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.

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.

#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.

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!)

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

Here we go again...

You may remember that I finished an MSc in Human Resource Management in 2013 (after all my chat about just wanting more than 53% in my dissertation, I ended up getting a distinction, which was a total shock, but awesome!). After graduating, it felt like something was missing. I was no longer working 70 hours a week AND no longer spending every other second either in the library or with my head in a book. I suddenly had all this free time (well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but still, there was more time in the day for cooking and watching crap TV).

I spent a lot of that free time (when I wasn't guiding, watching videos of cats on YouTube or thinking about why I should probably get off the sofa and do some cleaning or tidying or something) researching PhD options. I even contacted a few universities to find out if they specialised in the things I am interested in (here's a handy piece of advice - of you are ever thinking about studying for a PhD, have a more detailed idea of what it is you actually want to study before you email the academic experts with lots of stupid questions).

As lovely as the replies were, I came away from the whole experience feeling a bit bashed and bruised. This is one thing I can't just accidentally fall into. I need more of a plan. And the biggest problem - I don't have a good enough degree.

I knew that bloody 2:2 would come back and bite me one day. Those two little numbers, which people kept telling me aren't important once you've got your first job, and which are, in percentage points, only 1% lower than the cut off for a 2:1, have suddenly created this massive block in the road. I've finally worked our what I want to do next with my life, and one missed answer on an exam paper six years ago is coming back to haunt me. Damn it!

Despite having a Masters degree and lots of relevant experience, I don't have a 2:1 or a relevant degree. There goes the dream of having a PhD by the time I'm 30.

So guess what I started this week?!

Yep, I've gone back to square one, have signed up for a BA (Hons) in International Studies with the Open University, and I'm starting at the very beginning with an 'Introduction to Social Sciences'.

This all sort of happened by accident (surprised much? No, me neither). At some point last year I must have signed up to some sort of mailing list, which meant I would receive a weekly email from the OU telling me what I was missing in my life. I kept hitting delete without reading - I'm too busy to do another degree, I can't afford it, it's just going to be another thing I end up resenting, I don't have time, I already have two degrees I don't need another one, etcetera etcetera. Oh why did I stop listening to the voices in my head?

I'll tell you exactly why. Because studying is awesome. And I get a student card so might be able to buy all the things I don't need. But mostly because I miss studying and learning is fun and the sense of achievement at the end will be so worth it, even if I hate it 93% of the time (which I'm hoping I won't since this is going to be my life for the next hundred years. Or something.)

Also I had two weeks off at Christmas, when I had time to spend all day every day sitting on the sofa, and accidentally read one of those pesky OU emails. I then accidentally clicked on the 'register here' button and typed in my address, just to see what would happen. OK, the next bit (filling in funding applications and reading lots of small print) was slightly more of a conscious process, but then all of a sudden my course materials had arrived and I was getting emails from my tutor, and now I'm at the end of week one and I've spent a lot of time noticing things I'd never even thought about before I became a social science student. And I'm already behind, and the kitchen's a mess because we got a new boiler fitted this week, and I forgot to hang the washing up so have been sleeping in a sleeping bag all week, and I'm a little bit hungover (because that's what students do, right?)

But apart from all that, I'm so excited to be studying again. So far, we have had amazing support, and the resources for the module are incredible, it's all so clearly laid out and there is an obvious path through the module materials so I think it'll be really hard to go off track. I am a little apprehensive about the fact that it's mostly all distance learning. I like to be able to discuss things and share ideas, and it's hard to engage with a discussion on an online forum. We do have a few face to face tutorials, and our first one was on Tuesday, but I'm pretty confident I did at least 50% of the talking, which, given that I hate the sound of my own voice, wasn't exactly the kind of discussion I was going for (I can talk to myself at home, where it is also socially acceptable for me to wear pyjamas and eat cereal straight out of the box).

Overall, I know that I need to do well in this to reach the ultimate goal of doing a PhD. And the great thing about the Open University is that I can take 10 years (or more) to finish this if I want (which I don't), so if life gets in the way, it's not the end of the world.

To those of you who worry about my already limited time, or my inability to sleep, or my mental health, or the cleanliness of my flat, don't worry, I have a plan.

Just be glad you don't have to live with me!

Wanderlust (A Tale of Two Cities)

(Written on 31st January 2015)

Today is my 28th birthday, and I am writing this somewhere under the English channel. As birthdays go, I suppose waking up in Paris and then spending the day with some of my favourite people in London ranks up there as one of the best ways to spend an adult birthday.

However, it's also quite sad. I am on the penultimate leg of my 'mini grand tour of Europe', which means the next stop after London is back home and back to real life. I've been looking forward to this trip for so long, and now it's nearly over. Somewhat like my 20s.

I have just realised that I'm technically no longer in my mid 20s, and I'm closer to 30 than I am to 20. Not that age matters hugely, I've just spent a lot of time this week with friends I have known for a long time, and have naturally reflected on our teenage years.

Ten years ago today, I turned 18. I remember it vividly - going out for dinner and to the cinema the night before, and driving down the M56 for half an hour so I could be with my friends at midnight (we sat in Chester service station sharing a chocolate muffin between four of us, then I had to drive everyone home and didn't get in until after 2am. I vaguely remember falling asleep in my stats class the next day, which would have been less of a problem if I hadn't made up 50% of the class).

At 18, I think I was probably the most confident I have ever been. I had lots of friends, I could drink and drive (not together) and have a job and do all sorts of grown up things. I was clever and passed all my exams (they later let me take a whole extra A level, which meant learning the course two weeks before the exam), I was going to go to university and get a great job and do loads of travelling, and it was all going to be amazing.

Fast forward ten years, and I am happy. But life is so completely different than I ever imagined it would be. This week of travelling around Europe (albeit only three countries, not including the UK) has been amazing, but on more than one occasion I've found myself wishing I was there with my friends, living in a new city, learning and using a different language, and being part of a completely different culture. My lucky friends live on this huge land mass where a completely different country is just a few hours away on the train.

I think I might be a little bit jealous.

My friend sent me an article recently that says if you are ever asked for life advice, tell them to go travelling. I could have told you that for free.

But just because the advice is given doesn't necessarily mean I'll take it. I love travelling, but I've come to realise that one of the things I love most is the opportunity to escape from real life.

Unfortunately, when you leave anywhere to go travelling, real life has a habit of coming with you. My lucky friends do have so many opportunities to travel, but they also have to deal with bills and rent and insurance and all sorts of grown up nonsense that means travelling isn't actually as easy as it sounds.

So I guess I don't really have a choice. I have to go back to real life and face my quarter-life crisis head on.

Though that won't stop me from planning the next grand tour!