#depressionfeelslike

"Yawn, yawn - is she still harping on about depression?" Nobody has actually said this to my face. Quite the opposite really but I still feel believe that's what people think. I'm sure some of you have thought that at least once - I promise I totally understand. It's boring for me too.

Repetition isn't always dull though. I never tire of Eddie Izzard enacting 'There must have been a Death Star canteen', or of watching The Two Ronnies perform their 'Four candles', or should that be 'Fork handles', sketch. Ok so both of those make me laugh but I also like to rewatch things that make me cry. Like the end of Ashes to Ashes "See you around Bollykecks" and Sally Field in Steel Magnolias "I can jog all the way to Texas and back, but my daughter can't!"; although again humour is part of the pathos in these scenes.

It's also an enormous part of my life. I like, need, to make people laugh; I'm often the (self-elected) comedian at family gatherings. When you feel like shit as often as I do a clown mask is a great way to deflect people, to cover up your true emotions, to make it look like you're ok.

I've been blogging less because it feels self-indulgent (I've said that before) and repetitive (I've said that before too). I've been blogging less because I began to question if my depression is something that happens to me or something I bring on myself. I've been blogging less because FFS - I have a great kid, a job I enjoy, the support of some amazing people and a pretty nice roof over my head. Fair enough I also have questionable fashion sense and middle-age spread (which is nowhere near as interesting as Lotus - middle class spread) but overall the positives in my life are tipping the scales.

And yet it's still there. The black cloud. The black dog. Padfoot. I'm making some major changes at the moment and wondering if these will help improve my condition. I'm unconvinced. If anything I'm scared I've created another opportunity for anxiety to creep in.

There's a hashtag on twitter - #depressionfeelslike - to share insights into its affects. Insights that are far more eloquent than anything I could ever write, illustrations so simple yet managing to convey complex emotions. Strong, courageous people who feel weak and cowardly.

#depressionfeelslike a parasite has locked itself in its own created world within my brain and evicted my own mind.

#depressionfeelslike depression isn't always suicide notes and pill bottles. Sometimes it's all smiles and fake laughter. It isn't always easy to notice.

#depressionfeelslike with every minute that passes by, I keep saying I'll get out of bed but my body is frozen. 

And mine?

#depressionfeelslike sinking in quicksand, then being rescued. Sometimes you want to sink in quicksand; sometimes you want to be rescued.

I'm not really sure what my point is. Perhaps I want everyone to remember that we're all doing the best we can with the flaws we have.

So a big thank you to Mark for replying to my tweet today with 'Lifeguard bear on duty'. Thank you to everyone who continues to send me messages of support. To all of you who make me smile and accept me in spite of my flaws. You're the ones who get me through even the toughest of days. You're the ones who know when I want to be rescued.

Imperfect and inevitably flawed. I'm ok with that.

Applying sun screen for 11 days has forced me to be honest about how my body looks. Generally I'm not one for short sleeves, skirts or tight fitting clothes but in a break from Mumsy tradition I've opted for bikinis during our trip to Spain. One has a tiny half, the other a skimpy top. They're not at all me - far too much flesh on show. Like many women I'm not hugely confident about the way I look and yes I know I could exercise more, eat less, blah blah blah but honestly I don't want to. If I exercise I want to do it because it makes me feel good not have it linked to weigh-ins and inches lost. Plus I like my food. A lot.

I've had plenty of time to reflect on the way I feel about my appearance and it's time I started to view things a little differently.

I'm short. People love to tell me this. Like I hadn't noticed. "What? Am I? I had no idea. I thought everyone else was wearing stilts/standing on steps." When I was a kid I was told I probably wouldn't grow beyond 4'11". I'm 5'2". I'll take that as a win. Plus being small means I can sit anywhere (cinema, theatre, plane) without feeling too cramped. It's not all bad.

I don't have a six pack. Unless you count the San Miguel or the Coke Zeros in the fridge. Some people claim they do - it's simply hiding. Mine isn't. I think I left it somewhere back in the '90s. Actually I know exactly where it is - Anvin - crushed by the weight of too much Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Nutella and crisps. One glorious week spent eating, drinking, reading and sleeping. Laughing with Will and two very dear friends as we made memories that are now part of our personal lore: Monsieur Darkness, Titi and Hesdin. That top trumps a six pack any day of the week.

I have dimples. One on my left cheek and too many to count on my thighs. After the Anvin trip and a recalibration of what would become my natural weight I wholeheartedly embraced the hedonism of London/pre children life and ate/drank my way from North to South, East to West. A dining club with friends took us around the country to some of the best restaurants the UK has to offer. I spent Sunday mornings reading the papers, eating bacon sandwiches and drinking good coffee. Barely a week passed when I didn't have tickets for a show, a play or the cinema. Years and years spent perfecting the imperfect thighs that I have today and this holiday I've covered them up less and enjoyed myself more.

Big boobs aren't all they're cracked up to be. Stop it! Try buying an off the peg bikini when you need the equivalent of a 34DD matched with size 10 pants. The comedic value alone of trying them on is worth it - either I end up with too much side boob or run the risk of my pants falling down as I take my first step towards the pool. And that's before we encounter the ridiculous differences in sizing charts across retailers. I've spent my trip in one old faithful and one new one. Sometimes mismatching the tops and bottoms and accepting that my top heavy shape is what it is.

Lines. I must not worry about my lines. I must not worry about my lines. On my face. My neck. My hands. A tan is apparently the worst thing for advancing the ageing process. I no longer care. With a tan I can travel home in white jeans and a light coloured top; yes it will no doubt be raining but I'll be golden and glowing for a few weeks at least and I've already curated a very impressive scarf collection.

Scarred for life. My c-section scar. It gave me Bea. Need I say more?

There we have it. I have a body, I'm confident of that. In support of helping all those younger men and women who struggle because they don't feel perfect I'm embracing the way I look because it's what makes me, well me. Not the way I look. The way I think about it. Like my mind it has its flaws and imperfections but it also has aspects to be admired.

If I can find a positive in areas that others might see as negative that's a good thing right. Next time you see me in a skirt that reveals a bit too much thigh or a top that shows my arms may soon be ready for a night at Gala Bingo, remember many happy events have led me to this point. My body can change. So can my attitude towards it.

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.