Lycra Is Not My Friend

This is a blog about depression. If you are easily offended or take offence to my very sarcastic humour, please do not read any further. Mental illness is not a joke; it is not something to point fun at and I fully understand that. BUT…when the going gets tough, sarcasm and humour is my defence and so I will be parading it around all over this blog.


If you need help, please get it. Whilst I hope this has a happy ending, I don’t know yet and given I’ve not been able to fix myself, I really don’t want others using this as a ‘How To Be Happy for Beginners v2.0’



I’m up at 0930 and head straight to the study area to colouring. I’m still in pjs but I’ve got a few hours before I need to meet my sister and mum. I’ve messaged my sister and asked her to meet mum at the station. This is normally my task but today, I need the extra 30 minutes of solitude. We are going to the local thermal baths for a steam, sauna and catch up. The idea is to help my sister feel relaxed and ready for her wedding. I suddenly remember I was going to have a bath last night to shave my legs but I didn’t. If I’m going to have to be in a swimsuit, de-hairing is a requirement. Darn it, being a woman is hard.


Time to get ready, de-hair and put my swimsuit on under my clothes. Thank goodness, I did this at home. The once baggy swimsuit is very tight. By very tight I mean ‘jump-up-and-down-whilst-contorting-my body-into-different-positions-to-get-into-it’ tight. Oh, Patient C, you need to face up to this. The additional 5 minutes it took to push my belly into the swimsuit means I am running late. I hate running late. It has been happening a lot of the last 18 months. I get there thanks to a taxi, another thing that urgently needs addressing, only to be the first one to arrive. Phew.


They arrive shortly after me and I’m prickly, I don’t just mean my legs either. I don’t know why. No scrub that, I do know why. I am overweight and about to parade around in a swimsuit whilst with my mum. I’ve realised since writing blog posts that I harbour some unresolved mum issues. I thought they were only father issues but apparently not.  The big difference, I do know that mum loves me. The same can’t be said for my father. When I get prickly with someone, I find it hard to maintain eye contact and my answers are curt. I just want to get away from them basically. It would appear 2-year-old Child MH is better at expressing her emotions than me. Child MH, how much for a lesson in communications please?


Once changed, we head to a warm room to begin with. Mum can’t help herself, she brings up my weight. It’s the elephant in the room which may be more literal than I am willing to admit. She thinks I need a personal trainer. I agree mum but little do you know, I am in debt, some of which is because I pay for everything for you. A personal trainer is a luxury I can’t afford right now. Sister interjects and buffers the situation. I stick to safe topics as much as possible but inevitably work comes up. Mum thinks it’s imperative I am back before Easter. Hold up mum, Easter as in next week Easter? Ha, you’re having a laugh! I want to get back in the next few weeks but next week isn’t happening. I’m still at day care. The doctor isn’t willing to discuss work with me until at least the end of day care. I’ve been pushing it but she flat out refuses. She says that going back too soon will mean I think I’m better but I’ll be surviving. Slowly but surely, I’ll unravel again. That scares me. I’m not sure I am strong enough to unravel for a second time so I have to trust her and wait until she thinks I am able to go back. Sister has to buffer this situation too.


We spend the 3 hours between the sauna, steam room and relaxation room. I’m hoping all of this will help the medication acne that’s all over my back at the moment. Drug companies should really think about side effects like this. For a person who’s depressed and feeling shit, to erupt in acne doesn’t make me feel any better. I end up falling asleep in the relaxation room for a bit before we hit the showers. Finally, my hair will be clean again. It’s at least 2 days past it’s sell by date!


Once ready to go, mum looks at me to pay. I want to clarify that this isn’t because she’s rude, it’s because this has become the norm in the family and it’s been this way for years. I’ve overcompensated and been paying for things since I was earning money. I got my first job at 14-years-old washing pots in a pub kitchen. I used to babysit 6 times a week, sometimes doing 2 jobs in one night if I could do the school collection and a night sitting. I worked weekends in WHSmiths including early morning paper delivery and overtime. I’m not afraid of hard work. My mum didn’t have the money for everything I wanted to do so I went out and got the money for myself. I paid for my dance lessons, horse riding lessons, a school trip to South Africa, my mobile phone and more besides. So, after years, in fact more than a decade, you can see why she just assumes I’ll always pay. Sister chips in and says this is a thank you present to us. This wasn’t expensive, it was £26 per person but I don’t think it’s fair sister pays when it’s meant to be for her benefit for her wedding. I’ll no doubt end up transferring the money to my sister when the guilt kicks in.


We walk to a great Korean restaurant near the thermal spa for an early supper and a toast to the bride-to-be. The food is great and the conversation is light. We are all feeling the heavy unspoken sadness of missing my sister’s big day but, at least we all love each other.


I agree to take mum to the bus stop, it’s on my route and this will allow me to get some bits from the shops. My mind is on the verge of a binge. I’ll be seeing mum again on Wednesday for my birthday I just hope that without the buffer of my sister, I don’t take it all personally.


I get off a few stops before mum’s so wave bye and head to Boots first to get some bonjela. I’ve got a mouth full of ulcers and a tooth that definitely is overdue being removed. Next up, the trusted M&S for what I am hoping is my last binge shop. I’ve said that a few times now but hopefully this is it. Hopefully.


Back home and I sit down to colour whilst chomping on some hot cross buns. This carries on until 04:00. Yes, really, 04:00 in the morning. Why? I can’t leave the colouring picture unfinished. I am shattered but can’t stop. I finally crawl under the duvet and know tomorrow will be painful.



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