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 am surprised how easy I fell asleep last night given the 4 ½ hour nap in the middle of the day. I obviously needed the sleep. I’m sure the medication helped too. I stay in bed even though I can hear the others are all up having a coffee. I’m not sure I am quite ready to face them. Mum comes in to say good morning and for a hug. She reminds me how important I am to her and how much she loves me. I think she’s spotted the ‘Reasons to stay alive’ book and I think it scares her a little. We are very similar, I am an extreme version of her in some respects. I learnt all there is to know about list making directly from her. Her daily lists include ‘get dressed’. You may laugh at this, but the secret to a good list is one that has an easy task on. Like the hospital has taught me, momentum drives momentum!
I head down to join Sister and Brother-in-law for a coffee whilst they discuss what to do today. I’d forewarned Mum that I might not be up to going out and thankfully she doesn’t push it. The three are going out antique hunting and I am going to stay at home. This is a relief. I’m heading to Friends FC and JC for supper tonight so I want to save some energy for then. I curl up on Mum’s sofa, choose a suitably light tv program and get typing. I seem to have a thing for police interceptors/ chases programs at the moment. They are ideal if you want some noise in the background but don’t wish to follow along with the story line.
Once they are back it’s sausage sandwiches and time to hit the road. I drop Sister and Brother-in-law home and then decide to FINALLY return the clothes in the boot of the car! A quick stop via a petrol station and I’m going rather well on the chores front. Last thing to do is pop to the supermarket for some flowers for tonight. I decide on an orchid. I was given one by Patient L3 as a birthday present and I am desperately trying to keep it alive by not over watering it. It’s a very pretty addition to the bedroom so I hope they’ll enjoy one too.
Back home and I am starting to have a lull in energy. I need to get moving for tonight, in fact, I need to get going in roughly 10 minutes. I know I don’t need to be formally dressed but still, it’s always nice to have a squirt of perfume and maybe even stretch to a bit of mascara. I can’t face the tube, that’s a step too far. For anyone familiar with the London tubes, they are a nightmare for a person who desperately abides by rules. So, it’s either a 60-minute bus tour or a 25 minute uber. I pick the latter. It means I have time to brush my hair and apply mascara.
I get there on time and not flustered, this is a good start to the evening. Their two gorgeous girls come say hi. Friend JC offers me a glass of white wine. Meds and alcohol aren’t a great mix but also not impossible. I go slowly, very slowly. We talk a bit about what’s been going on, how am I doing, what can they do to keep helping me. Just knowing that I have an army of people rooting for me helps so much. It’s like all my friends are being the strong brick wall I need so I can relax and fight this, one step at a time.
Supper is a delight and the conversation is great. Being with people and being 100% me is refreshing. After cheese and a drop more wine, it’s time to call it a night. They’d offered for me to stay over but I have a feeling that their Sunday morning won’t be as quiet and relaxing as mine given the presence of an 18-month-old and 4 year old! So, uber home and straight into pjs and bed.
So, the story for Saturday should end there. It did, I went to bed, but I’ve not been completely honest. This blog is all about me being honest to myself first and foremost so…Whilst the friends are either putting kids to bed or concentrating on supper, I make a rash, tipsy decision. I hit order on my online supermarket shop. I’ve removed A LOT of the treat food but not all of it. In the sober light of day, this was a mistake. Bugger
This is the hardest fight of my life. It’s also the most important. Everything pales in comparison to this, I’m fighting for my life. People may think that sounds melodramatic but it’s not. Think about it, I’m fighting to stop the suicidal thoughts and to learn life skills to fight the black dog. This illness is life threatening. If the therapy doesn’t work, well, I don’t want to think about that. I’ve said it before, it’s not that I want to die, it’s that I can’t cope with living if I’m going to feel like this for the next 50 years.
I want to make plans to see friends but I can’t see past the end of my nose at the moment. Ironic for someone who likes to plan everything. I was that really annoying person that sent out ‘save the date’ emails for my 30th birthday 18 months before the event. Yup, I’m that person. Right now, I’m living week to week. So, if you’re a friend who is awaiting a response, please don’t give up on me, I’ll get there and hopefully bloody soon.
Back to the Sunday and that 4th glass of wine last night wasn’t clever. I’m not hungover but I’ve had an awful night’s sleep. It’s 0830 and I’m on the sofa with a coffee and my porridge. I know, eating on the sofa is a bad habit but it’s a Sunday, I normally eat at the table, promise. I get dressed but don’t manage to get washed, still though, it’s a good sign. I potter around getting various chores done interspersed with some dot-to-dot. After a while, it’s lunch time and I decide to watch a documentary. The brilliance of this is it’s mainly subtitled so I’ve got no choice but to give it my full attention (and rewind several times to re-read the bits I’ve read but not absorbed). Lunch is Thai chicken noodle soup and a flat bread followed by a portion of white chocolate. Bliss.
The afternoon passes by with some more dot-to-dot and a bit of tv that I can actually concentrate on. I love documentaries, not the new trend of reality fly on the wall stuff, I mean proper documentaries so try to concentrate on another one.
The supermarket delivery shop arrives, on time and within the time slot. The wonders of the world now that you can place an order at 2130 for 1630 the next day. Magic hey. So, as I start unpacking the food, I realise that wow, yes, there is a lot of ‘treat’/binge food. Bugger. Double bugger. I’m in a weird mood now. I wasn’t meant to let Wednesday binge impact the rest of the week. I was meant to isolate that binge and get back on the non-binge horse. My resolve is slipping a bit as I stock up the cupboard. I sit down and get into a bit of a flap. No, Patient C, no. Right. What you are going to do is sort this out. You are going to divide this food into 3 categories:
- Popcorn/ popcorn crisps: This are to be had as an afternoon snack
- Naughty things: Chocolates, crispy bites and sweet. One a day, every day
- Healthy ‘bars’ – There are to be rotated with the popcorn
Having sorted them out into 3 bags in the spare room, I’m feeling kind of proud of myself. I shouldn’t as little did I know, only an hour later, I’d be binging again. Yes, I know. I’m shout ‘Why’ at the computer screen too. I don’t know why. I am not sure where it came from or why. I am not sure what emotion I was avoiding. Just to keep the flavour of self-sabotage up, I also don’t go to bed until stupidly late. Oh, Patient C, when will you learn? When will all the things you are discussing and learning finally stick in that jumbled brain of yours? A positive to not letting myself go to bed means that I’ve organised my bag for tomorrow, with banana, clementines and water. I may have also given into some OCD rituals. By ‘may’ I mean most definitely did. The recycling gets organised not once, not twice but 3 times. The washing piles get checked not once, not twice, not even three times, no no, a whopping 4 times. I don’t know why. I wish there was some sensible explanation to this. Although, actually yes, I do know why. These silly behaviours make me feel in control. Binging is anything but controlled so this is me trying to regain some control, give me the feeling I can sort this situation. So, in the early hours of the Monday morning, I finally turn off my bedside light. Tomorrow is a new day, please Patient C, treat is as one.