Some more background ... she claims I cling to my trauma. It is not so in my experience: being forced into the wrong education (true, other people regret their choice too), dealing with 20+ years of extreme verbal abuse by my mother (true, other people even get beaten although I must say there were times when I was longing for a smack in the head if only the shouting would stop) and the constatation that these events have guide my life in a direction from which I don't seem to be able to escape left me with a lot of triggers. Even trying to build up a new future is in itself a trigger that causes me to re-live the discussions/fights I had over engineering with my parents. I have had similar remarks before (the 'other people' remark) and - at one point - a psychiatrist who stated that maybe my parents' choice for me was right after I had been seeing him for almost three years. Thus therapy has become a trigger through which I start te re-live things too.
On the other hand, I must admit that I am beginning to see myself as only my mental ailment and nothing more.


As for my current situatin: my current crisis started mid-January. Up to then, I had a therapist in a government-subsidized centre. They were obliged to end al long running trajectories due to budget cuts. All therapists within a reasonable distance were overflooded. I came last in the row because I was trying to finish a second degree. I have been searching for a therapist for almost six months, while my GP suggested that I should have been hospitalized. In July, there was another blow: my partner of 10 years - and looking back, nobody has ever stood up so fiercely for me - decided she wanted to divorce. It's been 'a long way down' ever since. Every day seems like my new all-time low. Due to a mixup I have been without therapy for 5 weeks and it was worse than hell. My GP inisted on starting medication - I suppose he kind of freaked out - although I have repeatedly pointed out that up to now I've mostly experienced side-effects. I am now on 30 mg fluoxetine a day, which makes me more restless than ever (it started some two days after I took my first half dosis), made me lose my appetite and makes me nauseaous. He insists this will wear off and asked me to switch to 30 mg anyway. I really have the feeling this guy means well and in a way I feel for him and I suppose this I why I budged.

Going back to the psychologist does not seem like a good idea, not boing neither is an option. The main difference with previous depressive episodes is that in the past, I've always had a reason to get up on my feet again: at 23 I believed at that age, there was still some future ahead of me, at 28, after a nasty breakup, my niece was born, at 37 I had just started a relationship whith somebody who was really trying to pull me through. Now, at 46, I have no kids, no perspective for a job that I won't loathe, I'm not sure whether I will have a roof over my head in two weeks, ... I really feel as if the old punk-adagio that there's "no future" was written for me. We have touched upon this for a few times, but she appears to ignore the impact of having no perspective: my therapist claims that even the smallest setback leaves me beaten down (although the perspective of becoming homeless does not seem like a minor setback to me) but in my experience, I've spent so much energy fighting this beast over the last 25 years that I just don't seem to have any ideas left. And even if I come up with something, I severely doubt the idea I have will help me. Being a behavioural therapist, she believes I should enter a job that will kill me emotionally and use it as some kind of starting point ... doing something - anything - should miraculously cure me.


Honestly, it's not all bad news either. I have started painting classes and have experienced a few hours of inner peace and freedom there. In addition, a friend of mine asked me whether I would like to move in with him and run an organic farm that he is starting up together. It seems like a nice thing to do but moving to the other side of even a country as small as Belgium would cut me loose from my last remaining friends (apart from the one guy) and render it impossible to keep painting in class (and I still really need my teacher to get me started on something). Moreover, given my current medical situation, it seems like an enormous risk. I know my friend is very outgoing, that he will introduce me into his social circle. I know he's one of those people who is able to brush things off and keep going. He seems like the kind of guy who could assist me to get back on my feet. But I feel I would be too much of a burden and I would pull him down too. After all, I've only brought sorrow to those who tried to help me (including my ex-wife) and have no happiness to show for it myself ...