Half-Time

Half Time

Half Time

Introduction

I call this text Half-Time because I managed to recover from a difficult depression last winter, but I know I must do everything possible to fend off this illness in the coming winter—and hopefully for the rest of my life. To break the cycle of mental illness permanently, I’m willing to go to great lengths. Writing and sharing this text is a crucial part of my recovery. I hope to learn from my past mistakes and receive feedback from others in a similar situation. It’s also essential to dismantle the stigma surrounding mental illness.

In this piece, I aim to briefly describe my journey and explore the different tools I’ve been using, as well as the people I’ve met along the way. Some parts of my story are very dark, but the power of love, resilience, and compassion always shines through as a stronger force.

Background

I had my first experience with depression when I was 19 and traveling alone in Australia. At the time, I didn’t recognize it as depression, but I understood it later. I was in a very dark place for a while, but I received a lot of support and help from kind people along the way. After that first year, I experienced ups and downs, with the lows always appearing in winter. Despite this, I managed without medical help and remained unaware of the underlying condition. I began to realize that some things were harder for me than for most of my friends. I was very active in various political groups and organizations, often filling my schedule with those activities while neglecting chores at home. Quite frequently, I would wake up completely exhausted in the mornings.

In 2010, a few friends and I relaunched a festival that had been active for many years in Krokstrand, a village in the north of Bohuslän, right on the Norwegian border, where my ex grew up. I threw myself into it headfirst. It was a lot of fun, but it also took time and energy away from my studies as a teacher. I partly used volunteer work and activism as a substitute when I found working for a wage to be repressive and exhausting. In these projects, I found purpose, meaning, and a sense of community. When it came time to choose, the decision was easy. Krokstrand and the festival demanded many hours of work, but it also brought a lot of encouragement and a boost to my self-confidence. However, during the festival, I experienced my first manic episodes. I would work nonstop and then stay up partying all night. I loved being the center of attention. After our first festival, I remember leaving our house in Krokstrand because I couldn’t wind down when everyone else was tired. It took me at least three days to come down.

I didn’t drop out of my teacher studies, but I tried to step up and focus on what I had at hand. I even saw a counselor who gave me many helpful tools. Still, my studies and internship caused me a lot of stress. I experienced high levels of anxiety and could barely sleep when the pressure built up. It took a lot of effort to stay focused. I was completely absorbed by the pressure—leading groups and making sure I knew enough English and Spanish to teach effectively. I set high expectations for myself and viewed wage labor and schools as burdens to endure, though I also recognized their positive aspects. This perspective was shaped by both my political views at the time and my personal struggles. In general, I had a constant feeling of lack, as though something was missing, and I believed I had to make up for it by working harder. "Uneven" is a word that keeps coming to mind. All these factors eventually led to the Great Depression.

I managed to stay healthy for many years thanks to antidepressant medication, therapy, behavioral changes, and a supportive, accepting workplace with a boss who focused on my strengths rather than my weaknesses. I also developed a solid running routine and practiced Buddhist mindfulness meditation with a group from the U.S. called Dharma Punks. After a few years without symptoms, I stopped taking my medication because I felt fairly well.

My family and I moved to Uddevalla, where I started a challenging job at a school that was chaotic at the time. Fights were breaking out regularly, and many students who needed support weren’t getting it. To make matters worse, I was struggling with managing my anger. When I got worked up with my students, it felt like pouring gasoline on a fire. Soon, I was experiencing all my old symptoms of burnout and depression. I had two kids in daycare and an intense schedule, with too many lessons crammed into my workday. I’ve reflected on those experiences here. 

A downward slippery slope

In 2022, I found myself back in the same place—exhausted and struggling with stomach pain. I had been busy with full-time work, two children who needed my attention, volunteer work at Folkets Hus in Krokstrand, and a project called Krokfest, a smaller version of Krokstrandsfestivalen that we used to run. I also had a friend who was slipping into depression and facing potential homelessness. I tried to rest and ride it out. I ran and took cold water baths to regain my energy, but nothing seemed to help. When I tried to return to work, I wasn’t ready. I was exhausted and had to bide my time. I worried about the economy, but I didn’t fall into depression. Instead, I worked hard to push through the burnout, which, in hindsight, is a common but ineffective strategy.

Fortunately, I had a strict doctor who insisted I stay home until my symptoms improved. I also met an online therapist who helped me through the initial steps. I had to cut back on everything—postponing or canceling commitments—and I started seeing a psychologist who recognized that something deeper was behind my burnout. She began screening me for ADHD and referred me to a psychiatric clinic for further assessment. I soon realized that getting an appointment there would take a long time—probably over two years. At Christmas, I performed a pagan ceremony called Blot with my son. I made an offering to Eir, the Norse goddess of healing, and slowly began to improve, though with the usual setbacks.

I came across a quote by the author Giorgi Grossi about recovering from burnout: “It goes up and down and slowly forwards.” I slowly made my way back to work. My boss gave me a laid-back schedule, providing good conditions for my return. Unfortunately, I continued the same behavior that had made me sick in the first place. I dove headfirst into Krokfest. I applied for grants, booked a band from Norway through a British booking agency, and built a deck in my garden with the help of friends. I also assisted a guy with community service at our Folkets Hus in Krokstrand and did my best to meet my children's needs. I ran into the summer holidays with a load of plans. I worked a few weeks at my old summer job, and we had many Krokfest meetings. It was rewarding in many ways, but it became overwhelming. The festival constantly absorbed me. As we neared the event, I worked and partied for several nights in a row. When it started, it was wonderful, but I became manic and barely slept the first night. As challenging and worrisome as these moments were, they were also some of the best of my life—except for when I met my wife and had my children. Unfortunately, they triggered something in me that I couldn’t control. When it was time to return to work, I was still in an intense mood. I tried to start an organization for people with mental illness and got involved in the pagan group Forn Sed.

I remember meeting with a counselor we had seen for family support. She often told me I was involved in too many projects and needed to focus on my family. That autumn, when we went to talk to her, I felt guilty for not being able to change my behavior and feared I might have harmed my family. In retrospect, she was too judgmental and left me with a constant sense of guilt instead of empowerment. To her credit, she had a “children first” perspective, but parents who feel inadequate don’t become better parents. Strangely, I managed to work through the entire term without crashing, even though it was close. When we finally reached the Christmas holidays, I felt okay, but instead of relaxing, I kept pushing myself at a high speed.

The depression to end all depressions

On New Year's Eve, I went for a run in the morning, but I soon realized something was wrong. After just 3 kilometers, I had to stop and rush into the forest. I felt sick and initially thought I had eaten something bad, but the feeling didn’t pass. I stayed home that night, watching series to distract myself. For the rest of the vacation, I struggled with anxiety. Just before I was supposed to start work, I made a sacrifice and felt better. I sacrificed to my closest patron deity, asking for the strength to work and function. But on the first day back, I realized it wouldn’t work. I had nausea and went home.

I had some intense days, hoping things would improve, but the damage to my immune system was already done. Guilt-ridden thoughts plagued me: “I’ve put myself in this situation again.” “I’m never going to work again.” “The statistics are against me.” “Every time, it will be harder to return to work.” “Three strikes, and you're out.” “I’ll be at the mercy of Försäkringskassan (The Swedish Social Security Agency).” My healthier side confronted these negative voices, and it felt like a war was raging inside me. I formed an alliance with my guides and goddess to drive out the darkness, but my anxiety only worsened. Eventually, it overcame me, and despite my stiff resistance, my old suicidal thoughts returned. I was caught between a rock and a hard place and realized I couldn’t cope alone. I could barely keep it together when the kids were home, and it reached a point where I was constantly crying. I was still on a high dose of antidepressants, but they no longer helped. It felt as though the protective wall they had built around me had been stormed by enemy forces.

After several calls to the emergency ward, I went to the hospital to be assessed by a doctor. By then, I was weak, and my negative emotions were overwhelming. I was admitted to a ward I had been to before, and somehow, I felt safe there. Many people dislike mental institutions, but my experiences have been mostly positive. The staff was kind, and there were several nice patients. Most of the people I met inside were warm individuals who sought help due to their conditions and the challenges of society. The doctor who assessed me recommended I start taking a medication called Anafranil. I had never used it before, but apparently, it was an older antidepressant that was more common decades ago. She suggested I could return to work in a couple of weeks, which made me laugh with relief. I began the medication intravenously, and I felt better relatively quickly. After a while, I was allowed to come and go from the hospital, which was nice because it meant I could spend more time with my family. But not long after I started feeling better, my condition worsened significantly. Everything suddenly turned black, and I had to go back to the hospital for 24/7 care.

Deep down

One day, I fell into a deep hole. I saw the brutal suffering of those around me: a mother too sick to care for her children, a man reliving traumatic experiences, and the grey, colorless walls of the ward—all of it painted a bleak picture. I descended into a pit where all hope was gone, replaced by psychosis, madness, and suicide. Then, suddenly, my guides and my patron deity appeared. They fiercely attacked the parasitic entity with everything they had. They formed a protective wall around me, and the dark forces retreated quickly. My guides held a defensive line, and I was safe, though completely shattered. I called two of my closest friends and cried, but by then, the worst of it seemed to be over.

I spoke with a nurse who had crossed the world to escape repression in his country. He looked me deeply in my eyes and said, “I’ve been depressed too, and I know you’ll get better.” His dark eyes were full of sincerity, and I felt comforted. Finally, I found some peace within myself and accepted my condition. My nervous system had broken down, and I needed rest. I began to relax, taking walks and watching the bleak January sun rise and set from a window in the ward. I met a doctor who considered me well enough to go home. Unfortunately, I was still on the same medication I had been on before I was hospitalized. The intravenous treatment was meant to be a temporary fix to help me get back on track.

I went home and did my best to manage chores, rest, and medication. But soon, the same symptoms resurfaced, and I had to return to the hospital. This time, I met a new doctor who comforted me and tried a different medication. I shared my fears about possibly having bipolar disorder, and she put me on a milder bipolar medication along with a new form of antidepressant. This ward was slightly better than the last one. There was a drawing on the wall of a tree, where everyone was encouraged to write an encouraging message on a leaf. I met a couple of guys I connected with, and many had similar experiences. I also returned to my meditation practice with a new friend. We sat in the hospital chapel, and I rediscovered the profound freedom of simply observing my breath. During meditation, I paused and began to observe my condition, traveling backward through layers of memories.

During this stay, I spent more time thinking about alternative treatments, new medications, and potential diagnoses. One field gaining momentum is psychedelic treatments, and I researched various studies, seeing a possibility for change, though it felt distant. Sweden is a conservative country on these matters, but there are already clinical trials taking place and growing interest among clinicians and in the scientific community.

Separation

I felt better when I left the ward this time. I was stronger, but still fragile. I started visiting friends, and my sick leave was about to end. I was in Gothenburg with friends when my wife called and told me I needed to come home. She reassured me that nothing bad had happened and that the kids were away. She wanted to talk about our relationship and told me she wanted to separate. My fragile mind swung between emotions, and we both cried a lot. We had spent seventeen years together and had been friends for eight years before becoming a couple. Now, she wanted some kind of change but said she still wanted me to be part of her life as a friend.It was very difficult to handle, but her warmth and reassurances made it easier

I returned to work, but I wasn’t ready. I forced myself to wear a poker face until I eventually crashed again. Nothing seemed to work I was completely stiff and the dark parasite told me to hang myself in the laundry room. I called my dad and he came to get me. My former wife and best friend hugged me and told me she loved me and that she didn’t want to harm me. I told her my worsening condition was not because of her decision. It was the disease or the shadow if one prefers that term. At the ward, I repeated the procedure and waited for a doctor. I got admitted again.

Unfortunately, there was a lack of space in the ward, so several of us had to be moved to another one. It was very modern but felt a bit like a prison. At first, I was tense, but I soon relaxed and started going for runs. I thought to myself that, with a strict structure, I could slowly overcome the illness. I met kind and compassionate people in the ward, both among the staff and the patients. We played board games and had conversations. The staff were caring and made us feel at ease. They were concerned about us and their own working conditions. Their bosses had told them there was no need for emergency wards, as regular psychiatric clinics were supposed to handle such cases. What a joke—it's almost impossible to even get an appointment. No wonder so many people end up seeking emergency help. I also spoke to my wife again. It was painful, but it felt good, too. My son and parents came to visit; everyone was shaken and sad, but it was comforting to see them. After that, I returned to my original ward and spoke with my favorite doctor. She put me on a new medication and gave me a long sick leave certificate. This time, I hoped it would be my last visit to the ward. And, for now, it was.

Something like a conclusion

I’m currently involved in several interesting processes, but I need closure on this chapter. Before we finish, there are two important things I need to address. I survived all my episodes thanks to two key factors: my willingness to change and the support network around me. Throughout these episodes, I reached out for help in three directions: my friends and family, professionals, and my inner guides and patron deity.

From day one, my friends and family have been there for me. They've witnessed me go through these states before, and each has helped in their own way—some offering practical support, others providing emotional care. I reached out early, and the support I received was invaluable. I always had someone to cry with, and for me, that’s crucial.

My family stepped up in so many ways, and you all remain my biggest motivation to rid myself of this disease for good. Unfortunately, the Swedish healthcare system is underfunded and overburdened, making accessing the right professional help difficult. While the need is vast, resources are limited, and the organization needs major improvements. However, I was fortunate to meet many caring and competent professionals who helped me along the way. Despite this, I had to organize much of my care myself.

With the guidance of a psychiatrist, I found a physiotherapist who led me to an occupational therapist specializing in neurodivergent patients. This therapist has been with me the longest and remains a constant source of support. She also helped me connect with a psychologist who worked both at the emergency ward and my local mental health clinic, accelerating my treatment. I also arranged for a personal ombudsman to assist with issues related to my employer, the social security system, and the dysfunctional teachers' union. Additionally, I had short-term contact with an online psychologist since my mental health clinic only provides assessments—not counseling! The system is bizarre, and one has to be incredibly proactive to mobilize a professional support network.

As a practicing pagan, I also drew strength from my patron deity, Edda, whom I reconstructed myself. She symbolizes resistance, solidarity, and love. Along with her, I have a group of invisible guides who support me in various areas of my life. Though I understand they are products of my imagination, they have been an essential part of my survival. Ultimately, though, the responsibility for my health rests with me. While I need support, my determination is crucial if I want to heal—without it, progress is nearly impossible.

Background Galicia

Galicia or Galiza in the Galician language is an autonomous region in the northwest corner of Spain. Historically, it has been inhabited by Celtic tribes before being colonized by the Romans. Later on Galicia and Northern Portugal formed it's own kingdom during the reconquista against the Moorish kingdoms. During this time Galicia gained importance in the Christian world for the alleged find of the grave of St. James. Definitely a hoax, but it attracted pilgrims, money and new ideas to the region.

In the 14:th century Galicia was incorporated in the new Kingdom of Castilla León witch later developed into Spain.

During the years Galicia became a quite isolated and poor outback of Spain relying mainly on agriculture, fishing and sea faring.  Industrialization came late wich is still visable today. A lot of old customs and traditions have b en preserved here.
To deal with rough times Galicians have solved the problems of poverty by migration similarly to the Irish with whom they have lots in common.  In places like Argentina where a million Galicians established, the word Spaniard was interchangeable with Gallego. And many well off Criollos disliked the poor newcomers.

The Galicians still cherish their Celtic heritage although no Celtic languages are spoken nowadays. 

The Celtic heritage can be seen in traditional music and in the cultural identity of people. The bag pipe is in addition to the Galician drum a favorite folk instrument. Just like in the Basque country and Catalonia there is a quite strong independece movement.

Cloughjordan

I grew up in a small community on the countryside. My parents escaped the city longing for a calmer life. I guess you can say that they were a part of an alternative movement of people doing the same thing, in Swedish it was called  “Gröna vågen”= The Green Wave. Luckily for me, we lived in the same neighborhood as the locals, who had lived there for many generations. Many of my future friends, also children of the Green wave, lived outside the villages and faced problems being accepted in in their communities. I’m sure there were problems on both sides. The locals didn’t want any outsiders to get in and some of the alternative newcomers didn’t really make an effort to integrate.

Nowadays, I live in the city, and I like it quite well, but me, my girlfriend and a lot of my friends share the same dreams our parents once had. Since I’m a social person moving to the countryside will acquire the company of good friends. In addition I’m not very handy, so I need to do things together with others. Since I have this interest I’ve visited several ecovillages in Bohuslän, me and a couple of friends actually made a bicycle tour to check them out and speak with the people living there. It has been rewarding in many ways. In Bohuslän there are five ecovillage projects: Kampetorp, Skärlskäll, Utsikten and Svenshögen. I have spent the most time at Kampetorp, which is the place I like the best.

Because of the interest in ecovillages, shared especially with Hanna who works with windpower and is an environmentalist, we decided to go to Cloughjordan.  According to themselves they live in
Irelands´ only ecovillage. When we arrived we were surprised by the size of the place. There were more than 50 varied and interesting houses in different shapes and forms.  We stayed at a nice hostel. The owner Pa told us about how the village had started. A group of people who were involved in a coop for organic food  in Dublin decided to move out and create a community. They advertised in the famers´ paper, looking for a village where they could establish and develop it together with the local community. The villagers in Cloughjordan responded with a nice invitation that ultimately resulted in the eco-village. I think it’s a good approach.

In the evening, me and Moa got to go out while Mattias and Hanna took care of Frode. It was exactly 6 months since we had the opportunity to do so. We had a really nice time at the Clough Inn (one of 4 pubs in this tiny village!) speaking with a few locals. They were very friendly and told us about their life in the village. They were generally positive to the ecovillage but said that the ecovillagers kept a bit to themselves and didn’t show up very often at the pub. They also told us that lots of young people that used to frequent the pubs in the village had moved to Australia in search for jobs when the recession struck Ireland. The bartender had returned from a busy life in London to the calm life in the village and seemed very satisfied with his decision.

The day after we were taken for an organized tour around the ecovillage by a very nice man who had moved in two years before. He told us that some parents in the ecovillage had wanted to start a waldorf school, but it had been voted down since people thought it would isolate their kids. Moa and Hanna were, when young, facing the same risk as these children but agreed it was lucky they didn’t have to go there.

In the village everyone is given an allotment when they buy property, in addition they can pay 20 euros a  week to get fresh vegetables, meat and dairy products from their food coop, run by a local farmer. They also organized horticulture courses for the local schoolchildren who were given their own allotment. There were organized courses and they took on students and volunteers. In a corner of the village there was a building with office spaces for small scale eco enterprises. They also organised a festival the same day we were leaving. I think it’s very important to have an influx of people in project like this so I was very impressed by their educational efforts.

In the outskirts of the village, there was an impressive solar energy park, that unfortunately didn’t work the way it was supposed to. But they did have a power plant that was run by wood if I understood it correctly.  In addition there were several acres of different trees planted, from what I understood there were both fruit trees and other endemic deciduous trees. All this was organised by different work groups, where people had to dedicate at least 2 hours a week, although some apparently spent a lot more time.

We asked how people supported themselves in the village apparently some were retired, others worked in Limerick or Dublin, normally doing some of their work from home. A couple we met were building a cob house, it turned out they had been living in a yurt before. We had a nice talk with them and promised to pass on contacts with people from Kampetorp who have built a similar house. I´s currently on my todo list :-)

When we departed we were all really satisfied with the visit, it was interesting to see such a large

scale project, and their social and educational work really made an impression on me. I definitely recommend people travelling in Ireland to make a stop at Cloughjordan. But check their homepage and make sure something is going on, like a course or some social activity. We say thank you too the inhabitants of Cloughjordan and wish them all the best for the future.

Just to make things clear before you stop reading thinking that I’m a new age hippie; I  don’t think that moving to the countryside and starting an eco village is the solution to the problems we are facing, not at all in fact, but I’m sure it can improve the lives of those involved when done in an open minded well organized way. In my opinion the big change will come when we start to relate as fellow humans rather than the positions that capitalism has forced us into. To change those relations will obviously need a revolution.

Why Ireland?

I’ve always liked the idea of having a feet in several places in the world. There is something special when you stay longer and get to know a place. Especially, when you make friends in that place. It widens your  perspectives and makes you more aware of your own culture. I also assume that if we want to see a change in the world, which I certainly do, it needs to be done on a global scale.

Until now, I’ve been lucky enough to have two places in Spain where I come back whenever I can - Aragon in the Pyrenees and Galicia in northwestern Spain. However, I have been missing a place in the English speaking world. I did go to Australia and New Zeeland about ten years ago, but that’s too far away. I have also done voluntary work in Scotland for two weeks, and for a while I tried to study in Brighton in England. Unfortunately, that journey ended up with me falling ill, and acquiring a severe depression. Even if the depression wasn't caused by England or the English, I didn’t feel like going back. I also have an impression of England as being a very aggressive class society. I guess thats true for most countries, but in England it’s very articulated. You may have any ethnicity or sexual preference you want as long as you got money, but if you’re poor and don’t fit in you’re simply scum. I guess that became quite obvious to me during the 2011 England riots, when hearing how the media responded to the unrest.

So why go to Ireland? I have been to Ireland before, I took a language course when I was fifteen years old, and I really liked the friendliness of the Irish, people seemed so relaxed.  I also visited an Irish Anarchist organization called Workers Solidarity Movement, who had their meeting in a pub to my surprise. However, this idealization of Ireland, might have to do with me only visting when I’ve been on vacation, Moa went to work in Dublin during their economic boom, and she said it wasn’t that nice.

Anyway, there are also interesting links between my home region Bohuslän, Galicia and Ireland. The latter ones are connected through their Celtic heritage. Even if Irish Gaelic is in decline and people in Galicia ceased to speak their celtic language more than 400 years ago, there are many archeological, cultural and climatic similarities. Similar archeological findings have been found in Galicia and Ireland such as dolmens, both places are green and and surrounded by the Atlantic ocean. Similarly, both places have had to struggle for their independence from a foreign power which certainly creates a rebellious image of the two countries. Although Bohuslän can’t claim to have any Celtic heritage, our rock carvings and stone age graves show striking similarity to the ones in Galicia and Ireland.

(to the left , rock art in Ireland Bohuslän and Galicia)

There is a theory about the Atlantic Bronze Age which states that these coastline areas share cultural similarities due to ancient trade networks. These networks have obviously continued and fisherman and sailors from Bohuslän probably knew the ports of Dublin and A Coruña better than the interior of their own country. Although Bohuslän, was taken from Norway by Sweden 500 years ago, Bohuslän has also had a rebellious population among the socialist stonemasons.  All this gives me a feeling of being connected to Ireland and Galicia, and it certainly makes me want to explore both places more.

With this in mind I started reading wikipedia articles about Ireland, I listened to irish news and discovered an excellent podcast called Irish History Podcast. The podcast was strangely enough produced  by a former member the Irish Workers Solidarity movement. I spent a night in a Dublin pub with his friend. They had all met in that organization, even though several members had moved on and started new projects. I have planned this trip for quite a while and managed to persuade Moa and then the rest of my travel companions to come along. This is actually my 30th birthday present. It’s probably the best birthday present I had so far.

(Below: Galician anti-fascists, Stonemasons in front of “The People’s House in Krokstrand, Bohuslän, Irish workers protesting against conscription)

Ireland - First Day

Today, my family and I went to Ireland. It’s the first time Moa and I bring our son Frode abroad. We're traveling together with Moa’s sister Hanna and her boyfriend Mattias. The plan is to travel around for a week. We’ll start with two days in Dublin and then we’ll go to the Dingle Peninsula in the west. When the others go back, I’ll stay two weeks in Cork to study English for teachers. 

When we landed in Dublin Hanna and Mattias got themselves into an adventure. Instead of taking the shuttle bus to get to our rental car, we briskly decided to walk even though it was raining. We reached a hotel where we thought the car would be, but no. The car park was further away, so Mattias and Hanna walked while the rest of us stayed in the cosy hotel lobby. Apparently, they got completely lost, but manage to ask for help at the airport luggage office. A sympathetic fat man forced one of his employees to drive them to the right place. The young driver cracked jokes about not having a drivers’ license and dodged our itinerary. He said that Dingle is a tourist dollhouse where we were likely to get ripped off. What a dork! how does he dare to question my master plan! Anyway, I wished I was there. 

I’m enjoying traveling with Frode. It’s completely different from any other journey I've ever made. We have to pack twice as much as usual and watch him constantly, but its so much fun. Today, he has used every possible occasion to walk. He took his first steps just a few weeks ago, so it must be quite amazing for him. He especially likes stairs, although he needs a bit of help. I'd never thought I’d enjoy walking up and down a set of stairs four times in a row.  But with him it’s like climbing a beautiful hill.

Frode is also a social magnet. He flirts with people all the time, and a new world of social opportunities opens up to his parents. You can always talk with fellow parents: We ask each other about our children’s age, we compliment our wonderful kids and we mean it, we smile at each other, we help out with practical things and share experiences. I love it. Frode seems to enjoy it too. A nice waitress, told us he was ”an adorable child” after he had caught her with his blue eyes. 

Right now Frode is asleep, the others are out and I get time to do what I want. Life is great.  In the next post I hope to describe why we chose to go to Ireland. I’ll see if that happens. 

The Great Depression

You’re sitting in your apartment, for the first time in your life things are relatively stable. The ups and downs come and go, but you don’t struggle but accept both pain and joy. Two springs ago it was different. You’re pondering on those occasions.

At that point, you had decided to finish it all, it was mainly a question of how and when. You started to relax in a strange way, knowing that the suffering would end. The medication had done its work, it affected your whole body, sleep was almost impossible, and you weren’t able to see a change for the better. That specific night you were spending with your girlfriend, she was asleep. You could not stay in bed, thoughts were tormenting you.

“This is not a life worth living” you thought, and so you started a dark journey, towards the bridge where you'd lost two friends several years ago. At the beginning you were walking, but you realized that it was too far, so you took a tram. A strange dark cloud was surrounding you, making it impossible to think clearly. The stations passed by and suddenly you were at the junction where a road would take you to the bridge. For some reason you used your last tool for survival, you started talking to people on the bus stop. You asked a simple question, “What makes you live on?” You could see doubt and hesitation in their eyes, but they gave you straightforward answers. “God makes me live” said an African man, “Everything, the air, my family, the changing of seasons” said a woman from the Balkans.

The cloud was still there, it surrounded you, and you were completely aware what you transmitted. A dark, sick breath of death and decease. But you returned, you took the tram back, and you didn't mention anything about the journey to anyone at that point. On the way back music was sounding in your ear, a strange tune from the underworld that you fell into.

Another day, there was a birthday celebration in that village you loved so much. You couldn't really feel that old joy that you had felt so many times before, but you recognized the beauty of it, so you decided to go there a last time. Before going to the train station, you went to a mall to buy a bottle of wine. On they way back from the liquor store, a bottle fell to the ground and crashed with all its content spilling out on the floor. This was just another proof of your uselessness, another doom confirming what you already knew. It had to end, certain creatures were not meant to survive. But you kept your face, and on the train towards your destination with your loved ones, you passed time by asking old questions: “What’s you favorite color? Which is your favorite place?” You were gentle, you tried to hide your darkness.

At the party, all you could feel was isolation, you had seen it so many times, they were the lucky ones, gifted with capacities and bliss, you were the unfortunate one, doomed to fail. It was completely clear. You walked out and watched the moon, it was shining over the fjord and the mountains beautifully. You thought to yourself that you were lucky to get to see this one last time.

Later that night, in that old house which kept so many memories, something in you awoke. Your girlfriend’s sisters, had contact with a woman who had lived in the house many years ago. You had never been so open to everything around you, and so you asked for help to speak to her.  The younger sister consented and took you up the stairs. You couldn’t see the woman, but you felt her. You communicated with her through the younger sister, who was keeping her eyes shut, transmitting messages. You stood in the middle of the room, and the invisible woman moved your arms and your body as you were standing. She could answer questions of yes and no. You asked the younger sister a question directed to the old women,  “Will I be able to live again? What shall I do? This cloud has me in its grip.”.  The old women spoke through the younger sister, she said that you shouldn't give in, and that things would be better, she pitied you, but she knew that things would be better, but that you couldn't give up. The message was so clear to you, and the clouds shattered for a moment. You started fighting an invisible enemy in the dark room, kicking and striking at the invisible opponent.

The older sister, came up the stairs, and saw your struggle, she helped you to the bed and performed “Reiki” an energy massage that had helped you on another occasion.

“Oh my god! You are completely empty!” She said.

She filled your chakras with new energy, it was like if someone was doing CPR to a person about to die. And then you got some respite. That night before sleep, you told your girlfriend about your journey to the bridge, you both cried, and you promised never to do it again.

There is a break, you yawn and think back on that spring, there were so many occasions, which are worth telling? Everything is worth telling, but you know you have to choose. Hmm, the hospital, your first time in a mental hospital.

Things had changed, finally, you didn't’ know it then, but after several days of agony and nothingness in your apartment, your brother had taken you to a mental clinic where you met a young Greek doctor. You could not stop crying, and you told her about all your incapacities. She said she could help, but could she?

They took you to a light section of the psychiatric hospital. There was a nurse with nice eyes, she took away most of your belongings and made sure you didn't have anything that could hurt you or others. No cables, no scissors, no sharp objects. You tried to accommodate to the new situation. You went out the closed yard and to run, you were constantly active trying to fight off your worst enemy, nothingness. You spoke to other patients, someone told you that she had worked too much, the pressure had become too much. You freaked out because you did not have a job at the time, you were convinced you could not get one either. You started screaming and they gave you a pill. You relaxed in some strange way, but the stress and the agony were still there beneath your numbness.

After a few weeks of regular meals, talks with shrinks and doctors, and heavy medication, you were feeling better. You had made a friend in there. She had spent most of her life in institutions, her sickness had frozen her into her enormous body. She had scars on her arms, but she had a big heart. Her confusion and suffering were directed inward just as yours. One spring night the two of you were sitting outside in the garden, the weather was so warm that you could wear a t-shirt although the stars shone above you. You drew a picture of here, and suddenly you remembered something hidden deep down; during all times no matter how hard they are, there are always nice people to meet and chat with under the stars. You found your way back to writing, you wrote short blog posts with pictures. It was a first step forward among many backlashes.

You were let out of the hospital at one point, but you weren't ready. Every day without anything to do was dangerous. You didn't know what to do, and you made sure you got back inside the protective environment of the hospital. But this time you were determined to change.  You stopped taking the psychotic medicine that didn’t work but kept taking the antidepressants and the sleeping pills. Suddenly, you felt in charge of your situation.

On a permission back home with your girlfriend you found a self-help book for self-esteem. It was smelling of quick fix, but you decided to read it, and it was helpful. You finished every day by writing three good things you’d done, three things you were grateful for, and three things that you wished for. Amazingly, you also managed to apply for a few jobs, and you got an interview. You had no hopes at all to get it when you traveled to the interview, which made you relax in a strange way. A few days afterwards they told you, you got it. It was hard to comprehend.

One day you went out for a run in the rain. It was liberating, an old positive habit. The rain was pouring down, but it was warm due to the heat wave that had just passed. You decided to go for a swim. You ran down back to the hospital all wet, but realizing that you were on your way back, not only to the hospital but also to life. A few days later you left the hospital. You started planning for your future work, you had something to do each day, someone helped you to structure your week to get routines, and you had a constant feeling of working towards a goal.

The rest of the spring was filled with setbacks, and steps forwards, but when summer came you were back on track. You kept going, happy to be yourself again. And at this point of the story when you sit by your desk, you know that this time was a great teacher, although you and your loved ones suffered greatly. But you also know that, your healing is just partial. After another half-year of hard work and unexpected challenges, your thoughts are destructive again and you can’t stop blaming yourself for being insufficient, and you have to seek help again. This time people are fast to help, and you’re granted time with a counselor. Counseling and Buddhist meditation, helps you a little at a time, and again and again  you have to treat pain with care and compassion. Right now you’re thinking that this spring is crucial, and you know that whatever happens, pain, confusion and anger can’t be met with force, anger or violence but with love and compassion alone.

Paternity Leave

Yippee! Since the Christmas holidays I’ve been on paternity leave. Paternity leave is generous in Sweden, you get approximately 80 per cent of your wages and even a bonus if you split it with your partner, I think you can do it for a year with that level of payment, then it gets lower. I suppose it’s a left over from our deteriorating welfare state. Anyways, it’s great! Finally, I get a break from my never ending work. It has been taking over my mind completely for a while now. But, I actually work Wednesdays, which is quite nice since I keep one foot at work and stay updated with what's happening there.

At first, I got confused, I had all the time in the world together with my son. My mind came up with a thousands ideas and demands of what to do, as it usually does. I had to write a letter to my girlfriend describing all my plans to get some order in my mess. My ambitious plans included: taking a writing course, go on a diet, organising the neighbourhood to combat increasing rents and gentrification, start up my blog, practise Thai boxing. etc. Right now, I’m quite aware of these patterns, thanks to lots of meditation, so I’ve managed to get into a quite balanced routine with my son and skip most of the plans. So here’s what we did today:

In the morning after our breakfast,  my son accompanied me while I installed a scanner, he moved around the floor in an interesting way and gave shrieks of excitement whenever I made funny faces. He doesn’t  know how to crawl yet, but he manages to move forwards by sliding his bottom to the ground and arching at different angels, you would have to see it to understand what I mean.  Maybe I’ll post a video at some point.

After that we went for a nice walk along a river nearby. It’s really nice and quite down there because the water isolates the environment  from all the suburban sounds. My son slept almost the whole way, as he usually does. I don’t know if he enjoys walks, but I think he does because he seems very relaxed in his carriage.

By the time his mother got home we were both tired of each other, it’s what normally happens at that time of the day, but I was grumpy anyway.  I managed to pull myself to the gym while he rested with his mother. After all, it has been a very nice day, a bit of everything, ups and downs, just like life itself.  And I have finally submitted another blog post!