Eyre Lines

I am, it appears, 60 today. I’m not particularly happy about this milestone – I am abruptly an official “senior citizen”, which I tend to interpret as “past my sell-by date”, and as with other “round number” anniversaries, I am looking back at the last ten years.

(Why is it that we think differently of “round number” anniversaries? Is it just because we have ten digits on our hands, and is that a sufficient reason to regard these as in some way “special”?).

In a very real sense, the last ten years could be regarded as “ruined time”. In 2003 I was already in the grip of fairly severe depression, accompanied by an anxiety disorder, both the product of Post Traumatic Stress disorder, the trigger for which was in 1996/7; it was also in that year that I realised that self-medicating these disorders with alcohol had left me addicted. I felt completely trapped in my then circumstances, doing a job which is stressful at the best of times, but which now provided a daily diet of anxiety triggers, and which I increasingly thought I was untfit to do. It was in 2003 that I had made a series of mistakes which hung over me for the next seven years and later resulted in the loss of many things I held dear, including the practice, my ability to pursue my profession, my reputation, for a while my liberty and all the capital and assets I had built up to that point. However, I had responsibilities, to wife and family, to staff, to clients, and despite a number of attempts to “share the load” or even sell the practice, there seemed to be no way out of the situation without reneging on those.

Most of the intervening time I would not wish on my worst enemy. This time seven years ago, I did not expect to see my 54th birthday, and was frankly dreading the possibility that I might. It was late that year when I had the last conscious contact with God until late in May of this year, a period of six and a half years; I think it was at that point that my depression managed to get to the point of not being able to feel any positive emotion and to prevent me having “emotional recall”, so I couldn’t even remember what it had been like to be happy (or, indeed, recall occasions when I had been, to a great extent – the happiness seems to have been so entwined with the remainder of the memory that the whole memory became inaccessible). Various further blows happened through 2007, in 2008 and 2009-10. Then three years of Groundhog Day.

But…

I started a process of recovery in 2006; as of today, I have no problem with addiction, one day at a time. I’m part of a loving family again. The family finances are sound (admittedly mainly due to inheritance) and I have no need to be gainfully employed. I have a couple of part-time occupations which are interesting, challenging and fulfilling. The big change, however, is that one Saturday morning in May I woke up suddenly not depressed, not depressed AT ALL. And I had again the conscious contact with God which had been completely lacking since 30th November 2006. I don’t know why this happened; it might have been due to a change of meds, although that seems unlikely after one dose of a new tricyclic antidepressant; it might have been due to following a twelve-step programme for six and a half years, it may have been the product of prayer. I don’t know, I can only be grateful. I am rather looking forward to the next ten years, or however many I am granted. Life is pretty good, and I am grateful for that blessing, again on a daily basis.

But what of the last ten years? Is it really “ruined time”?

Folk wisdom says “anything which does not kill you makes you stronger”. I’m very unconvinced that that is true. I am not as strong physically or mentally as I was in 1996; repeated blows can, I think, act like dripping water which will wear away even stone given enough time.

What I do have, however, is a substantial amount of experience which I would not have had otherwise, and I have found that I can share aspects of this experience, particularly with people suffering from addiction, the threat of financial or social ruin or psychological disorders, to very good effect; I know from my own experience what it is like to be there now, and at the minimum can offer them someone to talk with who understands. On a good day I can offer them strategies to cope with the situation, and on occasion the very fact that I have emerged on the other side of this gives people hope which they previously lacked. What might have been “ruined time” is being turned to an useful purpose.

Deo gratias.