This morning at about six, I woke up really frightened from a dream. It took me more than a moment to orient myself in my bed and my house, in my life now and to feel Rupert gently sleeping all warm and curled up beside me. The dream took place in my old Brunswick house and I had all these young and not so young housemates who came and went in such a way that it was hard to know who lived there. They kept renovating the house while I was away camping, or at work and I would spend evenings trying to restore order so that I could go to work the next day. My job was a good job but in peril somehow. Some of the renovations weren't that big or scary but they extended the bathroom and installed an ironing board in there. People had to be chased away from my room when I wanted to go to bed but worst of all was that while I was away, they had a big party and removed part of the roof and installed a big open space between the bathroom and the kitchen. I was furious and upset that this was done without my consent. Some of the housemates sided with me and the police were called and I demanded to be arrested. I was furious that this had been done to my home but also terribly worried that I would need to spend every cent I had to fix it up because I was the only tenant on the lease. People were telling me to be cool but I just couldn't see it.
Grace came in to collect Rupert and I told her about my dream, well that it was frightening and then I fell asleep again and slept until I heard voices outside and realised that a house was being auction next door today. So I got up and went to the auction. It was bought by a family with young children for an incredible amount of money, but I think it was a pretty good buy. It will be interesting to see what another house in the area, with the same floor plan, but nicely renovated goes for.
The day before yesterday I went to see my psychiatrist. It was hot and her air conditioning wasn't as good as it could be and as I scrunched my face, felt like the chair was a bit small (because it is) and looked out the window and really, everywhere but at her, a sheen of sweat glazed across me. It didn't drip like it sometimes does but I felt a bit too warm. I was trying to explain how I feel I've come undone again, that I feel that it is so hard to get started, that I just want to sleep and not do anything but I know there is a better life for me than that. That I have looked at photos of me from when I was happier and read blog posts from when I sounded so busy and engaged. There's this tentative thread in my personal narrative that has me hoping, longing for something different. It's very hard to explain. Actually what I want is to go to sleep for a long time and wake up to a new life and a new me who is a bit more like the old me.
We talked about what has being going on and about wanting the job but not getting it. About Gerard's birthday, my birthday, inbetweeny day and the anniversary of mum's death all being four days in a row. We talked about going through Gerard's papers and photos and about how that stuff can weigh on you but it is difficult letting go. About not wanting to read his journals or keep all his photos. About not so good aspects of our relationship and some writing of his I found about a particular moment that I feel sad, bad about but really at the time, it was how things were. About shitty things happening and about how you can't always have the thing you most want. So I feel that once all that was teased out, more has been happening than I thought. Just none of it is very much fun. Although I am looking forward to the holidays and spending some time staying somewhere with a pool. Indeed I think I would be less grumpy if the outdoor Coburg pool here was open, but it isn't even December yet. Even then the pool will be late because it is being re-tiled and won't be finished until just before we go away. It is very hot and muggy for this time in November. Perhaps we should go to the beach.
The doctor wants me to increase one of my medications. She said I am on the tiniest of doses and it might make me feel better and that she has high functioning, creative patients who take this drug and do well. I don't know. I want to believe her but I don't feel that more medication would make me perkier, happier. It seems counter intuitive. I did agree to try it, with the proviso that if it didn't help that I could go back. However the doom seems to be clearing. To be honest I don't believe medication helps me that much. Maybe it does and I should believe my psychiatrist, it's not as if I am against western medicine. Indeed I am mostly that way inclined but it seems that psychiatric drug treatments are pretty much based on educated guess work. For all their talk of serotonin and dopamine, they can't take a mri or some other scan and say, well this bit isn't working, we'll try this and come back and do another test and see how the medication is working. The evidence is based on me, the patient with the so called faulty brain talking about their feelings and how I come across. I mean it is very obvious if someone is manic or deadly depressed but the other more in between, more functional spaces are more subtle. In my heart, I think that exercise and some life structure, for example a job, might be more beneficial but they seem harder to reach than they should.
In other news, I am spending some time and money with the dentist. He is fixing my old dentistry and I don't know whether I am being over serviced or not. In the past I have only fixed what hurts and is absolutely broken. That's where it started but now we are having a discussion about whether or not to replace my front fake tooth which feels fine but now looks whiter than my other teeth and doesn't quite meet my gum. From there we started talking about teeth whitening and I am going to have to think about it. It is a personal choice, the dentist said, but it involves a plate and using it and some solution for an hour and a half everyday for a couple of weeks Most people do it after dinner when they watch television, he said. Not sure whether it would be a good thing or a senseless vanity. Although the thought has crossed my mind that a bit of dentistry, a hair cut, some hair dye and a bit of weight loss/exercise and some new less nylony interview clothes might help a bit with the job search and maybe subsequent life improvement.
In the twelve years since birthing Grace I have tried to go back to yoga a couple of times. But I couldn't find a class where I felt at ease. The old Iyengar class didn't feel right and it was during family, bed, bath, dinner time. Other classes were too posey, didn't flow or just didn't gel.Some were ridiculously hard despite being pitched at all comers. And then just recently fat yoga became a thing here. But the classes were at not a great time for a single mother with a child too old for babysitters but too young to be left at night. And then there was the Saturday morning beginner's course. And just like pre natal classes, it was just right for just now. Now I'm hoping that a regular Saturday class starts up and thinking about what I could do at home.
Yoga, even what I am capable of right now, feels amazing. It's not just the poses, it's the breath and the intention. It's the being in your body in the now. It's the pushing just to the right edge (although I was a bit sore after yesterday's class, so maybe a bit too far). It's being with other fat women, in community, doing yoga together and not being the only fatty in the class. It's remembering my breath when I feel anxious or weird or stupid. It's many kinds of awesome. Hopefully it will also be a gateway to a new more active self.