MEN AND SHEDS.

 

There will come a time when your man reaches the age when he disappears into his shed all day and only emerges for sustenance.  It may happen when he's twenty-five, it may happen when he's forty or when he's sixty something.  Don't let it worry you.  Consider it this way: if he's in the shed and at least you see him at meal times, he's not found another woman to amuse him.  You may occasionally want to see him but at least you know when you can find him.

We don't need to live in one another's pockets when we commit to each other for life, but we all need our space and this is his.  Do not go in and try to rearrange it or touch his things.  This is his kingdom, his castle and a female no go zone.  It is only fair.  You may even find he is creating extraordinary things in his domain.  I know my man is.  He sure spends enough on equipment to create his masterpieces but at least I know where the money is going and see the sense of achievement on his features.  You may even get to see him grow in his craft.

Some men retire after busy working lives and have no idea of what to do with themselves.  I know women retire too but we are better at finding repetitive, useless household chores to do.  Men have overlooked these all their lives and I wish I could do the same.  Housework to me is not a sign of achievement.  If your man, therefore, finds a hobby in which to immerse himself in his domain then great because, for one thing, he won't be picking on your house keeping.

Being in his shed also allows him to retain a very important part of himself, which is his single, pre-committed self.  Every one, male and female alike, needs to keep a part of them that is just for them.  We are single entities who are born alone and die alone no matter who we connect up with on the journey and it is important to be comfortable in one's own company as well as to interact.

I pity men who live in apartments and whose only version of a shed is their parking garage, if they're lucky enough to have a lock up one.  Of course some flats have only on street parking.  I can't even begin to imagine what kind of man can cope without his own space in which to dream.  Going out all the time to find other ways to amuse oneself becomes very expensive.

Some suburbs have community Men's Sheds where the guys can get together, work and exchange expertise.  These places often have tools, both manual and electric, for the members to use.  It is interesting to note that there are no Women's Sheds, as yet, that I have heard of.

I am going to make a sexist statement here but I believe it is true and it is a facet of men that I admire:  men can channel and direct themselves to one task without anything disturbing their concentration.  Of course women can too but, I don't believe, quite to the same extent.  Try getting a woman to do this without thinking about other necessary things she should also attend to while men don't even let these considerations disturb the ether in which their brains exist.

I have a theory about this that I may have written about before.  I believe it became embedded in our genes through the historic behavior of the sexes.  Women became confined to certain tasks because they alone could get pregnant.  You can't go hunting in the latter stages of pregnancy and so hunting became, pretty much, the male's domain, while being confined to the hearth, gathering nuts, berries and watching the children, became the female's, whether she liked it or not.  Now hunting requires concentration.  The hunter sets his mind on his prey, stalks it and follows through with the kill.  He doesn't stop to gather berries or admire a pretty sunset or contemplate the meaning of life, he just does what he has to do.

Women got to multi-task, even though those tasks were boring and demanding.  Keeping your eye on children requires considerable multi-tasking as you attempt to do the other things you need to do.  Programming women's minds to do one task alone just wasn't going to happen but, I believe, it did to men's.  I think we should just enjoy and admire the differences that have developed, after all, variety is the spice of life.

The other good thing about sheds is this:  the initial passion for sex will gradually diminish no matter how loving a couple is and, in order for their commitment to survive, they must find other outlets, both singular and apart, to remain interesting to one another.  If one finds an outlet and the other doesn't, this is sad.  Not all of us have it within us to find an interest or hobby.  My mother used to like entertaining and brought people to the house.  My father was an artist and worked alone but benefited from my mother's social interactions because he met new people through her.

Sadly my mother developed dementia and could not longer pursue her greatest passion, which was to read and, eventually she could no longer entertain, although her friends did not desert her.  During the day, however, she was at a loss as to what to do.  During this time my father never lost pace in his studio cum shed and phoned me (as I lived interstate) concerned with how to alleviate my mother's growing depression.  He was such a clever man but he didn't see what he needed to do.  I had to tell him to put one or two days per week aside just to give my mother something to do: take her for a drive, a picnic, see a movie.

He then learned how to cook for her and do all those little things that had always been her domain and he enjoyed it.  He would even phone me and share recipes he had discovered.  Her version of the shed, the home, finally became his but he didn't resent it.

I remember my father's fabulous ability to direct himself to one task to the exclusion of all else and so wish I had his passion but he didn't fail my mother when he was called upon to partially relinquish it to take care of her.

If your man is happy in his shed, even if you only see him a few times a day, leave him be.  At least he'll still be there for you in a crunch and you for him.  You don't need to be glued to each other to be in a happy relationship; you just need to know the other is there and that you care about each other.

END

PRESCRIPTION DRUG DEPENDANCY AND PARENTS: why they are similar.

 

When you are frightened but have reached adulthood, are so far into it in fact that you have grey hairs and your parents have died long ago, who do you turn to allay your fears?

The wonderful thing about being a fortunate child is being able to rely on adults who love you without question.  Life never really replaces the feeling of security you felt at that time.  They are there for you, nurse you when you are sick, feed you and provide you with shelter.  You learn to trust them implicitly and don't even think to question that trust, because they looked after you from the beginning when you were a helpless blob of no earthly use.  There are many children now and throughout history, who have not known such parents and that sense of support and I truly feel for them.

I don't think I've ever really recovered from my childhood because I was one of the fortunate ones.   When I was ill last year and later when I convalesced and thought I would never get better, I turned to my son for support and to unburden myself of my emotional fears.  He may be forty plus but I didn't feel right about this as it's meant to be the other way around.  In fact I felt pathetic no matter how good he was about it, but deep down inside me there was this vacuum where I was flailing about seeking something or someone because I was frightened and still am.  I realized pretty quickly what that vacuum was;  it was my parents who were long gone and the feeling of safety they gave me.

Even if harm came to me as a child, I had unwavering trust in them.  Whatever happened I knew they were there for me and would do everything they could to help me.  Now, without them here to be my advocates, I have to do it all myself and have for decades even when they were still around for emotional support, which is vital when you are ill.  You need it to help assuage your fears, for advice and just to know someone cares.

One problem is that the older you become the more redundant you also become.  If I were to die tomorrow my son and those who love me (and there aren't many of those around any more) would be sad but not devastated.  My son has children now and I am on the downward side of the peak of my life.  I hope I have many more years but it's me who cares most about that now.  There are no parents left whose hearts would break and my son and his family would mourn a bit while getting on with living.

Don't get me wrong, I don't expect for a minute to be mourned the way a parent mourns their child, that is the nature of things.  It's just hard becoming redundant when I still have the heart of a child, when I have been cossetted and treasured, when I still want to hold onto life in the same way.  I am not redundant to myself.

My last year has been peculiar to say the least.  When I had Pneumonia everyone was concerned even over the two months it took to recover from it.  Before that, however, I was weaning from a long term antidepressant and still am ten months on.  The illness came smack in the middle of this and it was hard to tell if it was Pneumonia still making me sick weeks after I left hospital or weaning from the antidepressant.  It's now six months since my illness and I still have bad days as I continue to wean but it's so hard to tell which is causing me to feel bad.

For the other people in my life, putting up with a person who is distressed for ten months has become tiresome.  I do my best to cover it but it's not easy coming off an antidepressant and it also, obviously, has psychological repercussions.  I don't feel the latter have been too bad compared to the physical but I do know I feel hopelessly overwhelmed.  I also know I am irritating those closest to me.

I feel like a complete wimp.  I have always been stalwart and strong during my illnesses, one quite severe, and always felt I would bounce back.  This behavior is uncharacteristic of me but now, at the age of sixty-eight, I really feel the need of my parents.  Perhaps the absence of the antidepressants has affected me more than I realize.  The thing about being old is that you become the senior.  There's really no one much more senior who is up to the task of being the mentor, the wise one.  The older most people get the more they need care and support so we have to turn to the younger ones who have their hands full of children and making a living.

Hence, while I'm still able, I have to paddle my own canoe through these rough waters and tell my troubles to my much younger doctor.  While what I say next may seem arrogant it is true.  I am highly intelligent.  I spend a lot of time trying to understand what is happening to me and to read everything I can on the Internet about withdrawal.  There really isn't enough out there but what I do have is experience of prescription medicines and how badly the wrong type of antidepressant can kick you about.  My doctor's solution to improve my energy again is to put me on another antidepressant when I'm fully off this one (which was discontinued).

Do you really think I want to go through experimenting with new ones to find the right one?  The wrong ones can really have very adverse effects.  I know I've been there.  I don't want to feel worse before I feel better but I believe my energy won't come back for a long time after thirty years on this drug without resorting to another antidepressant.  I think this is the reason I feel such a need for my parents again; it is because I've been reduced to the helplessness of a child in a no win situation.

Every time I lower the old antidepressant the teeniest bit from its already teeny amount, I feel physically lousy again.  I will have to be fully without the drug for at least two weeks before I can even go through the hell of experimenting with a new one.  Ten months into this horror I don't know why I'm as sane as I still am.  The rest of the world is dealing with Covid-19 while I am dealing with this while trying to avoid the virus as well.

I know I'm far from the only person going through their own particular brand of hell this year.  Covid-19 has compounded everybody's problems.  When I think about it, it has also thrown other major problems into the background because everything pales into insignificance in the face of it.  But we all still have our individual, important problems in the midst of this all consuming one.  It's a real shame we can't all give one another a great big hug and weep together as if we were each other's parents.

I am beginning to see the similarity now between my parents and my antidepressant.  I relied on them both and they bolstered me both psychologically and physically.  I needed both my parents and the pills a lot more than I realized and, while I will always miss my parents, I would really love to be free of my reliance on this drug, which I didn't think I needed anymore until I tried to get out of its grip.

END