Joking aside...

Abba sang "What lies waiting down the line at the end of 89?" Well, for my family, it was utter heartbreak. We lost someone so precious, so beautiful, with a heart the size of an ocean and just as full of life. My 36-year-old brother Rob was killed in a near-head-on collision with a 38-ton lorry. He left behind my darling sister-in-law Margaret who truly is a sister, and two of the nicest people it's my privilege to know, Angela and Harry, then 7 and 4. And of course he left behind the rest of us, his parents, grandmother, sisters, brothers, nephews and assorted in-laws.

What can I say about him? When he laughed, as he did so much, the street laughed; he was such a good dad; he kept in touch with me and a door open when I eventually left home "under a cloud" which is rather a nonsensical way of describing the events back then; he loved and he cared. He stepped in to give me away at my wedding when it looked like my dad wasn't going to be there; and I walked up the aisle with both of them holding me up.

He could also produce the loudest and longest farts of anybody I've ever met, before or since. And you should have seen him dressed in one of mum's skirts and tops with her lipstick on and some strategically-placed balloons. I don't remember what he did to disguise his hair...

He was a proper big brother too. Pulled my hair and teased me, especially as I was 10 years his junior. One of those unreasonable regrets that was so way out of anyone's control, especially mine, was that just when I was grown up enough to fully appreciate him, he was gone. Hah I still remember - torture of tortures - when he would do his round intricate jigsaw of trains, and wouldn't let me even put one piece in. Such torture for a puzzle addict, even at 5 or 6!

He was a chess champion at work, in fact fell in love via letter with Mags as they played a long-distance chess game. She was in Malta, in fact in 1973 I was the first member of the family, apart from my grandmother, to have met her, another event etched in the glass of memory. No computers, and the cost of long-distance phone calls - ouch!

They got married in June 1976, and I was one of their bridesmaids. Only I chose that year to have a growth spurt, and between being measured for the dresses in March and the event my dress had to be virtually remade. Awkward moo to the last, eh.

I loved him very much, was appallingly bad at showing it, but I still do, and I ache with his loss. Today, 21 years on, I'll remember the phone call at work, the policeman and woman, the hugs and the silence of the shock. I'll weep as I am now. I'll look at photos. I'll hug my loved ones just that bit tighter.

And I'll laugh to his memory.

A positive start

Well it's two weeks into the year, halfway through the first month, in fact. I have sailed past a couple of shops in the sale, acquired a handbag that I've wanted for a very long time (and that's made me quite happy, materialistic moo that I am), but am keen to grab a hold on things again.

The start to 2011 has been a quiet one. What I refer to as my winter sinus has struck, but although I've been stuck in bed for a few days here and there, not as badly as in the past overall. The worst result has been that I lost my place in my diary, and with Galloping Christmas, another winter affliction, it's taken me a while to get a grip again. I don't mean the holiday itself, that's lovely; I mean the torturing myself for a fortnight that I haven't done any activities/baking/ enough tidying/dusting/entertaining - nor have I flown to the moon this week, but so what. Alas such logic is driven out by Galloping Christmas, aka Raving Madwoman Syndrome. It does pass.

So I've spent the last two weeks in a kind of hazy panic that I'm missing an important appointment or forgetting to do something vital that will stop the world's head falling off, which is alleviated by a frantic consultation of all the diaries / scraps of paper / phone date manager thing / dustbin. The realization that all these sources of reassurance are actually all complete AND in sync with each other lasts for all of 5 minutes before my short-term-memory-of-a-goldfish strikes and hey presto half an hour later I'm in the same hazy franticity. Again, I know that not only I but both males of the house know where all the diaries are and that they are to be updated all at the same time, so I have to learn to trust myself more.

But there have been two outstanding positives to report, if only outstanding from my particular viewpoint. I managed to go swimming all by myself, something that wouldn't have been possible without the support of HTS and my swim-buddy, and am actually now looking forward to more solo swims; something I've never ever wanted or felt confident enough to do in the past. Not even when I was a confident worker.

And after struggling to lose a pound a week at the start of my diet, when I was weighing and worrying over every mouthful, I've managed to lose a stone over about a 6 week period which included the holiday fortnight. So far that makes 22 lbs / 10 kilos. I don't look or feel it, particularly as it's been a while since the gym exercises wore off and everything started heading south again; but that will be rectified after tomorrow's induction at the gym, I sincerely hope.

And I've had my last counselling session. It was quite funny - having had the morning and early part of the afternoon chasing around a half-demolished and utterly unrecognizable hospital for a chronic eye problem, by the time I got to therapy I was a complete gibbering wreck, quite literally. I couldn't stop laughing because I couldn't actually see anything - the eye drops converted everything into the kind of soft focus you get when the cameraman has overdone the vaseline on the lens. And I made approximately no sense at all because fibro-mouth kicked in - that's where your mouth flaps open and utters vague, incongruous, and incomprehensible non-sequitors, while your brain, equally flappy, dances the congo in and out your ears. Hysterically funny when (a) you know what's happening and that you haven't actually got Alzheimers and (b) you're doing it at someone who's never experienced it before. I think I'm rather thankful that I couldn't see his face, poor lamb.

I can laugh about my fear of Alzheimers now. I don't need to write about what a dreadful awful thing it is, and how it felt to suspect that I had it. To say that I couldn't remember what a "cat" was when someone referred to one in a phone conversation. To think that I was slowly losing my mind because I couldn't remember so much, even forgetting what word is actually in my mouth when I'm trying to talk. Thankfully I have such a good and wonderful family and set of friends who take the pee out of me mercilessly, so I know I'm ok. Heaven help me when they start being nice to me :-DDD. The rheumatology consult asked me why I was crying when he finally gave me a diagnosis of fibromyalgia. "I tell people they are dying of cancer" he said "and they don't cry." My answer to him is, I hope it never happens to you because you have forgotten, if you ever knew, what it is like to be a human being.

Oooo that got all serious there. Where was I? Ah yes. Today Great White Chief, on spying me trying to trap myself in the washing machine with sundry undies, reports that my bottom appears considerably smaller than usual. Good-ho.

In with the old, in with the new.

Nothing profound to say about new year, new start... not sure I believe in all that. New year, new opportunities to build on mistakes made, lessons learned, fun fedoodled. Ok so the alliteration flunked! I feel more sanguine about the year just passed, and more resolute about the year just beginning, true; but that's largely down to acceptance that Life will be do its own thing regardless of what I plan or intend to do. 2010 wasn't a great year; I made some BIG mistakes and nearly lost my mum (thankfully not because of aforementioned mistakes); but I also sought - and got - some very much needed help; learned to open my eyes just a little bit wider, and think just a little bit longer; got back on course with my studies, saw Young Master settled into a new school, and reclaimed a little of the way I used to be. Not "the person" I used to be, as I once would have said, because that's not possible whether you're fit or not, life changes you regardless of how big or little the events that come your way; but I grew a bit more comfortable with the person I am, and started laughing again. Noticeably - I'm having to curb it in public or the neighbours will get restraining orders.

Anyway, my first project of the New Year is complete, started it just a couple of weeks ago and actually finished it without stopping to do Other Things in the meantime. The scans aren't quite right but it's too late and I cannot be arrissed to dig out my camera at this time of night; but it's a very pretty swirly sock pattern that I've knocked up in some Aricaunia (sp?) yarn I got very very cheap at the craft fair at Olympia 2 in March. That was one of 2 or 3 firsts for me in 2010 that I enjoyed very very much - the other noteable one being Supertramp at the O2 in October. The colours aren't particularly true, but maybe better photos will correct that.

I am rambling! Anyway, the yarn went so far that not only did I get both socks out of one skein, I have almost enough for a third sock left over! so am deliberating what I do with the second skein. Possibly a pair of legwarmers - very 70s I know, but the windchill on a scooter travelling at 4mph is NOT to be underestimated! They need to be quite fine to sit comfortably under jeans, but measuring width could be a challenge if I want them to stay up! Trial and error I suppose - and I will probably put my knitting-in elastic to good use :)

Oh well, off to scour the net for some decent patterns...

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.