Saturday 11 April 2009

My Parents

Sarah came back with her; they both went to bed; they were whispering together for half-an-hour before they fell asleep.  I caught scraps of their conversation, from which I was able only too distinctly to infer the main subject discussed.  "Something passed her, all dressed in white, and vanished"--"A great black dog behind him"--"Three loud raps on the chamber door"--"A light in the churchyard just over his grave," &c. &c.  At last both slept: the fire and the candle went out.  For me, the watches of that long night passed in ghastly wakefulness; strained by dread: such dread as children only can feel.  No severe or prolonged bodily illness followed this incident of the red- room; it only gave my nerves a shock of which I feel the reverberation to this day.  Yes, Mrs. Reed, to you I owe some fearful pangs of mental suffering, but I ought to forgive you, for you knew not what you did: while rending my heart-strings, you thought you were only uprooting my bad propensities.  Next day, by noon, I was up and dressed, and sat wrapped in a shawl by the nursery hearth.  I felt physically weak and broken down: but my worse ailment was an unutterable wretchedness of mind: a wretchedness which kept drawing from me silent tears; no sooner had I wiped one salt drop from my cheek than another followed.  Yet, I thought, I ought to have been happy, for none of the Reeds were there, they were all gone out in the carriage with their mama.  Abbot, too, was sewing in another room, and Bessie, as she moved hither and thither, putting away toys and arranging drawers, addressed to me every now and then a word of unwonted kindness.  This state of things should have been to me a paradise of peace, accustomed as I was to a life of ceaseless reprimand and thankless fagging; but, in fact, my racked nerves were now in such a state that no calm could soothe, and no pleasure excite them agreeably.  Bessie had been down into the kitchen, and she brought up with her a tart on a certain brightly painted china plate, whose bird of paradise, nestling in a wreath of convolvuli and rosebuds, had been wont to stir in me a most enthusiastic sense of admiration; and which plate I had often petitioned to be allowed to take in my hand in order to examine it more closely, but had always hitherto been deemed unworthy of such a privilege.  This precious vessel was now placed on my knee, and I was cordially invited to eat the circlet of delicate pastry upon it.  Vain favour! coming, like most other favours long deferred and often wished for, too late!  I could not eat the tart; and the plumage of the bird, the tints of the flowers, seemed strangely faded: I put both plate and tart away.  Bessie asked if I would have a book: the word _book_ acted as a transient stimulus, and I begged her to fetch Gulliver's Travels from the library.  This book I had again and again perused with delight.  I considered it a narrative of facts, and discovered in it a vein of interest deeper than what I found in fairy tales: for as to the elves, having sought them in vain among foxglove leaves and bells, under mushrooms and beneath the ground-ivy mantling old wall-nooks, I had at length made up my mind to the sad truth, that they were all gone out of England to some savage country where the woods were wilder and thicker, and the population more scant; whereas, Lilliput and Brobdignag being, in my creed, solid parts of the earth's surface, I doubted not that I might one day, by taking a long voyage, see with my own eyes the little fields, houses, and trees, the diminutive people, the tiny cows, sheep, and birds of the one realm; and the corn-fields forest-high, the mighty mastiffs, the monster cats, the tower-like men and women, of the other.  Yet, when this cherished volume was now placed in my hand--when I turned over its leaves, and sought in its marvellous pictures the charm I had, till now, never failed to find--all was eerie and dreary; the giants were gaunt goblins, the pigmies malevolent and fearful imps, Gulliver a most desolate wanderer in most dread and dangerous regions.  I closed the book, which I dared no longer peruse, and put it on the table, beside the untasted tart.

8 comments:

  1. If the "Pull yourself together" theory really worked for depression, then a whole lot of Therapists and doctors would be facing imminent redundancy! We don't feel like this by choice, who would? If pulling up under garments and breathing deeply was the way to recover, hell, wouldn't you be better by now? *Sighs* would be nice if it was really that simple.

    I think I know exactly where you are coming from with the "hoping the problem goes away" mentality that comes from parental fear, and it's not easy. If you are having a tough time validating your own feelings, then others not acknowledging how difficult things are for you, doesn't help.

    But then it's Hobsons choice , isn't it? If you tell everyone how awful you feel then they worry too much, but if you say nothing, nothing bursts their bubble and you have to deal with everything alone.

    Lola x

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  2. That's true, no-one would choose to feel the way we do. You always manage to put things so well. It's a no-win situation I guess, as you say no-one will understand how I really feel unless I tell them and then they'll worry and things will change. But thanks, at least someone understands x

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  3. I know what you mean. I think your situation is probably more acute than mine, but I have a form of bulimia and I can't bring myself to tell my parents because I know that they won't understand and that they'll actually make it worse - not on purpose - but because they'll just react the wrong way.

    I do hope though that you'll slowly start to feel better. I know that's looking at it simplisticly, and obviously I have no idea what you're going through, but still :) xxxx

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  4. That must be really tough. It's so hard to tell parents about serious problems like that but maybe it won't be as tough as you think? But I get what you mean. Have you any idea how they would react? Other people's reactions can be really difficult but I guess you just have to remember that they want to understand and want to help? I keep telling myself to remember that.

    Thanks, I hope so too! I hope you get things sorted out as well xx

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  5. You wrote so well many of the same things I feel too. I have a particular beef with the "pull yourself together" and "cheer up, it could be worse" school of thought. In most ways it is good that they are not, but sometimes I wonder how differently people would react if our pain and anguish were visible.

    I can certainly relate to prolonged periods of acute depression. The last 5 years are a good case in point. I've have 1 or 2 happy days, 10 or so hours out of 44000. A lot of the time I have acted indifferently but at the worst I've been unable to get out of bed or face anyone at all.

    The problem is, no-one ever seems to tell you how to deal with it do they? Psychiatrists ask and write things down but they never have an inkling of an answer. Don't get me started on those damn books that say spend time with your friends. There's nothing better to make you more depressed about being completely alone than hearing that old chesnut.

    Take care Hannah, I hope things start to look up for you soon.

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  6. My mum bought me a book called "Think Yourself Happy." Parents, eh? Gotta love 'em.

    I've been told (by a psychiatrist I saw for a while) that chronic depression is called dysthymia, which if you look it up, is "mild or medium depression". From where I am, it doesn't feel mild. It feels slowly corrosive. But it's often accompanied by severe episodes - it's "double depression."

    Interesting Nick says
    "but sometimes I wonder how differently people would react if our pain and anguish were visible."

    Do you think self-harm could be an external representation of psychic pain? (Even if it's something that stays hidden.)

    I never used to talk about myself (I was notorious for being evasive and changing the subject) but since I started blogging, I sort of feel obliged to update everyone on my mental health every time we speak. It's actually getting embarrassing now *blush*

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  7. I really can't say for sure, I haven't been through that myself and I'm no psychologist. It's hard to know what to say, I feel like I should offer sympathy, things must be terribly hard for anyone who goes through self harm, but I don't want to come off as being preachy.

    When there are no outwardly visible signs, it's all too easy for people to ignore it, wilfully or otherwise. I can definitely relate there, Hannah. Do you ever feel like you want to scream out about how you feel? I have felt like that in the past, of course I could never do such a thing :(

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  8. Hey Nick, you make a good point, it would be interesting how people reacted if they could actually see the pain as you say. No, nothing does ever tell you how to deal, it's not even something therapists really cover, they try but they never even scratch the surface.

    You're not coming off as preachy, don't worry and I don't really feel I deserve sympathy, it's something I did to myself (and don't give me sympathy for saying that lol). I'm a silent screamer but yeah I know what you mean, sometime you should try out the screaming, could help. Thanks.

    La - hi, thanks for stopping by and I also get excited when I see new commenters! I'd read about dsythmia as well, but haven't heard of double depression before so now of course I'm planning to look it up. I get what you say about depression, it doesn't feel mild to me either!

    That's really interesting, and clever, about self harm being an external representation of pain. I'd never thought about that before. I guess it's good that you can talk about it now at least. Ever since I started therapy I bring my depression up a lot more than I used to, and I sometimes wish I didn't!

    Hannah

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