I Won't Let the Sun Go Down on Me

People are expecting all manner of things from me today, but instead of tackling them I am pausing to write this down in the hope that it will help. Mainly me, but possibly any other poor sod that is having to wrestle similarly. Also, to inform and explain to anyone wondering why they haven’t heard back from me, or seen me about in places they might have expected.

My (landlady's) cosy cottage

Shoving boxes, a pause. 

So, there’s no time for apologising. I do that a LOT. You’ll have to take it as read. We all know it’s been a while since my last post etc etc. You may be pleased to know that I found me a place to live and the move was impressive. Lots of stuff, but tonnes of beautiful assistance to match it, making it a completely different experience to the one I’d been expecting. To quote Eliza Darcy neé Bennet: “In fact <it was> quite the opposite.” I’ve been ensconced in my cottage for nearly two months now, and I love it more every day. It turns out to be much more suitable for me than the old place was. All that fuss for nothing!! True, I haven’t quite finished unpacking and settling in yet, but who has? In between shoving boxes about and ordering white goods, life has had to go on. Life which involves a healthy dollop of puzzle compiling; only a pinch of cake baking as yet; a soupçon of ringing and a glut of writing, directing and appearing in a play for a drama group that I’ve not really worked with before, but who are so refreshing that it might be the start of a longer relationship.

Publicity still from Littleford's Got Talent. 

I’ve been doing tremendously well as it happens, enjoying the dying summer days with renewed vigour. To cope with the upheaval of changing address, I created New Lizzie – one who embraces the unfamiliar (a concept which is even more unfamiliar to Old Lizzie.) She’s walking a lot more. She’s not hanging around anyone who makes her feel bad about herself. She even re-joined Slimming World five weeks ago, to help regain control over the appalling eating habits she’s developed over the last few years. There’ll be more on this soon. I’m 6lb down so far, which would be more useful if it had come off places that need downsizing, rather than places that need every ounce they can get. Cough, boobies, cough.

So what the fudging fudge happened? I am still asking myself that as I cling to the inside of an increasingly steep and slippery drainpipe. It was all very sudden. One minute I’m having the time of my life, randomly bursting into laughter and feeling incredible; the next, there’s a horrifying darkness all around me and I can’t find a torch. In terms of events, nothing changed. OK, the performance is getting closer which is a stressful time, but that’s a sensation I am very much used to. There’s been no bad news, no work lost, no blokes to break my heart. I don’t understand.

It’s true that, at the start of last week, I was feeling so positive I decided to self-unmedicate again, down to the next level; going from 100mg sertraline to 50mg as I had a nasty brain fog that I assumed was the tablets. If I’m feeling OK, I thought, maybe the excess sertraline is making me hazy? When coming off antidepressants one has to be careful. The side effects are unpleasant, particularly the dizziness. If I ever forget to take my tablet, my body alerts me to the fact later that night, by creating a puddle of sweat then waking me up with it. So I was prepared for clammy nights and a spot of eyeball-spinning until everything settled down. It takes a few weeks for the effects of the drug to wear off, the same as it does when you are waiting for them to start working. Therefore, in conclusion m’lud, I don’t think that’s the reason for the drop. Suffice it to say though, I put myself back on 100mg quick smart.

The only other reason I can think of might be the time of year. If you’ve been living in England over the last few weeks, you will have experienced the delights of the summer fading to autumn. Oh autumn, you deceptive season! You set the countryside on fire with blazing colours; bright and beautiful. Then while we’re gawping in admiration and enjoying the occasional (and freakishly) warm day, we don’t notice you stealing the light and stirring up wind and rain and inclemency until it’s too late. Hibernation suddenly seems like a great idea. I’m not surprised they call it “fall”.

But why look for a reason? It’s blindingly obvious to me that this is an illness and, just like a migraine or an unpopular relative, it can turn up unannounced and completely wreck your plans.

When I drove back from the rehearsal last night, I was trying to explore my symptoms. I had been a mess throughout the evening, finding it hard to string a sentence together. Even the ones I had pre-written. I couldn’t remember songwords I had read from the screen a mere ten seconds previously. I blanked on names of people I have known (and seen regularly) for a couple of years; I was shaking, particularly my hands, which made turning pages and playing instruments a lot harder, and tears were never distant. How can I instil confidence in a cast, when I’m like this? How can I expect everyone to be off script, when I read from mine? But there is more: The anxiety is shocking, the worst I’ve ever had. I’m still a long way from full-blown panic attacks, though once or twice I have come close, usually when an overwhelming urge to leave has conflicted with a desire to stay, resulting in a sense of imprisonment. As I awake from slumbers (night, morning, post-prandial, post-post-prandial), I boot up slowly like an ancient laptop, and doom and fear and despondency come flooding back. They don’t go away. They’re on my shoulders as I type, united in a single entity: A slavering Demon in black, with tentacles that wrap around my neck and gently squeeze while it drools on my shoulder and breathes foul into my face, whispering “Useless. Hopeless. Pointless. Pathetic.” Over and over. Please, please bugger off. I have got a lot of living to do and I can’t do it when I keep slipping over on your dribble.

The fact that I had been feeling better might have made the chasm seem larger too. I’m angry that it was the best I’d been feeling for months… possibly years. This, foul Demon, is NOT acceptable.

I am fighting it with everything I have. You will notice that I am still showing up at places where I’m expected, albeit a chaos of hair, clothing, bags and words, but I am there. My number one priority is not to let anyone down. I hate that more than I hate reality TV shows, or litter. Or Disney, and that is really saying something! To let you down is to let me down. I am still managing to come up with the goods, albeit somewhat later than you wanted them, but you get them! I am still getting up in the mornings and trying so hard to keep going, because I choose not to stop. My sense of self-worth has taken a nose-dive, which explains the repeated apologies, for which I am so, so sorry. Paranoia, jealousy, fear all battle for supremacy. Skimming through Facebook without getting upset is impossible. I even have to brace myself when I check my emails! And the most mind-shaftingly annoying sensation is the return of the loneliness. I have resigned myself to being single, suspecting that I’m one of those people for whom that is the natural state. I accepted that quite comfortably as it makes sense and it doesn’t affect anyone other than me. Yet this week I have been aching for companionship, with a wailing and a beating of the chest that doesn’t do my shrinking cleavage any favours.

Being aware of the issue is important. Throughout all the crappiness, there’s a voice of reason. As if a fraction of me has stepped away to watch the rest of me fall apart. That fraction knows what will help, and it’s this:

🙂   Don’t take on new projects.

🙂   Get outside as much as possible, especially in daylight hours.

🙂   Spend time in company.

🙂   Go through with things, even though they terrify the bejesus out of you.

🙂   Drink lots of water and keep warm – it really makes a difference.

🙂   Ditto the healthy eating. It’s good for you and your body knows it.

🙂   Avoid your FB newsfeed for a bit.

🙂   You know yoga and meditation help. Do some! Don’t make excuses.

🙂   Be open about the situation, without banging on about it.

I mean honestly, I’ve got the play and then I’ll be involved with a pantomime. I absolutely have to find more work and honour it so I can continue to pay rent and be settled. I’m really getting into ringing, and that’s no good with nerves. Plus, I’m hosting a party/gig to celebrate passing the five-year cancer-free mark next month, and I haven’t really invited anyone to it yet. I am determined to go through with it, even if I have to pop the Demon in some sequins and bring him with me. I must keep going.

If you’re wondering what you can do, it’s not much I’m afraid. Or is it? Understanding is a massive undertaking. If you can’t do that, then tolerance is just as important. Kindness, though if that’s the way you want to play it, brace yourself for blubbing – I’m not very good at accepting that I’m worth it. Hugs are great, but not always appropriate. Plus you might find yourself being clung to more than you expected, and thus more blubbage. Don’t say you weren’t warned. At the very least, you could come and see the show. Now that would cheer me up, though you might not realise it through all the tears. Actually, you’ve already helped, see, by reading this. I’m not sure if I’ve reciprocated. I’ll have to owe you one. I’m also not sure I’ve helped me, but it’s good to get it all out of my head so there’s more room for the maelstrom of Everything Else. Thank you for your time.  And sorry again.

What next? When? Where? Will these generic questions ever be answered? Who knows? Oo, there’s another one. In the meantime, Lizzie is appearing in Littleford’s Got Talent, a play about a play about showing off, by Lizzie. (Oct 11^th – 14^th, CTK Social Club, Thornbury. For info, see www.octopus-thornbury.co.uk)