Well, it's been three months since I started seeing a counsellor (again). It's been a tough and somewhat confusing few months. There have been so many ups and downs I'm not entirely sure whether I'm coming or going. It's pretty stressful.
One of the things we have identified is that I'm not really sure who I am just now. So much of my identity is tied up in work and Guiding, that I've sort of lost the joy, the spontaneity, the excitement and the confidence to just be me, whoever that may be.
The past month has been really overwhelming. This week's counselling session was the first where I really felt that there wasn't an obvious solution, and it was hard. I spent a lot of time repeating 'I just don't know. I just. Don't. Know.' I wish I knew what it was that I didn't know. I just didn't know.
So today, my car was booked in for its annual service. At 8am. Because that seemed like a good idea at the time (UURGH!) Of course, my alarm clock batteries died, so I woke up at 8.30am and panicked. I really wanted to cancel the service, to get back into bed, and to beat myself up for not even being able to get up in time to take my stupid car for a stupid service.
But something in my brain told me to stop being an idiot, to get dressed and to just take the car for its stupid appointment. Just put on some jeans and a hoody. Then walk down the stairs. Then get in the car. Then drive to the garage. Then explain to the lady at the desk why I'm there. Once that's done, I'd have a few hours to spare and I could be productive. There's a McDonald's next to the garage, I could just sit in there and do some life-admin. Easy (HA!).
I got as far as McDonalds, bought an unsurprisingly disappointing breakfast and decided to read a book for a while. A couple of hours and two large cups of tea later, I got a phone call. They couldn't service my car today because they'd over-booked. It was nearly 11am and I'd wasted perfectly good lying in bed doing nothing time in bloody McDonalds. I did later apologise to the lady who called me for being a bit rude (I may have used the words useless and incompetent, but I really didn't mean them - I was mostly just angry at myself for oversleeping).
Regardless, I was angry. And I knew I was angry, which made me sort of happy (because I recognised I was angry and I acknowledged it - that's a pretty new thing). Then I got all confused again, and wanted to run away and hide under a blanket on my sofa. But then I got frustrated because I didn't really want to hide, I wanted to be able to do the things that normal people do at the weekend without completely overthinking and freaking out. And then I freaked out and got angry at myself.
Eventually, I found myself at a local shopping park. Somehow, in the confused mess that is my head, the tiny part of my brain we call my subconscious decided to be spontaneous and decided I was going to go to the cinema.
In the past I-don't-know-how-long, I have been to the cinema exactly once to see a film that I actually wanted to see (I'm not including the two times in the past 18 months that I have been with Brownies - if I were to voluntarily go to the cinema, Penguins of Madagascar would not have been my first choice of film...). Going to the cinema is one of the many things on my list of 'I really want to do but I'm completely overwhelmed so I won't' (along with clothes shopping and generally being in public spaces on my own). There have been so many films over the past few years that I've really wanted to see, but either argued that 'it's cheaper to buy it on DVD', or 'what if I do it wrong?' (HOW DO YOU DO GOING TO THE CINEMA 'WRONG' STUPID-HEAD?!!)
To give you an idea of how completely overwhelming going to the cinema is, here is a list of the things going round my head in the (literally) fifteen minutes it took me to get from my car into the cinema screen:
1. Get out of the car. Just get out of the car.
2. Did I lock the car? (*goes back and checks car is locked*)
3. There are lots of small children around. Maybe this is a family showing. Maybe I should just go home.
4. Just buy the bloody ticket you stupid idiot.
5. That lady is dressed up in fancy dress and is smiling at me. Oh god, what if she speaks to me.
6. Phew, the small child distracted her.
7. Can I buy tickets at the machine? Yes, good.
8. Why won't it let me buy tickets for the midday viewing?
9. Oh, wait, I already selected the midday viewing. Phew. No-one saw.
10. Am I too late for the midday viewing? No, seven minutes, I can do this.
11. Oh crap, since when did you need to select a seat?!
12. Where am I going to sit?!
13. I need to sit in the middle otherwise I'm blind and won't see the film. To get to the middle I need to pass other groups of people. Where is the least populated area in the cinema?
14. Why are there so many small children?
15. I'll just pick this seat here, there's no-one either side, maybe I won't be in the way if I sit there.
16. This machine is stupid, why does it ask so many questions? And why did it just spit my ticket out on the floor? That's unhelpful.
17. Right, seat H15. H15. Screen 3, H15. Show the man the ticket. No, idiot, that's your receipt. Why is there so much paper?
18. Do I have time to pee? What if I need to pee halfway through the film? I can't just get up and pee. I'll just go pee now, just incase. But what if I need to pee again? I always need to pee.
19. How do I turn the stupid tap on? Why am I so stupid, maybe I should just go home. But I spent lots of money on this ticket, I just need to get on with it. But there are lots of children everywhere, what if their parents realise I'm an adult, on my own, watching a kids film. Oh, it's a motion-sensored tap. Well that old lady clearly thinks I'm an idiot as well. Good job Rosy. Good job.
20. Right, it's now or never. I really want to see this film. Just walk into screen 3. H15. If I look like I know what I'm doing, no-one is going to stop and ask what I'm doing here. I belong here, I bought a ticket and everything. I'll just wait for that family to go in. And that one. Just go in. God Rosy, stop being a complete wuss, just go and sit in the bloody cinema.
21. Oh look, a map, that'll show me where I'm sitting, that's useful.
22. Oh crap, there are loads of people here, and my seat's on the other side of the screen - I have to walk infront of everyone to get to my seat.
23. Rosy, don't fall over the man in the wheelchair. Don't look up, just keep walking.
24. Where the hell are the letters?! Why can't I see row H? If I crouch down, I'm going to look stupid and people are going to notice me. Oh, here's row H.
25. H15. Sit down. Get juice and half eaten chocolate bar out of your bag. Good. Now, enjoy the film.
26. Why hasn't it started yet? Maybe I'm in the wrong screen.
27. I'm the only person here on my own. All of the other grown up people are here with small children. What if they notice I'm here on my own and say something?
28. I just want to watch the film. What if they ask me to leave? I'm not doing anything, but what if they think I'm weird and want me to leave.
29. That child just asked why it is dark. It is really dark. Is it normally this dark? Am I in the right screen? Maybe they changed the screen and I missed the announcement.
30. Oh thank god, the adverts are starting. Just focus on the adverts. It'll be ok.
No wonder I've not been to the cinema in a while. I'm exhausted and the film hasn't even started.
I'll update you on the rest of the trip once I've recovered...
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Saturday, 25 July 2015
Saturday, 6 June 2015
Every Path has its Puddle
A month ago, I wrote about April, a month when I used social media to try and boost my mood every day. It totally worked; at the end of April I felt completely in control and I was happy. I could focus, I was on top of everything, I was eating, and I was sleeping. I had proven to myself it was possible to be in control of how I feel, and that it was pretty easy to do.
So of course I managed to keep the #Positivity tweets going for all of two days into May before completely giving up. I don't know why, I just stopped.
And shortly after, probably around 5th May, I started to notice my mood had started to dip. Just a little bit, but I wasn't starting my day with a positive thought, and I was letting little things get to me. I tried really hard to fight it: I wrote to do lists; I did as little as possible at the weekends; I made lunch the night before; I bought fruit so I wouldn't fill up on chocolate... I tried all of the things, but gradually I've been sleeping less and less; I've added an extra bottle of wine to my weekly food shop (as an aside, I only average a bottle over a week - I'm still within my weekly recommended limits); I'm constantly tired; my limbs ache for no obvious reason; I'm constantly on the verge of tears; and somehow the words that I carefully formulate in my head before I speak are not the words that end up falling out of my mouth. I'm not being very positive.
In my office we have a jar, filled with positive quotes. Every day, someone will pick one, and earlier this week it was my turn. The jar was thrust in my face, so I'm not entirely sure I had much choice - maybe it was more obvious that I was having a bad day than I thought.
After jumbling the quotes for a while, I pulled out a little slip of paper, on which was written:
'Every path has its puddle'
That broke me. You know those moments when you don't know whether to laugh or cry? Well I laughed, and laughed and laughed until I didn't need to worry about crying, because that happened all by itself.
Once I'd recovered from laughing/ crying at the ridiculousness of this quote, I carried on with my day. Then I went home and lay on the floor (not unusual - if I lie on the floor I can't fall any further, therefore the floor is a safe place), and ranted a bit, until I realised the person I was ranting at had got bored at some point in the previous half hour and wandered off. Essentially, I was doing what a three year old does when they don't get their own way: lying on the floor, kicking and screaming until they either get what they want or they fall asleep.
I am twenty eight years old, and I have resorted to acting like a toddler who doesn't know any better. This is what the wonderful combination of both depression and anxiety does to me.
And you know what? I really really fucking hate it (sorry for the bad word dad). I hate that I get a bit of a glimpse of normality, and I feel confident and happy and ready to start getting on with my life, and then for absolutely no apparent reason, it feels like everything is just collapsing around my ears.
Maybe that quote that I thought was just a bit stupid has a point. Maybe my path is full of puddles.
And after a month back in therapy, this shouldn't come as much of a surprise, but I have a sneaky suspicion I know what my puddles are:
1. I need to help. I haven't worked out yet why it is, but I can't just stand by and let someone else worry about it (whatever 'it' may be on any given occasion). I can't bear to think that someone might need help, with the knowledge that I might be able to make their lives a little bit easier. No matter that I might not have the time, or that they might just need to work it out for themselves. And that brings me on to my second puddle.
2. I can't say no. If someone is asking for help, regardless of what it is or whether it is going to require a lot of physical and emotional Rosy-time, I will give it. I am trying, really really hard to recognise when I'm doing it, but I just don't seem to notice a lot of the time, until suddenly I'm overwhelmed with things that don't need to be my responsibility. Leading nicely into point three...
3. The pressure I am under is self-inflicted. I still haven't worked out why, but as soon as someone has asked for help and I have failed to say no, I find myself under pressure to not only do the job, but to do it well. Maybe I'm looking for a little bit of recognition, although what for I just don't know, but it takes me on to my final point.
4. I feel like I am invisible. My counsellor pointed out this week that I do a lot for other people, but she hasn't yet worked out what I do for me (I haven't told her yet that counselling is the thing I do for me). I spend a lot of time trying to fix problems, looking after other people's children, fighting inequalities, cooking dinner, cleaning (well, maybe not as much of that as I should), and going along with what other people want to do or want me to do. I have felt recently like Rosy has disappeared somewhere under the pile of other people's problems, to the point where I don't really know who the 'real' Rosy is any more.
I don't know how to change any of this - I was asked this week what it might be like to say no, and my whole body tensed up, completely involuntarily (if I hadn't been sitting in an uncomfortable chair I'd have curled up in a ball like a hedgehog). I don't want my friends to think I don't care, because I really really do.
But I also know that I need to tackle these issues - fill the potholes that make the puddles, if you like - before I can even start to work out where Rosy has gone. And I know that no-one else can do that for me.
I can't keep lying on the floor, shouting into the carpet, hoping that something in the dirt that I've not hoovered for longer than I'm prepared to mention will throw me a solution. I need to pull up my big girl pants, put on my wellies, and grab a spade. If I don't start digging, those holes are just going to get bigger, until they are (as one of my colleagues described them) 'Vicar of Dibley sized puddles', and the real Rosy will just drown.
I don't want to drown please.
Saturday, 30 May 2015
Don't be nice...
I have a friend. Well, I have lots of friends. But I have one friend in particular. This post is for her.
We met about three years ago, just before I realised I have depression. We got on OK, went for coffee a few times and hit it off. And then I realised I had depression and started seeing a counsellor. Shortly after, she realised she was also not OK. Since that moment, we have become so inseparable that everyone thinks we are sisters. We've stopped correcting them.
Fast forward a couple of years, and we're there again. I'm dealing with my issues through counselling, but she has gone one step further and had joined a group therapy class. I am so in awe - I have enough trouble opening up to one complete stranger every week, yet she manages to tell lots of people all in one go what's happening in her head. I don't know how she does it.
Every week, as part of her class, she has homework. Of course, she is super diligent and does it without fail, and we analyse it together before each class, because that's what friends are for, right?
This week, the homework was to ask close friends some questions - questions like 'how would you describe me?' and 'what positive characteristics do you think I have?' So, of course, she asked me.
We are so close it should have been easy to answer these questions. But it wasn't easy at all. It was really really hard.
We are so similar it felt like the questions were about me. Not in a narcissistic way, just that I find it so hard to say nice things about myself that I put myself in her shoes, and I know how hard it is to hear other people say nice things about you when you don't believe them yourself. And I know that, in saying nice things, as much as the professionals say it will help, I will make her cry. That doesn't feel very nice to me.
I don't know if I can handle the guilt of making her cry, knowing that it is because of something I have said, nice or not. I don't want to be the one to tip her over the edge and make her feel worse, knowing that she struggles so hard to believe all of the nice things people say about her. I know she feels that way because I feel it too, and it is so hard to separate that from the knowledge that, maybe in the long run, it will help.
I am so proud of my friend. I love her to pieces, and I would do anything to make her happy and to feel better. I love being her friend because, in our own slightly confused and messed up way, when I am with her I feel some semblance of normality - I know that I am not the only person with problems and seemingly irrational issues, and that makes everything just a little bit easier to deal with.
So I am also completely, overwhelmingly, confused right now. Do I say nice things and feel guilty that I made her cry, knowing how hard it is for her to process nice things; or do I just keep doing what I'm doing and stand by her side and hold her hand on every step of this ridiculous journey?
Whatever happens, I guess I have to do something. And since she's probably reading this through floods of tears, it's probably too late for me to do nothing. I guess I can live with the guilt, as long as it helps...
Keep smiling.
Saturday, 25 April 2015
#Positivity
So here we are, rapidly approaching the end of April. I said at the end of my last post that l was going to try and be more positive this month, so I owe you an update.
At the start of the month, I decided to tweet a positive quote every day, to start the day by thinking about happy things and to give myself a little kick of inspiration to get through the day. By and large, I succeeded. I only missed two days, but they were days when I was at a Girlguiding conference and was tweeting so much I completely forgot. Those days were so positive and inspiring that I've forgiven myself for not thinking about being positive and inspired by the second-hand words of someone else.
So do I feel more positive?
I'm not going to lie and tell you that everything is hunky dory, because it's not. April has been hard. I struggled at the start of the month to accept that my own insecurities, lack of self-belief and inability to let go have been and will be the things that stop me from moving forward and achieving the things I know I want. After a week of annual leave, when I stayed in bed for most of my time off because it was easier than trying to work out where to start, I felt guilty and embarrassed that I had wasted a precious week of time I wouldn't get back.
Life has thrown a mountain of shit in my path this month - wonderful friends have lost much-wanted pregnancies, have been diagnosed with eating disorders, or have struggled with life-changing decisions, forced by crippling anxiety or depression; hundreds of people lost their lives trying to escape from their homes, travelling across the sea searching for a better life; and this week thousands further have died in a natural disaster that couldn't have been predicted.
I have been told multiple times recently that I care too much, that I worry too much about other people. And for a long time, I have been led to believe that this is a bad thing. But I can't stop caring - I know now that it is a fundamental part of what makes me me. I know that I will never forget a friend in need, regardless of where they are in the world or what burden they are carrying. Because I know that when I am struggling and lost, they will be there to hold my hands and walk by my side until we stumble upon a way out.
There are some people in all of our lives who, seemingly effortlessly, are able to function as responsible grown up people, going through their days without making a complete fool of themselves, multitasking without dropping balls left right and centre, and making the rest of us feel completely inadequate as human beings. I know it is not intentional, yet I have spent much of my adult life being intimidated and overwhelmed by these people. But I realised this month that it is not intended to make me feel that way. These people carry their own burdens. They are just them and I am just me.
There are just a few minutes of April left, and I don't want to leave this post on a negative note, because in spite of everything I just told you, I do feel better. I have really enjoyed the process of finding a positive quote each morning which reflects my feelings on that day, and sharing it with the world. I've found a lot of comfort in looking back over quotes from previous days, and remembering how I felt and why I chose that particular quote. I don't know if it just the quotes, or the fact that the sun has been shining (for the most part - it was both warm and dry AND cold and snowing on Monday), but I do feel better. Right now, I don't feel so completely bogged down with life that I can't focus on getting through each day. I genuinely do feel like I can deal with the mountains, although I know I can't do it alone.
Tomorrow is the start of a new month, and I am going to continue with the tweeting of positive quotes. And tomorrow evening, I have my first real appointment with a new counsellor. Like I say, I can't do this alone, and the thing I miss most about therapy is the space to talk solely about me without feeling the need to relieve someone else of their burdens in return. I never thought I'd say that.
If you'd like to read some of my favourite #Positivity quotes you can find me on Twitter at @rosybee1, though I'm sure I'll share them with you over time.
Keep smiling you wonderful people.
Saturday, 28 March 2015
Positive Thinking and Emotional Rollercoasters
Thank you everyone for all your lovely words of support over the last few days. I am exhausted, physically and mentally, but the fact that I am recognising emotions (currently anger, frustration, relief and a new one - humiliation) is a really positive sign.
Last night, I got so caught up in all those emotions that I found myself picking up the phone to the Samaritans. This is something I have never done before, and it terrified me. I just wanted to rant at someone neutral, to not have to phone a friend at midnight and feel like a failure or have to pretend that sympathy was helping (as a side note, sympathy doesn't help, it just make me feel like I'm letting you down. If you want to help, let me rant, and just listen to me. And I promise not to call you in the middle of the night!)
In the end, I didn't go through with it. I had read every single page on the Samaritans website, and knew I didn't have to feel suicidal to call for help. (Another side note - I do not currently, and have not for a number of years, think about killing myself. I am not suicidal. And if that changes, I have a plan that will kick in waaaaaaay before anything happens. Please stop worrying now. I won't do it.)
The thing that stopped me wasn't the stigma of calling them, it was the not knowing where to start. There were too many new and unexplored thoughts and feelings buzzing around (think herds of bees) in my head, and I didn't know how to get it all out to a stranger over the phone without having to go over years of background and rambling.
So I started to write notes, events and things people had said that had upset me or triggered certain emotions, and tried to find arguments and counter arguments for each point. After not very long, I was tired and just went to bed. It was pretty anticlimactic really, given that not long before I had sat crying on the kitchen floor in the dark.
Today has been a lovely day - I met a friend for a long lunch then spent the afternoon reading and colouring in. This evening I felt more relaxed than I have for ages, so I decided to write down some of the events of the past few months that I think have triggered this round of depression. Whilst I now feel completely drained (and my hand feels like it might fall off), my head feels so much clearer and I have rediscovered the stubborn side of me. I'm going to draw a line, and April is going to be a good month. I'm not going to be 100% better (it's not that easy) but I'm going to try reeeeeeeeeeally hard to focus and find the positives.
Wish me luck...!
(And does anyone have any suggestions of ways to stop my hand hurting so much? Writing is painful!)
Thursday, 26 March 2015
Dear Depression
Dear Depression,
Are you kidding me? Surely you're joking, right? Just teasing, poking at the edges, trying to see how far you can push me before I break?
What's that? You don't know what I'm talking about?
My dear Depression,
I'd like to say it was nice to see you again, but obviously I would be lying.
I'm sure I told you already you how much I hate you. You make me angry and sad and frustrated and all kinds of miserable. I have tried so many different ways to say that I am not ok, but I used up all the words before, and I don't know what else to say to make you go away.
I don't think asking nicely is going to help any more, is it?
Oh Depression,
I forgot to say, thanks.
Thanks for filling my head with the sound of a herd of bees. I'd say swarm, but swarms are elegant and beautiful and work together as one for the greater good. The bees in my head are none of those things. They are pissed off and want out. They buzz loudest when I need to concentrate. Have you ever had a head full of bees? They're pretty distracting.
Thanks for waking me up at two o'clock every morning to remind me how completely and utterly useless you think I am. I know we're going to disagree, but you really know how to kick a dog when it's down don't you? Could you not at least wait until the sun's shining and I've had a decent eight hours? That way I might actually be able to fight my own corner.
Thanks for making me so tired that I'm even more accident prone than normal. Yesterday I got my hair caught in the wrong end of the hairdryer, and instead of untangling it I just cut it off. There's a lovely smell of burnt hair in my room just now. I have a beautiful bruise on my shin, you'd be really proud of it. (That's not related to the hairdryer incident).
Thanks for making me act like a complete idiot. Thanks for putting a massive road block somewhere between my mouth and my brain; for making me say things I know I don't believe or that would be best left unsaid. Thanks for sucking up all the energy I don't have and making me grumpy and irritable and just not very nice.
Thanks for nothing Depression.
Dear Depression,
I don't remember saying this was ok. But then I don't seem to be able to remember much right now. (Thanks for that. Not). If you think I'm going to let you walk all over me again, you can stop right there. I'm sure there are better things you could be doing with your time. Like not being in my head for starters.
I don't like you Depression. I don't like you so much that I fully intend to fight you, just like I have done before and will probably do again. I will fight you even if you tie my hands behind my back, gag my mouth and fill my head with bees. I will fight you with every drop of energy I have. I will fight you Depression.
Because even though you're winning right now, I will not lose.
Go away now please.
Thanks,
Rosy
Sunday, 1 September 2013
Recovery
Dear Diary
I've been trying to write this post for the last three weeks, ever since the day I handed in my dissertation. But try as I might, I just couldn't work it out. Something wasn't right. No, nothing was right. I'd lost the ability to do words.
You see, no-one told me that the hard part of finishing a degree wasn't the dissertation. It was the recovery period that follows it. I never thought to ask.
For months, I'd spent every evening, weekend and spare minute at lunch time thinking about my dissertation - about what I needed to write, about what the graphs and tables should look like, about how to format it, and about how to thank everyone who'd helped me with the process. And then, all of a sudden, it was all gone. No longer could I hide away in the library or squirreled away in my sofa-nest of blankets and journal articles. I was expected to return to the world as a "normal" person, to be able to pick up where I left off - a time when I couldn't use my dissertation as an excuse for being permanently exhausted and just a little bit distracted.
The problem was, I'd forgotten what that was like. Without warning, an empty space had appeared and "free time" had reared its ugly head.
"Free time" and I don't really get on very well. I don't trust it and I don't know what to do with it. I live in constant fear that I've forgotten to do something, and that someone is going to come looking for it, forcing me to find an excuse for not doing it.
So the past three weeks have been just a bit empty. I guess the reason I've avoided blogging is because I didn't want to have to tell you that, actually, I was feeling a bit crap.
I spent a lovely three days "doing the Festival" with a friend from school (yes, I'm very aware that I promised you reviews and observations of the Fringe, and that hasn't happened. They'll come, eventually), and it was great to have her here. But apart from that, I've just been a bit lost.
While I was busy avoiding real life, I failed to notice was that the elephants in my head were secretly growing, hiding being my dissertation getting ready to pounce when I least expected it. Have you ever seen an elephant pounce? I understand they're generally not known for the element of surprise, but the elephants in my head are different. They're sneaky.
To cut a long story short, the "lost" became "miserable", which became "depressed". Although I still see myself as "having depression", I've not been "depressed" for ages. So when I realised that was how I was feeling, it hit me a lot harder than before. The problem with discovering emotions is that I now feel stuff, and that can hurt.
The hurting, as the result of thinking, as the result of not having a distraction any more, all came to a head two weeks ago - a Saturday. I spent the day at a training session for Girlguiding Trainers, up in Stirling. On the way home, I began to think. Thinking and driving can be dangerous - I found myself in Glasgow, which is definitely not on the right side of Scotland for me to be a) not concentrating, b) feeling miserable, and c) exhausted.
As I dragged myself across the M8, I realised that I didn't want to be there. I didn't really want to be anywhere. And I particularly didn't want to be at home. These new-found emotions were confusing, and I didn't know how to deal with them. I was scared, and I needed to find a way out.
Since starting to see a counsellor, I've found ways to deal with feelings that don't involve crying and retreating into myself. So, I looked for options. What I came up with was possibly not the best advice for anyone feeling the same way:
1. Talk to someone. Find a friend - except at 6.30 on a Saturday night in the middle of August people generally have plans. I didn't want to interrupt them. And I was probably miserable enough without having to drag myself off to the crisis centre or to call the Samaritans and be patronised for the rest of the evening.
2. Alcohol. For various reasons, mostly naivety and stupidity, alcohol has get me into some pretty ridiculous situations in the past, so I don't really drink a lot. But I do like red wine, and sometimes it just takes the edge off.
3. Pizza. For the record, I'm aware this sounds like a bizarre "way out", but bear in mind I'm quite severely lactose intolerant - half a dairy milk bar makes my face erupt, and you don't need (or want) to know about the other side effects.
I found my respite in Sainsburys. I hate supermarkets, especially on a Saturday night. If you have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than go to Sainsburys, you need to get a new hobby. But you can guarantee that there will at least be other people there, making it a "safe place". And Sainsburys sells both wine and pizza. Double win.
My poor attempt to make myself feel better by giving myself a hangover and some particularly unhappy dairy-induced-side-effects pretty much failed. Mostly because I fell asleep after the first large glass of wine and woke up on the sofa at 3am. As angry as I was with myself at the time ("I can't even do miserable right"), I'm glad this is the way it worked out.
I guess what this has shown me is that life isn't always happy all the time. Sometimes, it's spectacularly rubbish. But learning to accept that, and being able to question why we react in the way we do, is the first step to making it a bit less rubbish.
I've spent the last two weeks letting myself feel rubbish, but the difference between this time and the previous ten years of feeling rubbish is that I was aware I felt rubbish, and I was aware of why.
Today, I'm done feeling rubbish. I've had words with the elephants and they've shrunk just a little bit. I've filled my "free time" with friends and Guiding and books and all of the other things I've neglected over the past six months (except washing up. I'm not that desperate). I've started eating vegetables again, and I'm looking forward to not having to do any more studying. At least for now.
So that's my excuse for neglecting you over the past few weeks. I'm not going to apologise for my disappearance - it's just a thing I needed to do. But now I've stopped feeling sorry for myself and hopefully normal service will resume.
*grins*
Rosy x
I've been trying to write this post for the last three weeks, ever since the day I handed in my dissertation. But try as I might, I just couldn't work it out. Something wasn't right. No, nothing was right. I'd lost the ability to do words.
You see, no-one told me that the hard part of finishing a degree wasn't the dissertation. It was the recovery period that follows it. I never thought to ask.
For months, I'd spent every evening, weekend and spare minute at lunch time thinking about my dissertation - about what I needed to write, about what the graphs and tables should look like, about how to format it, and about how to thank everyone who'd helped me with the process. And then, all of a sudden, it was all gone. No longer could I hide away in the library or squirreled away in my sofa-nest of blankets and journal articles. I was expected to return to the world as a "normal" person, to be able to pick up where I left off - a time when I couldn't use my dissertation as an excuse for being permanently exhausted and just a little bit distracted.
The problem was, I'd forgotten what that was like. Without warning, an empty space had appeared and "free time" had reared its ugly head.
"Free time" and I don't really get on very well. I don't trust it and I don't know what to do with it. I live in constant fear that I've forgotten to do something, and that someone is going to come looking for it, forcing me to find an excuse for not doing it.
So the past three weeks have been just a bit empty. I guess the reason I've avoided blogging is because I didn't want to have to tell you that, actually, I was feeling a bit crap.
I spent a lovely three days "doing the Festival" with a friend from school (yes, I'm very aware that I promised you reviews and observations of the Fringe, and that hasn't happened. They'll come, eventually), and it was great to have her here. But apart from that, I've just been a bit lost.
While I was busy avoiding real life, I failed to notice was that the elephants in my head were secretly growing, hiding being my dissertation getting ready to pounce when I least expected it. Have you ever seen an elephant pounce? I understand they're generally not known for the element of surprise, but the elephants in my head are different. They're sneaky.
To cut a long story short, the "lost" became "miserable", which became "depressed". Although I still see myself as "having depression", I've not been "depressed" for ages. So when I realised that was how I was feeling, it hit me a lot harder than before. The problem with discovering emotions is that I now feel stuff, and that can hurt.
The hurting, as the result of thinking, as the result of not having a distraction any more, all came to a head two weeks ago - a Saturday. I spent the day at a training session for Girlguiding Trainers, up in Stirling. On the way home, I began to think. Thinking and driving can be dangerous - I found myself in Glasgow, which is definitely not on the right side of Scotland for me to be a) not concentrating, b) feeling miserable, and c) exhausted.
As I dragged myself across the M8, I realised that I didn't want to be there. I didn't really want to be anywhere. And I particularly didn't want to be at home. These new-found emotions were confusing, and I didn't know how to deal with them. I was scared, and I needed to find a way out.
Since starting to see a counsellor, I've found ways to deal with feelings that don't involve crying and retreating into myself. So, I looked for options. What I came up with was possibly not the best advice for anyone feeling the same way:
1. Talk to someone. Find a friend - except at 6.30 on a Saturday night in the middle of August people generally have plans. I didn't want to interrupt them. And I was probably miserable enough without having to drag myself off to the crisis centre or to call the Samaritans and be patronised for the rest of the evening.
2. Alcohol. For various reasons, mostly naivety and stupidity, alcohol has get me into some pretty ridiculous situations in the past, so I don't really drink a lot. But I do like red wine, and sometimes it just takes the edge off.
3. Pizza. For the record, I'm aware this sounds like a bizarre "way out", but bear in mind I'm quite severely lactose intolerant - half a dairy milk bar makes my face erupt, and you don't need (or want) to know about the other side effects.
I found my respite in Sainsburys. I hate supermarkets, especially on a Saturday night. If you have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than go to Sainsburys, you need to get a new hobby. But you can guarantee that there will at least be other people there, making it a "safe place". And Sainsburys sells both wine and pizza. Double win.
My poor attempt to make myself feel better by giving myself a hangover and some particularly unhappy dairy-induced-side-effects pretty much failed. Mostly because I fell asleep after the first large glass of wine and woke up on the sofa at 3am. As angry as I was with myself at the time ("I can't even do miserable right"), I'm glad this is the way it worked out.
I guess what this has shown me is that life isn't always happy all the time. Sometimes, it's spectacularly rubbish. But learning to accept that, and being able to question why we react in the way we do, is the first step to making it a bit less rubbish.
I've spent the last two weeks letting myself feel rubbish, but the difference between this time and the previous ten years of feeling rubbish is that I was aware I felt rubbish, and I was aware of why.
Today, I'm done feeling rubbish. I've had words with the elephants and they've shrunk just a little bit. I've filled my "free time" with friends and Guiding and books and all of the other things I've neglected over the past six months (except washing up. I'm not that desperate). I've started eating vegetables again, and I'm looking forward to not having to do any more studying. At least for now.
So that's my excuse for neglecting you over the past few weeks. I'm not going to apologise for my disappearance - it's just a thing I needed to do. But now I've stopped feeling sorry for myself and hopefully normal service will resume.
*grins*
Rosy x
Saturday, 20 April 2013
Thank you
Hi everyone
I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who got in touch about my last post. There is so much stigma around depression, so I was in two minds (no pun intended) about posting it. Thank you for all your support and advice!
One of the things I've realised over the past 12 months is how many people are experiencing or have experienced some form of mental health issue, but how little people talk about it.
Posting about "courage" was a personal challenge, mainly to see if I could do it. I wasn't expecting the response I got. I guess I was hoping that if I could help just one person then it would be worth it. Well, hopefully I did that.
But if you are going through something tough, here are some tips that I've been given, and some things that I have found help. Not everything suits everyone, so try stuff, and find your own thing. Don't expect big changes to happen overnight. But they'll come.
1. Meditate - I always thought this was a bit "hippy", and there just wasn't enough time in the day for "sitting doing nothing". Well, turns out that may be where my problems come from. Not making time for me, to listen to me, to think about what my head is telling me and why. So a friend of mine suggested a series of 10-minute meditations from Headspace. Ten minutes is not a lot of time to sit down and do nothing but breathe and take in what your body is telling you. And although I've only actually done two of the series of ten sessions in the last 2 weeks (I have commitment issues), I've found I am more aware of what my head and my body are doing, even if the two aren't joined together sometimes!
2. Talking - It took me ten exhausting years to accept that, maybe, something wasn't right. After years of eating disorders, nightmares, panic attacks, paranoia and a whole bunch of other stuff, I went to my doctor and cried. For the first time, I properly spoke to someone. Although I've tried various forms of counselling over the past few years, I wasn't ready to accept there was a problem, so it felt like nothing worked. After I spoke to my doctor, I decided to tell a couple of friends. Without them, being able to share our experiences, I don't know how I would have got through this year.
3. Exercise - I actively dislike exercise. The thought of exercise chills me to the core. But once a week, I drag my bum off the sofa and go "splashing". I'm sure our awesome aquafit instructor intends it to be more than that, but to be honest, I'm generally just splashing around aimlessly. That's what makes it acceptable exercise. It doesn't feel like I'm actually doing any exercise (until I get out of the pool at the end) and it's fun. And for 50 minutes a week, I can beat the crap out of something (the water) like my life depends on it.
4. Eating - I've done the anorexia thing (not through choice. Let's not talk about it). It sucks. While I do still have issues with food, I've realised I need food too much to completely cut it out. There are days when I have to force myself to eat more than just garlic bread or potato waffles. On those days, soup, chilli and pasta (not together) are my secret weapons. I've also started buying frozen vegetables, tins of beans and jars of sauce, just so I can make sure I eat something, even if it is all from jars! And yes, there are days when my boyfriend has to remind me to eat. I'm so glad he's here! (Not going to get all soppy, I promise).
5. Writing - when I first started seeing a counsellor, I struggled to tell him what I was thinking, because I didn't know what I was thinking. He suggested I try writing a diary. After I'd finished laughing in his face, I left thinking he was as insane as I am. But then one day, when I realised I needed to talk to someone and didn't know where to go, I wrote an email. I don't know who I was planning on sending it to, but I wrote down everything that was in my head. Then I just saved it as a draft, and there it stays. Now, whenever I have "one of those days", I just start writing. Most of what I write will never go anywhere, but it's nice to be able to look back and see that, actually, things are changing.
This afternoon, I went to a training for a campaign I'm going to start volunteering on, and on the wall in the toilet cubicle was a poem. One phrase particularly hit me:
That's enough soul-searching for one day.
Keep smiling!
Rx
Ps, if you really need to talk, or feel like you can't cope on your own, don't suffer in silence - please tell someone. Go to the doctor or someone you trust. Or try one of these links:
- Health in Mind
- NHS
- Samaritans
I just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who got in touch about my last post. There is so much stigma around depression, so I was in two minds (no pun intended) about posting it. Thank you for all your support and advice!
One of the things I've realised over the past 12 months is how many people are experiencing or have experienced some form of mental health issue, but how little people talk about it.
Posting about "courage" was a personal challenge, mainly to see if I could do it. I wasn't expecting the response I got. I guess I was hoping that if I could help just one person then it would be worth it. Well, hopefully I did that.
But if you are going through something tough, here are some tips that I've been given, and some things that I have found help. Not everything suits everyone, so try stuff, and find your own thing. Don't expect big changes to happen overnight. But they'll come.
1. Meditate - I always thought this was a bit "hippy", and there just wasn't enough time in the day for "sitting doing nothing". Well, turns out that may be where my problems come from. Not making time for me, to listen to me, to think about what my head is telling me and why. So a friend of mine suggested a series of 10-minute meditations from Headspace. Ten minutes is not a lot of time to sit down and do nothing but breathe and take in what your body is telling you. And although I've only actually done two of the series of ten sessions in the last 2 weeks (I have commitment issues), I've found I am more aware of what my head and my body are doing, even if the two aren't joined together sometimes!
2. Talking - It took me ten exhausting years to accept that, maybe, something wasn't right. After years of eating disorders, nightmares, panic attacks, paranoia and a whole bunch of other stuff, I went to my doctor and cried. For the first time, I properly spoke to someone. Although I've tried various forms of counselling over the past few years, I wasn't ready to accept there was a problem, so it felt like nothing worked. After I spoke to my doctor, I decided to tell a couple of friends. Without them, being able to share our experiences, I don't know how I would have got through this year.
3. Exercise - I actively dislike exercise. The thought of exercise chills me to the core. But once a week, I drag my bum off the sofa and go "splashing". I'm sure our awesome aquafit instructor intends it to be more than that, but to be honest, I'm generally just splashing around aimlessly. That's what makes it acceptable exercise. It doesn't feel like I'm actually doing any exercise (until I get out of the pool at the end) and it's fun. And for 50 minutes a week, I can beat the crap out of something (the water) like my life depends on it.
4. Eating - I've done the anorexia thing (not through choice. Let's not talk about it). It sucks. While I do still have issues with food, I've realised I need food too much to completely cut it out. There are days when I have to force myself to eat more than just garlic bread or potato waffles. On those days, soup, chilli and pasta (not together) are my secret weapons. I've also started buying frozen vegetables, tins of beans and jars of sauce, just so I can make sure I eat something, even if it is all from jars! And yes, there are days when my boyfriend has to remind me to eat. I'm so glad he's here! (Not going to get all soppy, I promise).
5. Writing - when I first started seeing a counsellor, I struggled to tell him what I was thinking, because I didn't know what I was thinking. He suggested I try writing a diary. After I'd finished laughing in his face, I left thinking he was as insane as I am. But then one day, when I realised I needed to talk to someone and didn't know where to go, I wrote an email. I don't know who I was planning on sending it to, but I wrote down everything that was in my head. Then I just saved it as a draft, and there it stays. Now, whenever I have "one of those days", I just start writing. Most of what I write will never go anywhere, but it's nice to be able to look back and see that, actually, things are changing.
This afternoon, I went to a training for a campaign I'm going to start volunteering on, and on the wall in the toilet cubicle was a poem. One phrase particularly hit me:
"Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway."
Give the world the best you've got anyway."
That's enough soul-searching for one day.
Keep smiling!
Rx
Ps, if you really need to talk, or feel like you can't cope on your own, don't suffer in silence - please tell someone. Go to the doctor or someone you trust. Or try one of these links:
- Health in Mind
- NHS
- Samaritans
Courage
The past twelve months, for reasons I'm not going to discuss here, have been tough. I mean, really really hard.
In May 2012, after nearly 10 years of fighting it, I finally accepted that I have depression.
Depression affects a lot of people in a lot of different ways, but one of the resounding effects is the feeling that you are alone in the world, and that you have to deal with everything all by yourself.
As someone who has spent their whole life (all 26 years of it) feeling like I need to look after people and trying to help everyone, I have often felt like no-one understands. I couldn't understand myself, so how could I expect anyone else to?
One of the problems I have found since accepting depression is other people's reactions. Whilst I haven't told many people about the state of my mental health, I have found there are two main responses:
1. Denial - “depression is just a state of mind – you just need to cheer up” (duuuuuhh.....). Whilst I agree that, yes, I do need to cheer up, it's not all that easy. When you're stuck in a hole, climbing out of it is pretty much impossible. I don't particularly enjoy the fact that I feel like crap and am exhausted all the time, thank you very much. This is not an excuse, it's just how I feel.
2. False sympathy - “I'm sorry to hear that. Have you spoken to anyone about it?” (YES – I'm speaking to you about it!) I think this response may actually worse than the denial response. It's really hard for me to talk about how I feel (I've been seeing a counsellor for six months, and it's taken at least five of those months for me to be able to talk to him!), so if I do take the hard decision to tell someone, it's because I trust them. Suggesting I speak to someone else is like being kicked in the stomach.
Until recently, I really struggled to cope with these responses. It felt like I was doing something wrong; that it was my fault I have depression.
However, being in New York gave me the courage I needed to start properly dealing with my demons and looking forward to re-discovering the real me.
Part of the journey has led me to writing this post. It's been in the making for a while, but today I realised that it doesn't matter what other people think, about me, about depression, about anything. I'm the person in charge of me, and I need to remember to look after me as well!
Some days that journey is easy, but on others I can feel myself slipping backwards. I need something to remind me that I can do this. And so, after a lot of thought, I decided to get a permanent reminder that I do have the courage I need to get me through:
Yep, I got a tattoo (well, another one). I love tattoos – I love their individuality and the permanent reminder of a time in your life that you felt was so important you needed to be reminded of it on a daily basis. I love the stories behind tattoos. I got my first tattoo a few years ago, and have been hooked ever since. I've wanted another for a while, and have been playing around with some ideas, but could never find the right image or font that really expressed what I wanted to say.
And then a friend of mine suggested Braille. All of a sudden, my problems were solved. Braille will never go out of date, it can mean whatever I want it to mean, AND it's like a tiny game of connect the dots!
These 19 dots mean so much – they're not just a permanent reminder that I can do this life thing. They also mean I broke a promise. For the first time in my life (well, maybe not, but it feels like it sometimes) I have done something purely for me.
When I got my first tattoo, I promised my mum I wouldn't get any on a part of my body that's visible in a wedding dress.
I've thought about it. I have no plans to get married any time soon. But if I did, my boyfriend and I have discussed this. I have two options – a corsage (flowers, yuk!) or gloves (problematic for the whole ring thing). And if that doesn't work, it's small enough I can just put a watch over it. So that justifies breaking my promise (sorry mum!)
Do I feel guilty? Of course I do, I always feel guilty – that's what depression does to me. BUT I'm also really excited about dealing with this. Writing this post is one step towards that.
(NB. I don't want sympathy – the worst thing is people feeling sorry for me. I just want to tell my story. If only one person reads this and doesn't laugh, then that's great!)
In May 2012, after nearly 10 years of fighting it, I finally accepted that I have depression.
Depression affects a lot of people in a lot of different ways, but one of the resounding effects is the feeling that you are alone in the world, and that you have to deal with everything all by yourself.
As someone who has spent their whole life (all 26 years of it) feeling like I need to look after people and trying to help everyone, I have often felt like no-one understands. I couldn't understand myself, so how could I expect anyone else to?
One of the problems I have found since accepting depression is other people's reactions. Whilst I haven't told many people about the state of my mental health, I have found there are two main responses:
1. Denial - “depression is just a state of mind – you just need to cheer up” (duuuuuhh.....). Whilst I agree that, yes, I do need to cheer up, it's not all that easy. When you're stuck in a hole, climbing out of it is pretty much impossible. I don't particularly enjoy the fact that I feel like crap and am exhausted all the time, thank you very much. This is not an excuse, it's just how I feel.
2. False sympathy - “I'm sorry to hear that. Have you spoken to anyone about it?” (YES – I'm speaking to you about it!) I think this response may actually worse than the denial response. It's really hard for me to talk about how I feel (I've been seeing a counsellor for six months, and it's taken at least five of those months for me to be able to talk to him!), so if I do take the hard decision to tell someone, it's because I trust them. Suggesting I speak to someone else is like being kicked in the stomach.
Until recently, I really struggled to cope with these responses. It felt like I was doing something wrong; that it was my fault I have depression.
However, being in New York gave me the courage I needed to start properly dealing with my demons and looking forward to re-discovering the real me.
Part of the journey has led me to writing this post. It's been in the making for a while, but today I realised that it doesn't matter what other people think, about me, about depression, about anything. I'm the person in charge of me, and I need to remember to look after me as well!
Some days that journey is easy, but on others I can feel myself slipping backwards. I need something to remind me that I can do this. And so, after a lot of thought, I decided to get a permanent reminder that I do have the courage I need to get me through:
 |
| "courage" |
Yep, I got a tattoo (well, another one). I love tattoos – I love their individuality and the permanent reminder of a time in your life that you felt was so important you needed to be reminded of it on a daily basis. I love the stories behind tattoos. I got my first tattoo a few years ago, and have been hooked ever since. I've wanted another for a while, and have been playing around with some ideas, but could never find the right image or font that really expressed what I wanted to say.
And then a friend of mine suggested Braille. All of a sudden, my problems were solved. Braille will never go out of date, it can mean whatever I want it to mean, AND it's like a tiny game of connect the dots!
These 19 dots mean so much – they're not just a permanent reminder that I can do this life thing. They also mean I broke a promise. For the first time in my life (well, maybe not, but it feels like it sometimes) I have done something purely for me.
When I got my first tattoo, I promised my mum I wouldn't get any on a part of my body that's visible in a wedding dress.
I've thought about it. I have no plans to get married any time soon. But if I did, my boyfriend and I have discussed this. I have two options – a corsage (flowers, yuk!) or gloves (problematic for the whole ring thing). And if that doesn't work, it's small enough I can just put a watch over it. So that justifies breaking my promise (sorry mum!)
Do I feel guilty? Of course I do, I always feel guilty – that's what depression does to me. BUT I'm also really excited about dealing with this. Writing this post is one step towards that.
(NB. I don't want sympathy – the worst thing is people feeling sorry for me. I just want to tell my story. If only one person reads this and doesn't laugh, then that's great!)
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