New hair day...

So it's two days on from the last blog post, and the blown fuse has been replaced. I have a lot of friends who talk a lot of sense. Sometimes they're repeating the stuff that my own logical head is telling me, but repetition reinforces the lesson, and I'm always far more willing to listen to other people than myself. Sometimes they blow me away with new things that seem so obvious, why didn't I think of them... But always they make me feel very lucky to know them.

So what's changed? The fact that after years of doing this alone I've finally opened up about it? That's certainly helped. Also I've just learned that doing something enjoyable once or twice a week makes a huge difference. I don't just mean the "typical me" scenario that goes something like:

Me: Hey, I'm ironing!
Me: Yeah, and?
Me: Well, (a) that means I can stand up and (b) I can move my arms and (c) support the weight of the iron and...
Me: Yeah yeah yeah big deal, is that it?
Me: No, I'm actually enjoying that I WANT to be doing this and that I KNOW I'm making a difference.
Me: *in a very small voice* Oh. Yeah, I see what you mean...

I mean the real enjoyment of breathing in a lungful of cold air, seeing other people's faces, hearing music from a Salvation Army band playing as the snow falls, I mean enjoying the naughty feeling of doing something trivial while the house mess is left to stew, that isn't trivial because it means I'm alive. For so long I've been in a kind of fudgy beige world where I can see stuff that needs doing all around me, but literally without knowing where to start. Where I've waited to turn an emotional and mental corner as I have done in the past, popping out of depressive episodes like a cork, full of energy and direction and motivation... this time has been the worst of all, and this time that simply didn't happen. But I'm learning, padding myself mentally, day by day hour by hour, doing stuff by rote and by pretending when I can't quite get the buttons done up on my padded mental waistcoat.

There is a popular idea about the choice to make today a better day than two days ago, that all that is needed is to step out of one day, shed it like an old skin and leave it like a pile of dirty washing on the floor that will simply evaporate if ignored. I resist that idea, because it *seems* to imply that I chose to have such a crap day that day. I know that's not the intention, but some words of "positive power" can be damaging, especially when you go back to Lesson 2 where you learn that depression twists thinking. Yes I do have a choice - I can choose to pretend today to have motivation and energy, to break down the first enormous job into doable-sized chunks, and to start. I can choose to allow the pretence to carry me through, hopefully long enough to do the job in hand in its entirety, and to move on to the next one (allowing for pacing and physical condition of course). But to do that I have to have pretence as a tool in my armoury and not everyone has it. I also have to have support, friendship and love from other people, and hope, perserverance, determination, strength... I have some of the qualities I need, and I am so lucky to have them. They will have to do the work of all the other qualities I lack - organisation, hope, perserverance... you get the idea. We're not just a walking box of tools, we're complex and complicated.

So today starts with getting downstairs. A challenge I didn't have yesterday, and one that's going to make the chores interesting! It's funny how living so long with physical pain makes it so easy to ignore, deal with, work around; emotional and mental pain feels so fresh and new with every stab. Time to try and find that padding.

Crumbling resolve

Well it's the shortest, darkest day, and I haven't had my hour in front of the SAD lamp. Too much to do, no energy or resolve to do it. Definitely a wobble day.

I'm desperately holding onto the fact that I've managed to wrap a few pressies today. Coz that's all I've done, all day. Where did the day go? I don't know, I honestly can't remember. I'm tired - well exhausted - hurting, cotton-wool-headed and feeling really really sick about something I can't even put my finger on. I'm in one of what my therapist might call my black-and-white, all-or-nothing moods. I'm behind with my coursework and it feels like I'll never catch up again - and it's only a short course. I'm struggling to do anything, including my hobbies. I just want to sleep and cry, cry and sleep. This isn't a bad day, it's an end-of-the-world day.

It isn't that we have no food in the house, much less Christmas stuff. It isn't that the pressies are only half wrapped, and I've missed seeing my sister yet again because of the weather; it isn't that Young Master is bored out of his mind and only wants to play computer games rather than do stuff with me; it isn't that we're looking at the most disorganised, untidy and unprepared Christmas in 25 years. It's that all this I've known would happen, all this I've been fighting, all this I've refused to let bother me because there is a reason for the mess, the untidyness; but today it's getting to me. Today I am worn out. Today I've put on so much of the weight that I've been fighting to lose for so long; today I didn't get any exercise; today I want to tell myself so badly that I've let myself down and those I love. I haven't really, but like a junky going cold turkey (and yes I know what that feels like) I almost crave the comfort of being able to beat myself up, blame myself for so much stuff that is beyond my control.

A wonderful friend just asked me if it all really mattes. No of course it doesn't; but I kind of want it to matter, because that's old and familiar. Right now I don't have the strength to be strong; I've let go the reins so far they're almost out of my reach. And I so badly want to pick them back up again.

Penultimatum

I'm not sure I'm supposed to my therapist laugh quite that much. Not sure how I did it really, but it was actually a joyful meeting, and my shortest one so far. I think he got more words in edgeways today than I've let him in previous encounters too. All in all I feel all glowy and happy that I can face Christmas caring about what really matters and not getting sucked in by anything that doesn't. One more session to go in the New Year, and then I really will be flying solo. But he's equipped me with some tools for the job, and I feel prepared. It's been a long 6 months or so, and although the steps are still baby steps, they're getting more and more confident.

The other day I woke up feeling grey. I mean truly grey, not black-hole-grey, not sun-almost-shining-grey, just grey. Critical-bully-me was just waiting on tiptoes, ready to pounce; I wobbled in time to thoughts of "it's all going to start again" and "I can't face it I'm off back to bed". And then from nowhere came Self-esteem-me saying "ok so you're having a bad day. So have a bad day. Tomorrow will be a new day and will bring what it brings. If you need to give in today, well then that's ok". A couple of hours later I found myself singing as I ironed. Bitch-me was silenced. "We'll see..." she muttered under her breath, "you haven't dropped the ball yet, but when you do I'll be waiting..."

Well today she's still there, eyebrows raised, foot tapping away in anticipation. But it's a worried anticipation. Today the mutter is almost inaudible, and the emphasis is very different "You haven't dropped the ball yet..."

And I just smiled.

Thanks, T P!

This just about sums up what I feel about depression, and how I picture it as it affects me.

"Your power is only rumour and lies... You bore your way into people when they are uncertain and weak and worried and frightened, and they think their enemy is other people when their enemy is, and always will be, you - the master of lies. Outside, you are fearsome; inside, you are nothing but weakness."

From I Shall Wear Midnight by Terry Pratchett

This ties in with twisted thinking. You know, those little twinges of uncertainty that strike when friends stop laughing as they are approached, or when the gleam in a stranger's eye seems to linger just a fraction too long on an aspect of appearance that until that moment felt comfortable. Neurosis, paranoia, self-consciousness, shyness, self-hate; depression feeds these and is in turn gorged on by them. Trust, in myself and in others, is the first and biggest victim, but because my world-view is out of kilter, is quickly re-engendered just to be shot down again every bit as quickly, because the new generation of trust was birthed on sand in a sideways world.

Taking a step back to focus on the truth takes confidence. And I have to pretend to feel confident in order even to want to take that step. But doing so makes the picture slowly right itself, back into a concrete and upright world, where I can stand with both feet on the ground and trust solidly in those whose friendship and love has never waivered, and who are still there calling me, waiting for me, listening to me and caring. Do I owe them a debt of gratitude? That's a tough question, the guilt in me would say yes every time, the unworthiness would rise up and shout yes from the rooftops, the self-hating me would demand that I consider myself unequal and unworthy.

But I say no, I owe them nothing; but I love them and care about them as much as they do me, will stand by them in their hour of need, and will be content with that not because of a debt or sense of duty, but because I consider them as worthwhile as they do me.

The Journey

I've just been extremely moved by a friend's blog - one of those that seems to reach in and drag out some of my deepest feelings. I'm quite emotional, and realise that I haven't yet blogged about the stuff that's been happening to me recently.

I'm getting more exercise, am on a diet, losing weight; I'm told that I'm much calmer and funnier, and I'm looking forward to and getting excited about stuff for the first time in a very very long time. And the reason this is so important to me, and the thing I am most proud of dealing with, is that I suffer from depression.

I have done so since a child, although wasn't diagnosed until my mid-30s, and even then I could push it to the back of my mind and my life and ignore it. Post natal depression - which should never be patronisingly reduced to "baby blues" - got me, but with the help of temporary hormone supplements, I beat it. Then as Young Master progressed in years, I started to have physical problems, and I coped; with help, with support, and with some very good friends, and the unstinting love of my Big Chief White Hair and Young Master, and my beautiful wider family, I adapted - we all adapted.

Then I ended up back in hospital with yet another auto-immune problem. This time the decline was slow - the physical problems took precedence, learning to walk with aids, gradually getting together the stuff that made life do-able again, didn't really give me much time to think. But eventually there was nothing between me and an overwhelming agglomeration of guilt, frustration and self-loathing.

It's always been there, but like a tide it ebbs and flows. I'm so lucky, normally it's only in full flow for a matter of weeks, but this time it drowned me, and trying to swim just made me sink faster. "I'm better than this" just led to another wave of frustration, more tears to more self-hate, and all the time seeing what effect all this was having on those around me, feeding the guilt that dogs my every breath.

Gotta love mixed metaphors.

I even beat myself up over the D Ts that accompanied withdrawal from tramadol. Tramadol's not supposed to be addictive, it's not supposed to cause problems with long-term use... but it did for me. And following it up with morphine patches wasn't the best idea.

And wanting people to ring, and begging people for coffee - well that's what it felt like to me; every text that wasn't answered, every date that was broken, was the knife that said "see you're really not worth knowing", cutting with the blade of knowing that however much I told myself I was hateful, I was clearly much, much worse in reality.

Depression really is evil. It twists your thinking and you can't see it unless someone points it out to you. The people who look at you in a funny way - how was I looking at them? When two people cancel a dinner date within minutes of each other - have they been talking about me behind my back? Insecurity leads in other ways - if the coffee date does happen, then you're just the object of someone's pity, don't tell them how you really are, talk about nonsense; or else the floodgates open and they get rather more dire gloom than they bargained for.

I don't do the "oh there are so many people in the world worse off than you" line to myself. There most certainly are, but there are also plenty who don't have to face what I do each day. I'm not jealous, I celebrate their fitness, health, and seeming lack of worry and self-examination. I wish that more of my friends and family were as fit and healthy. I don't look back on my childhood and think it was unhappy, although undoubtedly parts of it were, extremely so; it was what it was, and is now in the past. I just want to switch off the part of my brain that looks in the mirror constantly. I am getting better at reversing the language of hate I use to myself daily - I haven't yet put a stop to it, even while typing this, part of my brain is going "I I I, me me me you selfish cow" - but this is MY blog and I write about what I know, and what I know is me myself. So no apologies, no awkward pauses, just the truth.

I talk about my family all the time, in real life and in virtuality, and when I'm not talking about them, I'm talking about my friends, especially those in virtuality. What I've learned from them, how they make me laugh or cry, how there is always a kind word, or comfort, or a hug, if I just ask. And whatever people say about the internet not being real, or being full of people showing only the side of themselves they choose to reveal - hell, I know all that, but if so many people can be kind to me, then maybe there should be a tiny voice in my head saying that maybe I am worth knowing.

You *had* to be there...

She: Hello, Mrs Snow, this is x calling from Barclaycard, can I please take you through security?

Me: No - you rang me, you got my phone no from your records, and anyone pretending to be me would know my date of birth anyway.

She: But I have to make sure - for security

Me: But *you* rang *me* and I'm not going to give anyone who has rung *me* my security details over the phone.

She: But then I can't talk to you Mrs Snow!

Me: Well then there's no point having this conversation, is there? Are you going to tell me why you've rung, or not?

She: I'm sorry, I cannot divulge that information.

Me: So you're not going to tell me why you've rung me?

She: I'm sorry, I cannot divulge that information.

Me: Ok, then to whom do I make a formal complaint about the number of times you've been told not to ring me?

She: I'm sorry, I cannot divulge that information.

Me: Let's be utterly clear - you have rung me and won't tell me what you're calling me about? Well let's end this silliness shall we? Goodbye.



You really couldn't make it up...

Is it me or has security gone mad? I mean, if you suspected that you weren't speaking to the person you'd rung, you surely wouldn't ask for something as freely available as a date of birth, would you? Inside leg measurement, BMI, or date of last cervical smear maybe - but date of birth?

What really bugs me about this particular organisation is that they ring my mobile for a total of 3 rings and then hang up. How many people *not* expecting a call, answer their mobiles in that time? Not me for sure. And with mobility and hand problems, I doubt I will even when I'm sitting on the damn thing waiting for it to ring. No, they just want the missed call to be logged so that their poor unsuspecting vict errr customers will ring back. I refuse to give personal information out on incoming calls. There has to be *some* perks in getting older, and I want to be that old woman on the bench telling everyone she's 98 and making damned rude personal remarks :)

Laughing at my own jokes

That'll get me into serious trouble one day, that will. For now, it's just another mildly funny episode in the nightmarish treacle pudding that today has been.

Ever get those nightmares where you know you want to do something really enjoyable, or really important, like take indeterminate children to the beach, or go swimming with someone, only to find that first you have to go to town to buy a costume, only you can't do that because another indeterminate child / pet / person has done something indescribable, so first you have to clean that up only you can't find the disinfectant; where before you know it it's almost midnight and you're still trying to reach the front door... and then you wake up.

Well today was one of those days for real. I decided pretty early on (well for me anyway) that I would go out and enjoy the sunshine rather than stay in the chill house and mope. But first of course I had to have breakfast; but before that I had to write my list of jobs for the day; but before that, I just had to peek a teensy at Facebook. Before I knew it, it was 11, no breakfast and no list. Never mind, the outside world was waiting. So eventually, dressed and slapped up, it's seemed important to straighten my hair. And then of course I had to check Facebook again... summoning all my willpower I closed it down, strode downstairs and...

it was then that I discovered the bills. Quick open, check balances and - what? Oh I need to sort that out. And then something else comes up during the same call. And oh yes, while I'm on, how about a third thing... I transferred a credit card balance over to another one. Good job, big savings to be had. Fine. And what's wonderful is I can't remember the PIN on the card that I'm transferring to but I have the PIN for the transferred out card etched on the insides of my eyelids. Until after 35 minutes of phone call, I realise that it's been so long since I've used this card, that actually, my eyelids have healed over... panic. Oh well, stick it in my purse and go try out what I think is the number in an ATM. With me so far? I know I can remember the digits, but are they in the right order...

oh and what's this other post? My Christmas card kits - only all the stuff I've ordered is out of stock and the order can't be met. Shall I go and reorder something new? I don't have that much time left and I'm a slow worker... No, I need fresh air. It can wait till later...

so now I need another going-out wee as my original going-out wee was so long ago it doesn't qualify as such any more. So I have to do another going-out wee. Never forget what your mother told you - if it was worth repeating THAT many times, it was worth remembering. Then I remember that I've left my sunglasses case in the bedroom - hooray I've saved myself an extra uncomfortable trip up the stairs. However, sunglasses case and purse don't fit into super-slip handbag. Not at the same time anyway - so now I have to transfer handbag contents over. OK fine and deep joy, look I've got £10 vouchers to use against the new jeans I need. Oh yay. And then...

handbag transfer complete, I don hat and gloves to realise that (a) the scarf is upstairs and (b) I'm not wearing the matching socks (I knitted all of them). Oh bugger. Never mind, the socks I cannot be arsed to change. But if it's as cold as it seems I will need that scarf...

Finally I am downstairs, coated, booted, bescarfed-hatted-and-gloved, and all set to go. I remove the necessary baggage off the scooter and manoeuver it over and out the front door....

and I've forgotten the scooter key in the other handbag. I go fetch.

With a feeling of utter blissful relief, I am finally ready to go. I get the scooter down off the front path onto the pavement. I lock the wheels back on, exchange a cheery wave and hello with my lovely neighbour over the road. By now it is a good hour and a half later than I had anticipated leaving the house. And what's more, while the house is freezing, outside is balmy, even the breeze is warm. So I shed the scarf and hat - the gloves remain coz you won't believe what a chill factor can be kicked up at 4 miles per hour. Eager to get going, anticipating the wind in my hair, I turn the key in the lock and

realise I've left the battery in the kitchen where it was charging. I huff and swear and lug the thing, step by simply painful step until it is on the machine. And then - FINALLY - I am off. And the breeze kisses the PIN number magically back onto the insides of my eyelids. Happy.

So what's this got to do with laughing at my own jokes? Well not a lot really. Except that in order to get into town, I have to cross a particularly busy and dangerous roundabout, under which there is an underpass thoughtfully provided and maintained by the council. And each time I go to use it, I smile to myself (inwardly I hope - but possibly not, I do catch people looking worriedly in my direction and cross to the other side of the road) and ask myself - stairs or slope? Almost every time that I'm on the scooter I choose the slope - well ok 100% of the time on the scooter if I'm honest - but always I ask myself the question, stairs or slope. Today, I answer myself sensibly - slope of course - and off I go.

Coming home, arriving in the same location, the traditional internal banter continues apace. Stairs or slope? Slope you mad old bat. OK you mardy mare, stairs it is. Weeeeee - down the slope. Well don't expect me to get it right every time *rolls eyes*. At the bottom, I catch up with a couple of youngsters throwing rechargeable lighter cases down which I have to concentrate to dodge. Unawares, I pass the cyclist who has pulled over to one side to allow me to pass - until she says "you're welcome". Belatedly, I thank her; and then ponder upon the possibility of intended sarcasm? Maybe? in her tone. Kicking myself (again inwardly, I can't have people calling me the scary scooter lady) for not simply answering with an expletive, and smiling at myself for my forbearance - well ok I just didn't think fast enough! - I continue and conclude my trip through the underpass. Only to discover that, having returned home by an alternative route, I am now on the wrong side of the road, heading back into town, and the entire subway journey was utterly and completely pointless and now has to be done in reverse. Actually I decide to turn around and do it frontwards, thankful that Young Master isn't there to remind me that I've always told him I have eyes in the back of my head.

And yes *smug smile* of course I forgot to transfer the money-off vouchers into the handbag I took with me.