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 have more time than I thought this morning. I am meeting Colleague for a coffee now we are both day care patients. I have porridge and head out (by overground no less). The overground is busy but I survive. Colleague arrives a few minutes later and we head for coffee. Another poncey London coffee for me please (almond milk flat white). We talk about how we are doing. How day care is going and then finally, hone in on me and the big D in my life, debt. Colleague helps me go through my finances and it becomes clear I don’t put myself first. I spent more on others, including my 2 fur balls, than I do on me. I don’t put me first. wow debt is a bitch and so is self-hatred. Colleague keeps reminding me I need to be selfish, I need to put myself first. I’m exhausted. Talking about all this is hard. Genuinely, if you know someone on sick leave because of their mental health, take my word for it that they are not just sitting around having a break. If they are in therapy, they’re working their butts off and if they aren’t in therapy, their head is causing them a lot of pain.
We head to the bus stop, no, it’s not a huge surprise but I’m not walking home. The energy units are running low and even the coffee couldn’t help. I’ve walked 4,000 steps which is about 3,500 more steps than I was doing in hospital. Plus, it’s colder than I thought. I mean, I seem to have made that mistake a few times now so you’d think I’d learn but, as with other things in my life, I haven’t and I am freezing.
I get home and I am shivering. It may be spring in London but it’s cold! I get changed into my trusty pjs and dressing gown. After lunch of Thai soup and a flatbread, I crawl under a blanket on the sofa and watch suitably mind numbing tv whilst doing a lot of Sudoku. I’m meeting Friend BS later so I’ll walk to meet her and boost my step count.
The afternoon merges into evening and I’ve not heard from Friend BS. Is she going to cancel? Would I mind? I would and I wouldn’t. I want to see her but I also want to stay hiding. She messages that she’ll be done in an hour and we agree she’ll come to mine for a takeaway. This is good. I’ll have company and I don’t need to go out. I get half changed. Pjs bottoms stay on but proper jumper, spritz of perfume and a brush of my hair and I’m bordering on acceptable. I know Friend BS won’t care what I look like but it’s nice not look completely bedraggled. I light a couple of scented candles and spray the matching room freshener just before she arrives.
We talk and I’m worried I’m upsetting her. I don’t want people to worry about me. She’s known me for a long time and when I was drowning in my bulimia, she was very instrumental in supporting my recovery. Pizza arrives and we toast it with prosecco. We talk and the cats come to join us. I’ve really appreciated the company tonight, it means a lot to know people care about me.
Friend BS leaves and I tidy up a bit. I’m tired so no reading before bed but straight to sleep. That is until 0350 when the cats decide to play havoc with the pizza boxes and try to gas me (the empty pizza boxes were on top of the stove, they stood on them pushing down the knob to turn the gas ring on). Look kitties, I’m in a shitty place but my plan doesn’t involve a Sylvia Plath rerun. Back to sleep, ish, and only a few more hours before the joys of day care.