The Unwritable

I don't see many oldies writing about depression so I'm punching down on the keys here today and writing about my visits from the Black Dog.

He's been away more years than I can count and I have written about him before which I will link to later.

My PHC, who is pretty terrific, marked all the stuff going on with me yesterday and ordered lab work on new criteria one of which was B12. Not often done so special requisition.

Then she said: I can put you in touch with a therapist if you are dealing with depression.

Now I seriously had not added depression to my list of issues and I gaped slack jawed at her (further convincing her, no doubt, that I was definitely in the dark clutches of it.) I managed to sputter "Hang on a minute here, I'm NOT suicidal."

So I check in with Dr. Google on the symptoms to refresh myself

The psychological symptoms of depression include:

• continuous low mood or sadness.
• feeling hopeless and helpless.
• having low self-esteem.
• feeling tearful.
• feeling guilt-ridden.
• feeling irritable and intolerant of others.
• having no motivation or interest in things.
• finding it difficult to make decisions.

I would add constant pain and exhaustion and grief to that mix.

And I imagine you could call me full blown and cuddling down with The Black Dog.

These are the forbidden things to write about.

But I do write about forbidden things.

I'm running out of old people who have the unmitigated gall to run off on me and die and not be around to discuss their visits with the Black Dog.

But I truly believe I'm not alone as a depressed oldie.

And I owe an apology to my PHC, she knew.

Links to other posts on this forbidden topic.

Thou Shalt Not

I was thinking today about how I was raised on a whole list of "Thou Shat Nots'

These were all grounded in the following (simple version):

8 shalt nots you will note if you pay attention to such things. These were all hanging in classrooms and churches. All this was gobblydeegook to a young child who had to learn them all for her First Communion and tell the holy priest what each meant  before she made her First Confession, the evil wee thing.

I thought God was a bossy man. Demanding all this from me. Even thinking about such forbidden actions (like disobeying my parents See Number 5) was a criminal action resulting in acres of repetitive prayers as penance after the aforesaid confession, for God, this petty tyrant, would be offended forever if I didn't seek forgiveness for each transgression.

I was one of those kids that preceded everything she uttered with the word why. You can imagine how absolutely annoying I was in asking parents and teachers to explain all the whys in the above 10 COMMANDMENTS (They always sounded like commands from a general to me). I remember the stuttering and stammering around Adultery as I pushed and pushed about how could daddy want another child's mummy.

Coveting was explained as wanting another child's toys or sweets. I had a million of those particular sins, wanting their bikes and train sets and nicer sweets than I had. I kept the priest busy every Saturday keeping track of it all.

Wanting to murder my annoying little brothers was another Big One. They drove me mad in countless ways. But even the thought of hurting them qualified as another Big One. And I thought about it a lot and had to count those thoughts and report them faithfully.

The neighbour boy would steal our balls and puncture our bicycle tires so there was no honouring happening there, let me tell you, hard as I tried and hard as I confessed my failure to do so every week.

All this to say there were no Shalts at all in my wee life. No good stuff. No guidance. No orderly 10 instructions on living in positivity. Just this heavy burden of constant sin, evidence of my own worthlessness. God was disinterested in the good stuff like hugging your baby brother when he fell and cried or sharing your biscuits with a child who never had any.

I thought the Ten Commands from this useless General were an absolute bust. And he should have tried harder with his soldier Moses who did all the chiseling and carving on the mountain top and then had to carry all that gear and big heavy stone on his back on the way back down and then yell at everyone going by that this was the way they had to live now or God would be mad at them and rain hell fire and damnation on them all lickety-split so shut up and listen you pagan heathens. 

And now in my doddery elderly condition I would condense the whole shit show of orders and neediness down to one word.

Kind. Be kind. 

The Ordinary

 I embrace it in times of stress and worry.

Just carrying on doing the do things if my body happens to co-operate that day. And my mind is not seething with "why bothers"

I'll hit 81 next week. (I know I'm as shocked as you.)

I find I am diminishing as I age, much of the time I feel irrelevant. Though I'm trying not to geezer my way through these last few years.

Life is not like before where I couldn't keep up with social demands and entertaining in my own home (I really, really miss that). The phone rings with other old geezers like myself, sometimes lonely, sometimes helpful. I find we help each other out more, picking up or dropping off or just now when fireworks ripped the night sky apart, texting to complain about the helpless animals affected. We've lived that with beloved pets

I don't start sentences with "In my time"

I try not to say "I've seen it all before" - though that's a tough one.

But I have, seen it all before I mean. War threats (try the sixties) revolutionary music, skirts that barely covered the arse (now they buy them ripped but I hold my tongue)and tall boots that were like scaffolding(they never quite went away, did they?)

Like some, I don't complain about modern technology (I embrace every twist and turn - hello TikTok!) or young people - most inspire me and teach me.

I am grateful for all I still can do (on my good days, mark you!) 

One close friend, a year younger than me, has just lost her driver's license. Mine was renewed for 5 years recently and I am beyond happy about that. I still love driving and miss the days when I'd belt across Canada with my dog in tow. My insurance rates are laughably low. I won't jinx it by telling you why though you can probably guess. 64 years of driving under my belt now. I learned on the rough old boreens of Ireland.

I'm rambling on - now I see I am an old geezer.

Here's a few pics.

Dinner last night. A freshly caught salmon from a friend.

A lovely lunch overlooking the ferries and boats a few days ago.

Flowers from a friend today which lifted me up from loneliness for my family of origin. 

Much to be grateful for. And I am.