All the stresses of the last five years came to a head recently when I started collapsing.
Funny enough, at the start of the year I was enjoying things. I had no money, but had gained a boarder (and his pet dog, company for mine) and was just surviving. All the bills were being paid, and I was keeping myself busy during the uni break pottering around the house and updating my web sites. I had finally settled in at home.
Things changed at the start of university. I had a creative block on my work. University study is stressful anyway. The work doesn't do itself, and there are always worries about deadlines, tests and marks. I was feeling the financial pinch. I found that I coldn't afford the materials for my studio work (fibre-art and video) but managed as I could. I considered getting a second boarder.
I started putting posters up for a boarder on campus. It must have been more of a worry than I thought, because I collapsed shortly afterwards. I had just put a poster up at the Auchmuty library and was walking over to the other side in a hurry when I seemed to be out of breath. I sat down and tried to regain my breath, but it was difficult. I seemed to be gulping for air and breathing in and out fast and deeply. Also I had a weird feeling, the like of which I hadn't had for over 20 years.
It felt like the aura that I got before an epileptic seizure.
I panicked, and tried to get over to the other side where I knew I'd be able to find some friends. But I never made it. I had to sit down and all I could do was cry and think over and over again "not that -- not that!". Someone came up and asked if I was alright and I had to answer that I wasn't. They helped me get to the mediacl centre on campus where I told them that I was probably going into seizure.
The nurse laid me on my side on the floor where I started shaking, and when the doctor came in they shot me with a muscle relaxant. Eventually I was well enough to sit up in a chair. They phoned my boarder (who is also a student at the university) on his mobile and he drove me home. I went to sleep as soon as I got there, and woke up with Pegasus snuggled up to me. I felt washed out and "hollow", a bit like I always did after a fit. I was worried, really worried, that it might be the return of my epilepsy. It was arranged for me to have an EEG next week. I did little for rest of the week. Then, the following Monday, the dogs were taken.
Dognapping
It was the Monday before Easter. They'd got out again and were playing with the kids across the road. I know that they were taken because there was a witness that saw them being led down the street by someone. Bill's dog was a malamute and worth $1000, so he called the police. They came and took statements, and then went and interviewed the person who'd taken the dogs. They denied everything and claimed that they'd merely led the dogs back to my yard. But the witness that saw them lived directly across the street from me, and saw them being taken away from here. Nothing could be proved though.
I was upset beyond belief. Pegasus had been my only constant companion for over a year, and had been directly responsible for preventing me from suiciding in the previous year. I loved him, and he was gone. For those few days it was nightmare. I rode my pushbike in all surrounding towns and suburbs trying to find him. I put up posters, and checked with the pound. Nothing. I visited a friend and while there, one of her friends visited and had a vision of the dogs being kept in a shed away from a house. They'd been taken to "teach me a lesson". Whether or not this was true, it was no help.
I was in no condition to go to university that week. I stayed at home and kept myself busy. Then on the Friday I had to go and have my EEG. When I got home late in the day I had an odd feeling that the dogs were back, and I was right. They'd been picked up earlier in the day at Awaba(1), about 20km away, and handed in at the RSPCA pound. I'd placed a poster there with my phone number, and they'd called Bill who collected them.
But that was not the end of the matter though. I was glad the dogs were back, but the stress of worry had been so much that I came down with teh flu for the next week. I was absolutely wretched. And then on the Sunday after that, they were taken a second time.
The dogs were out the back playing and I was doing some gardening as well. I went inside to go to the toilet and then the phone rang (wrong number) and when I got back outside the gate was open and they were gone. I went out to look for them but couldn't find them. This time they were dumped directly at the RSPCA pound with the claim that they'd been menacing a goat. This was bizarre, but cost me $61 and the help of a friend with a car to get them out of the pound.
More collapses
I also collapsed twice more.
The first time was just after I was putting up more posters for another boarder (hmmm, a pattern here, I'm sure). I was visiting a friend on campus and then suddenly came over all weak and dizzy. She took me to the Woman's Room where I slept for 2 hours. later, she drove me home.
The second time was after a particularly frustrating morning at the video block (two days after the dogs were taken a 2nd time). I'd booked a 3 hour segment on the computer equipment to digitise and edit a video project. Nothing went right. I had all my files on a particular array, and these had to be pre-booked. But someone else had been moved onto my array and was already using it. Someone else needed to use the machine to digitise their own work, and I was having technical problems in transferring the footage from one tape format to another.
Then, just as I got on to the machine that I'd booked, for my stuff, I had another interruption. The person who'd been using it earlier had forgotten to copy some files from it, so I had to interupt what I was doing so they could. Then the computer "crashed" and the technical officer came in and gave me a "lecture" about how to do things. Then, someone else who had a later session booked came in to see if I was finished! Arghhhh!!!! I was just so frustrated and strung out.
I started hyperventilating. I just sat at the desk, head between my arms and breathing heavy. That other student came in againa and suggested that I stand by the window to get some air. I walked one pace and then collapsed. The other technical officer came and put me on my side where all I could do was breath heavy. My toes and fingers went numb and I couldn't move either my arms or legs. Eventually someone came from the surgery and collected me in a van. They took me to the other side where I was sat down until I relaxed. Then i had a visit from a doctor who told me to carry a paper bag with me at all times and breath into it when I hyperventilated.
Not a good time. Afterwards I was shaky, but managed to eat a free student lunch. The technical officer who'd laid me on my side came over to see how I was. I was shaken and stirred (James Bond pun), but more or less OK. But stuff like this couldn't go on. The next time I saw a doctor at the uni, they sent me to an on-campus psych.
Deshrinked
After talking about all the problems and stresses I'd been having in the last few years, the on-campus psych told me that I was clinically depressed -- that it was most likely that the seritonan in my brain was depleted and that was why I felt like shit, and had been collapsing and having panic attacks. She also said that I could try an anti-depressant, which if it was the right one, would help restore that balance.
Back when I'd had my breakdown, I'd chosen not to take any drugs of any sort. But nothing had been working, so I gave in and started taking Luvox™. It took three weeks before I started to feel a change.
I had expected it to make me `high'. Back in Perth after feeling suicidal, I'd been on Zoloft™ for six weeks. That had been weird, because I'd walk down the street and would laugh for no reason -- I didn't feel "real" on it. But the Luvox has been different. One day I woke up and my emotions seemed normal.
I've been able to laugh sometimes ssince then -- what a difference. The psych says that I'll need to stay on it for at least a year to make sure the effects are long term. So far so good. I still get upset, but I don't get stuck in it. Not that taking a drug is the only answer. I still have to sort out the issues in my life that cause the stress in the first place. I need more stability, more income, more social support, all in managable levels. And I know that I need to go back to psychotherapy too.
I'd been undergoing psychotherapy before, and it did help. But my money ran out, and then the car was off the road, so I couldn't afford or get to the sessions. Recently I've lodged a claim for a disability pension. If I get it, then I'll be able to afford to start again, maybe. For me, it helps to be able to talk to people. When I can only talk to myself, it's so difficult to put things into perspective.
So I have hope for the future. Not unrealistic hopes, but the glimmer of maybe something a bit more permanent. It'll take longer to make happen though, so I have to be patient, and caring with myself. If I don't start for myself, who else will?
Footnotes
(1) Another friend of mine, not knowing that the dogs were back, phoned me on Saturday to say that they'd had a dream of collecting them in a Street at Awaba. Coincidence? Maybe, but I do have a number of friends who are psychic, and being a Tarot reader I know that there's more than just chance involved. Mind you, accurate information two days too late is not much help either.