Hit mute. Unfollow. I don't mind because I'm proud of my kid.

I share a lot of pictures of Bea. Post a lot of updates about her. I've lost count of how many thousands of photos I've taken. For some of you this is probably what you think:

Fair play. By all means hit unfollow on Facebook, mute me on Twitter because I'm not going to stop anytime soon. When you suffer with low self esteem it's crippling. Deep down I know I do a good job at work, that I'm a good Mum but there's always this nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I'm worthless. These days it's a a little quieter than it used to be; still there though. Telling me I'm going to get sacked. That my Mum doesn't love me. That I'm failing at this parenting lark. How could anybody love me?

And then there's Bea. An absolute shining light in a world that's so dark. She's far from perfect, she can be hideous when she wants to be but I adore her. I can see that she's pretty but that's so superficial. She's so much more than that; funny, clever, thoughtful, argumentative, challenging, loving and the only thing that enables me to keep my head above water some days.

For good measure here's one more picture of her. Dozing on my knee as she waits for Muse (look at her Eiffel Tower earrings!). The love of my life. Bea.

Obsessing about obsessing

One of my most irritating character traits is having an all or nothing approach to life. If I'm interested in something this can quickly become all consuming. It could be a song that I can't stop listening to (Yuna - Lanes), a programme I have to keep watching (all of The Following in a matter of days), a piece of clothing I want to wear day in, day out (grey hoodie), a type of food I can't stop eating (salmon & tuna on a bed of rice from Itsu), having to organise the apps on my phone by colour rather than function (look how pretty it is!), or worst of all (for both of us) a new friend.

This obsessive behaviour isn't hugely problematic when it's a work project; in some cases it's helpful even if it means I work ridiculous hours due to an inability to switch off. However, if it's a someone; if you're the object of my attention (not affection) I can imagine it's a bit weird. Okay a lot weird. I've spent a significant amount of time in the past 9 months working this through in a bid to pinpoint where this comes from; to be honest I always suspected the reason and it's now more a case of changing my behaviours so that I stop freaking people out.

As a kid my Dad left. Early doors, when I was still a toddler. To this day I don't fully understand what happened and as he died almost 3 years ago I don't suppose I ever will now. I'm fairly sure this triggered my low self esteem. That probably sounds daft to most of you. How can a child suffer with self esteem issues? But imagine if one of the two people you expect to be able to rely on, whatever the situation, leaves you. Never sends a birthday card, or makes a call and yet you still spend time with his mother and his siblings, just not with him. Well sometimes with him and then it's even more awkward because he has a new wife and new children who don't want you to be part of their family. Now consider the deep routed sense of rejection this triggers especially because it's never explained to you what you did wrong. Or in fact that you didn't do anything wrong. That it's his issue, not yours. But still, if a parent finds you unlikeable/unloveable, what hope is there that anyone else can?

I thought life without my Dad was ok. I have many fond memories of my childhood although I do also hate a lot of it. It surprises me that it's taken me this long to work out why I'm a people pleaser - why I've regularly put myself in uncomfortable situations to try and make myself more likeable rather than doing what I really want to do. The result of which is usually that I'm less likeable, defeating the objective completely. I have an unhealthy need to be liked, loved even. Worse still once I feel someone has proved that they do in fact like me I often move on to someone else because self doubt begins to creep in and  I need to prove myself all over again. It's a relief to talk openly about it and make small changes - thinking about what makes me happy and going with it especially when historically I'd have ignored my needs for the sake of someone else's. If you've maintained any kind of relationship with me for the long haul - thank you - I know how hard that will have been at times. Plus, I must genuinely like you as history states that I'd have moved on by now if I didn't.

If you've been the focus of my obsession in the past and then been left out in the cold wondering where I went; I'm sorry. Hopefully this provides you with a bit of perspective. Not all of you mind. Some people I have purposefully turned the page on and now feel strong enough to leave it that way. I'm accepting that I can't be liked by everyone but it's nice to be liked by those who I care about. That's where I'm focusing my energy from now on. You know who you are and I'll try my hardest not to be obsessive about it... No promises though.

Is depression a choice?

I didn't sleep last night. I don't sleep well most nights but not to sleep for more than an hour is a rarity these days. It's been a difficult week with a lot going on in my head - more than usual - which is a scary thought. Imagine my head on a 'good' day can be like watching Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwood present the Brits; that gives you a sense of how bad a 'bad' day really is.

Whatever happened to Sam Fox?

My current period of reflection came about after my last counselling session. It was a weird session because I wasn't entirely sure why I needed it, I just knew that I did. Cue 50 minutes of me talking nonsensically trying to work out what was bugging me. We talked about what triggers my depression - it's not that straightforward but there are warning signs for me. I do feel I'm coping with it much better than this time last year because I can see when a down period is on the horizon and that's generally after a massive high. And then Jeff said something which has played over and over in my head for a week - he said it's almost like I'm choosing to be bipolar. Could I try not to be depressed after a period of high energy and almost joy?

Fuck, I wasn't expecting that. Is this self-inflicted? Is what I'm going through my own fault? I really didn't think so but I can see the logic in repetitive patterns becoming self-fulfilling. Am I so used to feeling like crap after a London day for example that it's become a habit? I've monitored my behaviour this week in a bid to see if this is something I can change and if it really is a choice; I'll do it for the next few weeks. This week has had some incredible high points and yes that's resulted in a fall but I do also feel depressed during my London days. I have to manage this the best I can whereas at home I can shut the door and crawl under a duvet. That does feel like a choice but a choice that I make when it's appropriate to do so.

Honestly? I'm not convinced at the moment. I like feeling buzzy. I love the spark I get from going to work. I really don't want to feel like shit. There are issues I'm still working through and I believe these have an impact on my general mood. I don't think this is my choice. But I'm open to continuing to test that.

Image: hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com

Feel the good, good creeping up on me

I don't write as much as I'd like to these days because a lot of the time it feels self-absorbed. Probably because depression is a bit fucking* self-absorbing and that's one of its most frustrating traits. Along with being really, really boring. I'm sure you're bored of hearing how boring it is. Well imagine that for hours, days, weeks, months on end. That's how boring it can be. 

I'm lucky that the flip side of my depression is I'm absolutely wired some days and can't get enough out of the day but for those closest to me I suspect (ok I know) that this makes me hard to live with. (BTW thanks for your patience because I'm not expecting to change anytime soon and those huge highs are what keep me hanging on).

Yesterday I tried vlogging instead. Much easier for me and much more palatable for you I think. 47 seconds of self absorption compared to however many minutes it takes you to read this. I thought about posting a second vlog last night after I'd seen my counsellor but I was a bit emotional and would either have cried into the camera or laughed manically - neither of which appealed to me no matter how entertaining it might have been for you.

So why this post? I'm still struggling to concentrate on reading books or watching TV - even if it's not as bad as it was last year - whereas my love of music is definitely back. The effort of picking what to play is a different matter which means I often end up listening to the same song on repeat until the repetition starts to drive me mad...

Justin Timberlake's 'Can't stop the feeling' is my go to song this week (closely followed by Kung - This Girl) and each time I play it I really can feel the good, good creeping up on me. If you haven't seen the video I have to stop myself dancing like this when I hear it - totally failed on the tube on Thursday but brought a smile to the faces of the other people in my carriage. Laughing at me not with me? Possibly but who cares I was loving it. And anyway as JT says "Feel the good, good creeping up on you so just dance, dance, dance" (man can that boy sing and dance).

*Sorry Auntie Margaret but sometimes only swearing helps :)

Not by the hair on my chinny, chin, chin

Anyone else just a little bit pleased that the weather has turned colder?

I'm not ready to stop lighting the fire yet and after the diet I've adopted for the past 9 months, trousers and jumpers really are my friends. A cold spell means I can wear a hat when I can't be arsed to wash my hair. Throw a sweatshirt over my pyjama top when getting dressed feels like too much of an effort. And joy of joys, it means I'm saved from shaving on a regular basis. If you never embrace the au naturel approach to grooming you don't know what you're missing out on. I hadn't appreciated that full body waxing was a thing until this week; well it's not the sort of thing I'm keen to try anytime soon.

Why is it when men don't shave they become rugged and sexy but if women don't shave - legs and underarms in particular - they should prepare themselves for a life of celibacy? Neglect your bikini line and you might as well hit google with a search for wimples and habits.

I'm fast approaching the age where facial hair is likely to require year round attention. It starts with eyebrow shaping and upper lip hair removal and before you know it I'll be competing with friends to see who has the most impressive goatee; I've already had several conversations with friends about the single chin hair. What the hell is that all about?

So although I'm looking forward to long summer days I can't deny that I'm currently enjoying my low maintenance appearance - it's a godsend when I'm having one of my 'nope' days.

Guilt: the shackles on my feet

Guilt can be a nasty fucker can't it?

Sometimes it's completely appropriate - like when you've done something that you know is wrong or ill judged. That type of guilt is a great teacher. It provides us with markers for how we want to grow and how we should behave; usually once we've realised this we can move on and leave the guilt behind.

Appropriate, useful guilt.

The guilt I feel from my depression is very different. It's disproportionate and generally misplaced. I do know this but for some reason I can't process it. Not only does it compound my feelings of low self-esteem, it also leads to indecision and a belief that everything I do is wrong. This isn't uncommon.

People with depression, people like me, we're quick to blame ourselves for problems around us, even for those things that we have no responsibility for.

If someone asks to speak to me about something my automatic reaction is 'what have I done?' As a 44 year old I'm not prone to getting into trouble. Troublesome, yes. In trouble, no. So where does this feeling come from? That's what I'm trying to get to the bottom of.

Some of you will get this like that (snaps fingers). Some of you will think it sounds ridiculous. It is ridiculous. That doesn't stop it from being real too.

I've discussed this in detail with my counsellor, Jeff. The seemingly infinite number of things I feel guilty about. Like how I've let down the person who believed in me for an MD job that I eventually walked away from; how I think I'm betraying family members by talking about them in our counselling meetings; even the guilt I felt about cancelling an appointment with Jeff when I was ill. It's a symptom that I've carried with me for years. It's unshakeable.

I still worry about things I did as a kid, even though I was just a kid doing the stupid things someone of that age does.

I feel guilty for feeling depressed when to the outside world I have nothing to be depressed about.

Too often I simply feel guilty for feeling guilty.

Like I said, guilt can be a nasty fucker can't it?

Let's keep talking

I knew her by reputation only but when I heard the news about Helen Stokes today I was completely blindsided. Not in a 'lets jump on the grief bandwagon' kind of way. Anyway if you want to jump on a bandwagon, jump away, life is short, do what makes you happy. Even if that involves crying.

My life is good. I won't even try to deny that. I'm more at peace than I've ever been before and I'm making decisions every day that have a positive impact for me and, more importantly, the people around me. Unfortunately that doesn't stop Padfoot showing up. Like the oversized hound of hell that he is. Seriously, if I get myself a living, breathing black dog will he perhaps fuck right off? Unless he really is Gary Oldman in which case, stick around, I'm all yours.

He appeared in the tube again. I'm starting to think I may have watched An American Werewolf in London too many times in my youth as this seems to be a recurring theme. "Don't stray off the path lads..."

I'd spotted a woman on the platform who seemed to have a look in her eyes that I recognised. So I checked up on her. Which means I kept her in my line of sight. She was fine. At this moment in time at least. The tube arrived and she got on. No drama. My greydar clearly isn't up to Bawdsey standards and my furtive imagination would be put to better use writing fiction. Perhaps because I thought she looked like a potential jumper it woke up the generally dormant, spring loaded thoughts inside my own head. And suddenly there he was. Hello Padfoot. You again?

It wasn't as bad as when I thought I might jump but I was having one of those days when I felt like an ant, a plain old worker ant, busying away in a colony. The world around me slowed down. I could hear every sound more clearly, colours were brighter, the air was thicker. I understood my role, my place in this world but I couldn't appreciate its purpose. It seemed futile. I mean really why do we stay on this treadmill? Work to live. Live to work. Is there any difference? They both have negative connotations. As I said, I was having one of those days.

And then I saw the tweet about Helen. There was a link to a beautiful, simple, heart felt message on her company website that said "Like many great people before her, Helen suffered in silence with her depression. Mental illness, like any illness, is part of being human and we are so very sad to have lost Helen to this silent killer." I was floored. A high achiever - Helen is, was, an inspirational figure in the industry. We all know how I like to repeat myself but seriously if you still believe mental health is about feeling sad because of the things we don't have, think again. For so many of us it's about how we feel, pure and simple. Sometimes we feel like crap. Sometimes we don't. And that pretty much sums it up.

I managed to keep it together most of the day until I was on the train heading home and then it was too much; I couldn't stop myself from crying. Here was a woman who to the outside world had everything but it wasn't enough. I was upset because I'm still in a place where everything I have isn't enough. Not yet anyway. I have everything I could possibly want except the ability to love/like/value myself. So I'm going to keep talking. I'm going to keep making choices that are right for me. I'm going to keep sharing how I feel because I know I'm not alone. It's tough I know but let's help each other through this. Let's keep talking.