draw anything at all.  I stared at my blank sheet of paper, then back up at Esther's elbow, then back down at the paper, then up at Esther's ankle.  I gripped my pencil and started with her heel, then moved to her hip, then tried her head.  Next thing I knew, I was out of time and Esther had her sarong back on. 

 

"How did that feel?" Esther asked.  I stared at the mess on my paper.  And thought, "Not so well." but then I realised I was so wrapped up in my own process of drawing that I had completely forgotten that there was a nude woman standing in front of me.  Pretty soon everyone wanted a go.  One woman who had kept her clothes on for her first go had decided that she wanted to try again but this time nude.  She later said she felt more comfortable the second time around.  You quickly realise that it's not about whether the model has clothes or not but that at the end of the process, there is a work of art, good or bad, but art.

 

The second workshop was much like the first although I had figured out quite a few poses that I could hold for some time without my limbs going numb.  I gained some more confidence and tried out some poses with other models.  Driving home that evening I wondered if I would feel as confident at the main event as I did in the workshops.

 

Posing alone or in groups of 2 or 3 in front of a dozen other models who would be in the same position as you was relatively a walk in the park.  The thought of posing with 30-40 other models on a multi-tiered platform in front of 7-80 artists was like an Olympic marathon.  Would I be able to do it when the time came?  Or was I going to chicken out at the last minute and run for the hills?  I had 2 days to talk myself out of it and I felt a sore throat coming on.

 

Stay Tuned.