A (bad) day in the life of ...

You know those day in a life articles that can make you feel like your own life's a bit boring? About people who manage to hold down full-time jobs, exercise every day, dress impeccably and regularly dine at swanky restaurants with an impossibly glamorous set of friends? Well this isn't one of those. This is a day in my life. Inside the head of a depressive. Ok, sometimes there is more than a little bit of swank. And some of my friends are incredibly glamorous. But there are also days like this. Unproductive. Infuriatingly so. Not the worst ever but not the best either. 

---------------------

A day in the life of a depressive

Before the alarm goes off:  Wake up at numerous points. Panic that I've overslept. Remind myself that one of the side effects of my meds is night sweats so, no, I haven't wet the bed. Struggle to get back to sleep. Get to sleep. Wake up again. Repeat until...

Alarm call: Hit snooze as many times as I can by choosing not to:

• wash my hair 
• eat breakfast
• iron my clothes
• speak to the rest of my family
• clear away their breakfast things
• clean my teeth (isn't that what chewing gum was invented for?)
• use eye liner, or eyeshadow, or any make-up at all except perhaps some lip balm
• wear shoes with laces
• wear clothes with too many buttons

If I skip most of these I can be showered, dressed and out of the door in 10 minutes.

School run: Half an hour to chat to Bea and try to switch gear to work mode.

Arrive home:  Try to get out of the car. Seriously. Some days I get out in a matter of seconds. Other days it can take up to 30 minutes to find the energy to move. Chris Evans finishes at 9:30am, I've never stayed in the car past then.

The working day: Do everything I can to avoid getting stuck on the sofa. I have had days where I've made the mistake of sitting down with a coffee and then not moving until I have to go and collect Bea from school. Inside my head I'm willing myself to move, trying every tactic I can think of, but Padfoot is sat firmly on my chest and won''t be coaxed off.

You know the worst hangover you've ever had where you can't move because if you do the room spins and you feel ill? It's like that, but without the nausea, and the headache, and the fun night before that makes it worthwhile.

Lunch, if I can be bothered, usually consists of a bag of crisps (Wotsits are the current favourite) and a can of Coke Zero - zero prep, zero washing up and zero nutritional value.

School run: Collect Bea. I park on the village green to wait for her so that I can stay in the car and avoid speaking to any of the other parents. Even the ones I like. Because they might ask me how I am. And if I answered truthfully they might never speak to me again. (This could be a good strategy to use with people I actually don't want to speak to...)

The evening shift: Oscillate between guilt, inertia and catching up on the work I failed to do during the day. Desperately trying to stay awake as I'm now exhausted.

10pm onwards: Tiredness has been and gone and I'm now wide awake with no sign of sleep coming. Eventually fall asleep on the sofa watching ITV 3: Life's Over Murders or something else featuring a place that nobody would ever move to given the number of suspicious deaths that happen there. Eventually I make my way to bed to begin the cycle all over again.

---------------------

Thankfully not every day is like this. Just some of them. On a London day I feel much more energised - being in an office with people is hugely motivating. Although I do have to stop myself from staying on the tube or walking past the office - with no destination in mind, simply a need to not reach one.

Prozac continues to help. Friends, colleagues and my counsellor are all excellent cheerleaders. Each kind gesture, supportive shove and piss taking comment is just what I need. It may be one step forward, two steps back but while there's still the tiniest of movement ahead of me I'll take that as positive. And if there's no momentum, never mind, tomorrow I'm probably in London and that might be a different type of day altogether.

Image by Gemma Correll. Thanks for introducing me to her illustrations Ben Swift - they're fantastically insightful.

Shouldn't I be feeling better by now?

Six months ago I finally squared up to the snarling black dog that has accompanied me for decades. Looking it in the eye I decided enough was enough. I'd tried to ignore it. Tried to appease it. Tried to distract it with food and alcohol (dogs and booze don't mix well by the way). Despite all my best efforts I had to admit I didn't have the skills for it. I needed to call in the big guns. It was time for the Barbara Woodhouse approach, or whatever the 2015 equivalent was.

Since then I've become very well acquainted with Prozac, answered the question "Do you have any current plans?" over a dozen times and shared my inner most thoughts with a relative stranger every Friday, except over Christmas which is when I realised I really needed it the most.

It's been a hell of a ride and I'm ready to get off now. When I visit my counsellor, sometimes I fudge my responses to the mental health questionnaire I have to complete, to make it look like I'm getting a bit better. He knows I do this. I tell him. Because I should be getting better now shouldn't I?

One of the toughest parts of depression is the progress can be painfully, ridiculously slow. With every day that passes I expect to feel better than I do. I assume other people will expect me to be feel better than I do.  I say "I'm fine" so that I don't have to bore people with my crappy day, my current guilt or the number of times I couldn't get out of my car this week. That's something many people don't realise. Depression can be really boring. Mind numbingly boring.

Yesterday, a non-boring day, I was chatting with someone that I hope will be a friend in the future. Over Scandinavian apple cake we talked about families, work and the mutt. I felt compelled to say that I thought the meds and the therapy were helping. That I was starting to feel better. She said, "It's ok if you're not."

It was a moment of clarity. She was absolutely right. Why hadn't I seen this before? There's no timescale on this illness. To be honest I'm not expecting this to go away. It's part of me, my condition, and I'm learning how to live with it. That means the people around me are having to learn how to live with it too. I recognise this is a big ask. When the dog pins me to the sofa I'm no company. However when it's out for a walk - tail wagging, snapping at the air and barking with excitement - then you don't want to miss that Emma. 

It's time to accept that this is a long haul journey. 

With the people around me I'm travelling first class but it's still going to be a long time sitting in one place. If you could meet me in the arrivals lounge that would be nice. I'll be the one walking comfortably beside my (mostly) well behaved black dog. 

New is always around the corner

If new is always on the horizon, always just around the corner, why do so many of us still wait until January to start fresh? To join a gym. Change jobs. End a relationship. It's as if we believe January 1st is some sort of magical day when anything can happen. And that can only be good. As long as we don't wait 365/6 days if things don't work out.

I don't have any resolutions today. My resolutions started in July last year. Last year. Already my mental health problems are so last year.

They included the usual stuff - think about my health, plan what I really want to do with my career and spend more time with the people I love. But these are huge plans. They're too big. They need to be broken down into smaller goals.

I spent time looking at how I spend my work days and thinking properly about what makes me tick. And not just the tasks I enjoy and can do with ease but also the things that stretch me, in a good way. I began to change who I work with. One of the perks of being self employed is the ability to choose who I work with. For me that had to be people I respected and that were fun to be around. If I can't laugh at work there's no point me being there.

At home I asked myself a simple question "what will happen if I don't do this?" If the ironing isn't done will the family fall apart? I can't claim to have mastered this yet. On my Christmas list I asked for Marie Kondo's book - the life-changing magic of tidying up - even reading the first chapter left me in a better place. Small steps. Positive movement.

And spending time with the people I love? This is the toughest one. Because that group of people has to include me. I can give plenty to friends and family often to the point where I end up neglecting my own well being. Making others happy but not myself. I have a long way to go. I'm really hoping my counsellor can go the distance because I'm no sprinter.

My journey began in the summer of 2015. It continues today, on this first day of 2016. Without resolutions. However like a new notebook it holds the promise of a fresh start. A crisp blank page and a brand new pen.

If you've made resolutions, good luck with them but if they don't work out, make new ones. Every day, every hour, every minute or second is a moment in which we can make a change. A chance to make our lives better. To make ourselves happier. To love ourselves. Maybe love isn't all we need but life's much easier if we have it.

Small victories.

I've been off work for a few weeks. During that time I tried not to work at all. Emphasis on tried. I mostly succeeded.

Now I'm back I'm setting achievable goals each day rather than risk being blindsided by the enormity of some of the projects I'm responsible for.

Today I ticked one off. Actually make that two.

Small victories.

And it feels good.

Finding the words.

I have so much I want to say but it's all a bit overwhelming. If I start I'm scared I won't stop. That I'll open the floodgates/ Pandora's Box/ some other over used metaphor. Add to that the fact that I seem to be losing my words. The tools that keep me going. I hope someone is getting a kick out of this because there's not much enjoyment in it for me.

For the next 10 days I'm going to write down all the things I think of that fuck up my head and then share them with my counsellor when we meet.

I can't even think of an interesting way to finish this post. So I'll leave it there. And go to bed.

Larkin around

This Be The Verse has played over and over inside my head for the past few weeks. Ever since my counselling began in fact. Not because I'm looking for someone to blame for how I feel (what would be the point in that) but because I recognise that family traits and patterns can become ingrained in our psyche. Some times these characteristics are positive, other times destructive. Many of us have no doubt experienced that flinch inducing comment "You're just like your Mum/Dad" - especially when directed at us in a less than flattering context.

There may be some truth in Larkin's poem, written the year I was born, however that doesn't have to mean my future is set in stone. It's time to break the cycle. After all I've already had a kid; for her sake I need to make a change.

Perfection is the enemy of happiness. And control is the armour of the unhappy.

The best thing about real friends is they don't shy away from saying what they think, or from making light of a difficult situation. Such as "Well at least your posts on Facebook are a good way to get plenty of likes". If you're not one of my best friends, don't even think about saying this to me. My posts are not a cry for sympathy. Sometimes they are a whimper for help. But I don't need you to feel sorry for me. Honestly all I hope is that anyone who hasn't suffered with depression gains a little understanding of how it can affect people. And for anyone that has suffered to know you're not alone.

After feeling that I was making some progress over the past few months I had a minor set back this weekend. Triggered I'm sure by my first proper counselling session.

Each time I meet with a mental health professional I have to complete a questionnaire which determines the possible severity of my depression. The scale works from green, through blue, yellow, orange and red; the aim is to be in the green zone. I'm currently top red. Like many people my counsellor observed that my score wasn't reflected in the way I come across. That my exterior projects a happy, confident person. I've worn this mask for a long time and it fits so well that it's starting to shock me when I reveal what's beneath. In his words, "You really are a work in progress".

I need a lot of help but I still feel I'm wasting people's time. That I should just snap out of it. That there are so many people in the world who need medical attention more than I do. I have all my limbs. I can work. I have a family that loves me (in the main). I'm physically fit.

However mentally I'm broken.

Facing the reasons why I feel like I do is not easy. Actually, it's more about having to say them out loud to someone else. There's nowhere to hide.  My counselling session was emotionally exhausting. I had to admit to things that are hurtful, that make me vulnerable and cause me to feel ashamed. I felt embarrassed and upset. And that's why I need to do this because a lack of confidence can be a killer. Literally (that's for you PW...).

The good news is I like my new counsellor. He's easy to talk to. He has a sense of humour. That's important. My life is predicated on being able to see the funny side of something. I don't want to lose this. Although I do need to learn when and where to wear my clown mask.

The most used words in my 90 minutes of self reflection were control, perfection and worth.

For those of you walking your own black dog you might be able to associate with these. Each one I use in a negative way.

Control because if things go wrong I only have myself to blame rather than being let down by other people.

Perfection is something I strive for in everything, and a part of my approach to life that I really need to change.

And worth - this is the root cause of my problem. It stems back to my childhood when my Dad left. Left and rarely showed any interest in me for the next 40 years. One of two people in the world I thought I could rely on. As a parent I can't imagine walking away from my child but we all know life is multiple shades of grey, not black and white. My self worth is almost non existent. After all if I'm not loveable to someone who should feel it unconditionally, why should anyone else love me, or even like me?

It's amazing I have any friends really. But I do. You know who you are and I'm so grateful to you for sticking around.

Bear with me. I'm working hard to make it worth your while.