I've dithered a while over where this belongs: depression? anxiety & panic attacks? anger management? addictions? self-esteem & confidence?
All of the above, I'm afraid.
A couple of months ago I self-diagnosed with alternating anxiety and depression, neither of which is pleasant.
My antidepressants were running low so I saw my GP. He referred me for psychiatric evaluation and I knew -- even before I saw his referral letter -- he suspected bipolar.
He told me if I did have bipolar, the medication I was on would make it worse. Despite this, at the end of my consultation he prescribed another six months' worth.
I still have the prescription and I haven't collected any. I had three sleepness nights following the abrupt halt and then it was business as usual: feeling rotten. No better or worse, just rotten.
The psychiatric evaluation showed I was having a pretty normal reaction to a devastating change of lifestyle.
I was 52 and in a debilitating marriage when I lost my job two years ago. It came as a shock because I'd been a professional for 30 years, and had always been the main breadwinner. Husband was once again out of work.
At that time I still had a bit of pep about me. I set about creating my own business doing what I knew. Trouble was, the freelance market had vanished. I got a few nibbles but not a penny came in.
Concurrently I was applying for work in the town where I live. It's not my home town, nor even my home country, but it has a climate that suits me.
As time went by and nothing shifted, I reluctantly registered for unemployment benefit and started widening my search to include the possibility of moving to one of the major centres, even though I knew I didn't want that kind of upheaval.
All the problems of my marriage began to overwhelm me, because we were both at home all the time, both worried about money, both looking for work. I'd been carrying the can for a long time -- my husband has aspergers -- and I got worn down. Meanwhile, the home mortgage wasn't being paid and what we owed was climbing.
In April we decided to separate.
In May we found a buyer for our home.
In June we divided what was left once the mortgage had been paid, and he left the country. All our furniture was sold for far less than it was worth.
From June to September I towed a suitcase from one spare room to another. I lost a couple of long-term friends.
Finally in September (last month) I faced the fact that I wasn't going to find work anytime soon and dipped into my share of the house-sale money to move into a one-bedroom flat. I retrieved boxes of my personal belongings that had been stored with friends.
I'm sleeping on a thin mattress on the floor and I sit on a hard wooden garden lounger with a folded quilt on top. I'm developing aches and pains. I'm getting drunk on cask wine every evening. I'm smoking a pack a day and have developed a smoker's cough. When I think of knocking it off and getting fit again, I wonder what for? I've done the maths and I can afford my present lifestyle for about two years.
In the meantime a friend recently showed me a picture of myself taken less than a year ago and said: "You need to put some weight back on."
I'm grieving for our house and especially my garden. It was the one bright spot from the time I lost my job to the time the house was sold. I was in it from sun-up until it was too dark to see. In my neurosis I did everything but vacuum the lawn and polish individual leaves. It was exquisite, and I can't bear to look at the photos now because the new owner has neither mowed nor watered since he took possession.
When I realised how far I'd fallen I took up voluntary work. I now have three unpaid jobs and yes, the time I devote to them detracts from looking for paid work. When I was interviewed for the latest, the interviewer suggested I might like to do a training course that would enable me to take up another, longer-term voluntary position with her organisation. This training course was quite expensive but they would make a contribution because I'm already working for them. For nothing.
On the way home from this interview (last week) I was overwhelmed with rage. I've lost my job, my home and my marriage... and now I'm being asked to pay for the privilege of working.
I did an internet search on "unemployed over 50" and the findings were not encouraging. Over and over again I found acknowledgment that correction of the global financial crisis will come too late for the over-50s who have 'retired' long before we expected to. The case studies all had working partners and paid-for homes and they were still depressed!
This is how it looks to me: go on giving my services for nothing all over town -- and when the money is running low, pay for the most basic of funerals and do the research on foolproof suicide. It goes against all kinds of ethical standards for me, but what else is there?