Starting to get CBT

I had my fifth CBT session on Tuesday and I was told I have just three more to go before my course of therapy comes to an end. I think I am finally beginning to understand what it's all about, but I do still doubt whether it is the answer to everything.  It doesn't tackle the route causes of my anxiety and depression. They are still there. It does make me analyse problems and when I do worry, CBT makes me try to understand why I worry and how this gets worse through not doing anything to combat it.
It's easier said than done. I still fear the post. It's irrational I know but the arrival of the post brings on palpitations and sweating. I will not open it. Certain emails also have this effect and I have to ask my wife to read them for me. Utterly ridiculous I know.
CBT isn't the answer to everything. I have learnt how to understand better why I worry and how my anxiety can spiral out of control causing a severe bout of depression if not tackled. I'm aware of this. But applying the CBT methodology to every worry and fear is not possible.
I think I'm to begin focusing on assertiveness in the next session. That will be interesting. My years in middle and senior management taught me all I needed to know. But my breakdown three years ago took a lot from me including any degree of assertiveness I once had. In my view, you can only be assertive if you feel strong, and that's something I haven't been for a very long time.

An Anxious First Day Back

I think I was feeling more anxious than my son. It was his first day back to school today after the long Summer holiday. He told us he didn't want to go, but thankfully we didn't have any tears or tantrums I suspect were occurring in homes all over the country.
I didn't expect I would feel so anxious. I had the same feelings I used to have when I was young, dreading the return to school after a break or weekend. I hated it and the feelings all came flooding back this morning. I even felt myself beginning to sweat in the same way I would before school or before leaving for work. I had to keep reminding myself that I was at home, and would be staying here for the anxiety to dissipate.
To make matters worse, he has a new teacher. He was very fond of his old teacher. She has moved on to teach older children at another local school. He has met the new teacher before, she took a lesson last term so he has had brief experience of her.
This morning, all the children in my son's class were required to bring in a box with some of their favourite things inside. My wife spent most of last evening making sure it was complete and I printed some photos out to put inside.
The house feels empty. My wife has gone to work and my son is at school. I do have the dog, but she goes upstairs to sulk on our bed only venturing downstairs if she thinks she is going to get a treat, or when the postman calls.
It is surprising though just how quickly the hours go by, and it will soon be 3.15 and time to go and collect him. He'll be excited to be coming home and remembering very little of his day at school, volunteering only the most scant details, as is usual.
Things are back to normal today. My wife is at work, I am feeling guilty that she has to, and my son is back at school. I am sat here typing, transferring my thoughts to my blog and updating my website. There's something safe and comfortable about being back to normal, probably something to do with my need for routine. Tomorrow will be just the same.

Paralympic Welcome, Tentative York & Longing for Security

Once again, we produced an epic opening ceremony, this time for the Paralympic Games. Though not on quite the same scale as the Olympic opening ceremony, it was nonetheless fully attended and watched by millions across the country. Channel 4 have the broadcast rights to the Paralympics and though their coverage was very good, much criticism has been made of the decision to include numerous advertisement breaks during the event. Twitter was awash with comments deploring Channel 4 for the decision and I have to admit that I was one of those contributing to the protests. Being one of the largest and most significant events Channel 4 has broadcast since it launched in 1982, I would really have expected the channel to forgo the revenue from the numerous car ads in favour of showing the whole event uninterrupted.
For me, the event was very moving. The sight of hundreds of disabled athletes, proud to be representing their countries and being celebrated was magnificent. The choreography was world class and complimented with a commentary by Stephen Hawking. The athletes were proud the be there, and it showed.

Tomorrow, we had hoped to be taking our son to York for the first time. My wife and I have been to York on a couple of occasions and have enjoyed it very much. There's something about the place that you can't quite put your finger on, but I do have a particular fondness for the history, architecture and of course the wonderful Railway Museum.
I've mentioned before the prohibitive cost of rail travel and the return fare being £145 for the three of us. Now, to me this seems expensive. Perhaps I'm simply out of touch with current public transport costs. But when I compare this to the cost of travelling by car, about £35, it really does seem excessive. We are rather hoping that my in-laws will lend us the money until my expenses arrive for my NHS work. This would allow us to get there and back, and a packed lunch would negate the need to buy food. It's touch and go at the moment whether we'll go or not but if we're able to, I know my son will love it.

I've written about having to keep a diary noting activities and my anxiety and depression levels. This is for the CBT therapy I'm having in Spalding. I'm a little concerned that when I have my next session on the 18th September (when my therapist returns from her holiday to Mexico), there won't be a great deal for her to analyse. I've actually been feeling quite good for the last few weeks. I certainly haven't had any depressive episodes and my anxiety levels have been pretty much level. This may be due to the fact that I'm finding things to occupy me, or simply that there haven't been any triggers to set me off. The one constant thing on my mind is the Bank and whether they will allow us to continue contributing to the mortgage. I worry daily that there will either be a letter or phone call requesting me to contact them. If and when it comes, I will need to ask them to extend the period further. My biggest fear is that they will say no. I may be worrying for no reason as I've been told by so many people that provided we are paying something, they cannot do anything and as the house value is decreasing, they are unlikely to try to turf us out to sell on. Common sense tells me this is the likely outcome but I still worry. At least this time round I can tell them I am officially an NHS Volunteer, so I'm doing something productive. Although I'm not being paid anything - just my expenses - I am hopeful that it will develop into something permanent. Working in some kind of mental health support role within the NHS is my current aim. The question is how long we can survive for until something happens?

The Call to the Bank

There is very little (besides spiders) that fills me with absolute dread, but today I had to call the bank. I woke this morning knowing I had to call the bank and frankly I've spent the entire day worrying about it. My wife left for work this morning without mentioning it and I must admit that part of me had hoped she had forgotten. But my hopes were to be in vain. My wife returned home from work at about 3pm this afternoon and immediately asked me if I had remembered to call the bank. I felt the colour rush out of my face and had all the feelings I last experienced just before a school exam or telling my maths teacher I hadn't done my homework. I knew it had to be done and there was no escaping it.
The call to the bank is to make a 'token' payment towards our mortgage arrears. Since I fell ill and lost my job, we have been unable to meet the payments though until recently we did have an insurance policy that paid the contracted amount each month. Sadly this was only for a limited period so we were faced with paying it ourselves. Being unable to pay the full amount, we negotiated a payment arrangement with the bank, who at the time were very understanding and dare I say it, synpathetic.
The amount we pay is nowhere near the full amount, not even half. Despite the arrangement being in place, I cannot help but feel guilt and anxiety. My mind fills with 'what if's' and thoughts of them being less unerstanding or demanding we pay the full amount. My biggest fear is that we are forced to sell the house, or have it reposessed. I really don't know how I would cope with that, if at all.
My wife placed the phone in front of me with the number I had to call. I should have done it there and then, but I couldn't instead finding things to tinker with on my website. This went on for a good half hour until I had thought through several times the likely course of events and every scenario possible. I decided I would try to bargain with them by offering my pension as security. There's certainly enough in it to cover the mortgage totally.
So with sweat beginning to form all over me and my heart beginning to race, I picked up the phone and called them. A familiar recorded voice giving me menu options finally directed me to a real person and I was asked for my role number in a strong Scottish accent. I read out the long number and I was then asked a series of mandatory security questions. I've done this so many times now, the answers just roll out. After a brief silence, I was told that my mortgage was in arrears and by how much. This bit I really hate. I don't want to hear how much I owe. I know it's a lot and I dearly wish I could pay it, but to be reminded is just so very painful.
I told the chap that I wanted to make a payment for the amount agreed in our arrangement. I gave my card details and scribbled down the authorisation code. I've never had to do anything with it, but I write it down every time as if I should.
I was then asked if my situation had changed. 'No, sadly not', was my reply. I did go on to say that I had volunteered at my local NHS Trust and was hoping tha in time this would perhaps materialise into something permanent and more importantly, paid. He made a note of this and he seemed to accept this as proof that I am trying to do something to get out of the hole I'm in. I felt a little better.
Next, he asked if he should set up another arrangement, to which I replied 'yes please'. Of course I want another arrangement - there's no way I can afford to pay the full monthly amount, or the arrears. He said he'd set up another three month arrangement and asked how much I could afford. I replied that it would need to be for the same amount. After all, it's all we can squeeze out of my wife's meager part time wage.
He asked if we were in debt to other creditors and I told him that we are but that the payments had been reduced in favour ensuring as much as possible could be paid toward the mortgage. He seemed to sound very sympathetic and again I felt a degree of reassurance.
He told me the arrangement had been set up and that I should pay the next amount by the 20th of next month, giving me an extra three days. I was grateful for this and thanked him for his help and understanding.
We said our goodbyes and hung up. It was done and I felt huge relief but also depressed at having had to call practically begging for help, and at having the whole sorry situation read out to me. It's a depression that hopefully won't last too long and the very thing that's prompted me to write this account. As I've said before, writing about my experiences and thoughts really seems to help. I suppose it's a way of venting some of what's festering inside and making me feel so bad.
I should feel relieved. I have negotiated us another three months. The arrangement will be reviewed in August, and thinking about this makes me realise just how quickly this year is passing. By then I really hope things will have changed. They have to. But despite the relief and the somewhat false feelings of security, I do wonder if things will ever get better. To call every three months is, in reality, an admission of failure. I've broken my agreement with the bank and failed to raise the necessary funds to balance my account with them. I know there are thousands, possibly millions of people in a similar position, and though this makes me feel that I'm not the only one, a name in bold red font in some debters ledger, I still feel alone in having to deal with it. That's why this blog is so important to me. It's a kind of sounding board, a way of expressing what I'm going through. That it is read by anyone is of no conseqence. It lets me translate my anxieties into words, and by doing so, makes me feel just that little bit better.

Dark Mornings, Dark Evenings

Winter is well and truly on its way. The mornings are darker and the sun disappears beneath the horizon earlier by the day. There's a chill in the air. I wore my winter coat today. It made me look huge, well bigger than I already am.
It won't be long before we begin buying wood for the fire. We need to have the chimney swept first. We use a local chap, Peter Warrick who is well known in the area. He kindly attended our wedding with his son, dressed in classic Victorian chimney sweeps' attire. They looked great. I'll never forget them.

My son sang a song this evening. As he sang, it felt familiar to me and I realised it was a song I used to sing at primary school many years ago. I remembered the chorus and sang with him 'So we musn't forget, no we mustn't forget to say a great big thank you, we mustn't forget'. How marvellous that my son was able to jog my memory this way.

It was Mum's Birthday today. She is 69. We visited this afternoon after we'd collected our son from school. She had prepared a small buffet which was nice and the lounge was warm and cosy. The log burner was lit and glowed in the hearth. Mum never makes a fuss of her Birthdays but she always makes sure everyone is looked after and has plenty to eat and drink. My Nan was very much like that, always giving. We stayed for a couple of hours.

We have some new curtains. I know this isn't front page news, but it's significant as the previous set had been up for 9 years. It's strange how you get used to things and never give them a second thought. But when they are gone, you really notice it. The new curtains are very nice. My wife has impecable taste when it somes to home furnishings. They match the furniture perfectly and I actually find myself admiring them.

In the news today there is criticism of the government who have met today with energy industry leaders to discuss ways of helping consumers in the current economic climate who are struggling to afford crippling bills. Apparently they have managed to achieve absolutely nothing except to remind us (as if we're idiots) to make sure we compare prices and switch suppliers(!) Are these people really in charge of the country?
I fear for us all...

Happy Birthday Mum, love from us all xxx

School Mornings

Don't know where my text has disappeared to. I had typed about school mornings and how I enjoy taking my son each day.
I'm one of the few dads that's about to take their children to school. I might as well wear a sign saying I'm out of work and have nothing else to do with my time. I do enjoy it though. There's always an anxious wait for the bell to ring - I'm actually more anxious than my son. The children then go and line up, my son like a little soldier standing to attention. My son shows no fear. He's confident and happy to be there. But there is a boy in his class for whom every morning is a nightmare. He clings to his mum and sobs his heart out. She disappears into the classroom with him while the rest of us wave at our kids until they have disappeared into the darkness. For her it must be heartbreaking. It's upsetting to watch and I'm thankful that our son is the complete opposite.
As a youngster, I feared school. I would do all I could to stay at home. I do wish my son would befriend this little chap. Perhaps that would help him become more confident. Such a shame though.
My wife and I aren't part of the 'in crowd' so we don't drawn into the little clusters of parents that form in the playground each morning. They are friendly toward us but perhaps it's the fact we live in a different part of the street or we have a different type of house that sets us apart. There are one or two who do like to converse with us. We have such a short walk to and from the school that it isn't really possible to talk about anything substantial. But for the most part, we keep to ourselves and speak only if we're spoken to.
So weekday mornings are like this. I'm fortunate I suppose that being out of work does have this small benefit. I will certainly miss it if I ever do manage to return to work. I will miss the hand holding and the anticipation of what the day might hold. I will miss that father-son hug and the confidence of knowing that he went to school happy. But I know that all too soon, this opportunity will end and I will be in a car on the way to work or even worse, staring at a computer in an office. I simply don't know at the moment. For what I want to do seems as far away as ever and will need a miracle if it is ever to become reality.
For my son though, I suspect and hope that things will be different. He has the confidence I lacked and this will take him to great places. But before he begins that journey, he needs to be able to put his shoes on the right feet. It doesn't seem to bother him though... Happy days.

School Mornings

Recollections 3 (1986)

1986 was the year of the Domesday Project. It was also for me a year of childhood fear and the unknown.
I knew that we could all be blown up but I didn't know why or by who. I know it was something no one wanted to talk about very much. I know my parents never spoke about it unless I forced them to, but they never acknowledged the fact that we were living in the most volatile period since the Second World War and that much was being made of something called 'MAD' and cruise missiles. There were always pictures on the TV news with women holding hands around wire fences, sometimes fighting with police or being dragged into the back of police vans. I didn't know why - I just though it was normal. In fact most of the decade was spent asking 'what if' and this was fueled by a plethora of films designed to terrify young and old. Just take 'Threads' from 1984...
My curiosity was rewarded when I met a chap from the local CND campaign group. He explained to me what could happen to us if we continued on the course we were on and he convinced me that nuclear weapons were a bad thing. I remember vividly being discovered by my mum and being dragged away while she accused the chap of brainwashing me. In fact, he had told me the truth and more than I had ever been told by my parents or by anyone else around me. From that point, I was convinced that we lived in a mad, bad world and that we could all be blown to pieces in an instant.

Another big event in 1986 was of course the Chernobyl accident. I do remember the news reports and being haunted by the images of the destroyed reactor and the men sent to clear up in the aftermath. Little did I know that they were living their final hours. The news reached us late. By the time it was on the Nine O'Clock News, a radioactive plume was already over a large part of Western Europe. I know not quite understanding what had gone on but looking back, I do question the decision to send me and others to school as normal the following morning. I say this because we know that large swathes of Scottish grazing pasture has been contaminated for years to come by the radiation released from Chernobyl. So what exactly was in the air above us while we made our way to and from school and played on the field? We'll of course probably never know.

I'm a little angry I think. I'm angry at my parents for not talking about these topics. Maybe they knew and simply didn't want to discuss it. Perhaps it would be discussed when I was tucked up in bed, hearing only faint muffled voices through the floorboards. Or maybe they just didn't know. Thanks to so called 'freedom of information' we know that right up until 1991, huge underground cities were kept at a state of readiness. We know that Royal Observer Corps posts up and down the country were continually staffed and linked by a secondary telephone system designed to function in time of war. I know this to be true as I've worked with those who looked after it.

I know it has been remarked that we live in a more dangerous world. But is there the fear nowadays that enveloped society back in the 1980's? Surely nowadays we live in a more open society, some would say a free-er society. Is the fear of the unknown what really makes the world a dangerous place? We know more now than we ever did back then. We relied solely on the media - the TV and printed word. Basically we were fed fear by our government - and it worked. For me, I am more fearful of that period now. I look back and wonder how exactly we managed to emerge from that period unscathed - it's nothing short of a miracle.

I will one day tell my son of those days. I can as I have a greater knowledge of what I was seeing and hearing at the time. I now understand - I didn't then. Those who did know, didn't want to tell.
One thing's for sure, 1986 was for me a year of knowing we weren't safe. It was a year of secrets, radioactive clouds and silence. 1986 is a year I am able to live now, today, with the knowledge I needed then. I now know 1986... and I wish I didn't.