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’
Having only fallen asleep at 0200, I manage to get up with relative ease. I stick to my planned breakfast which in itself is somewhat miraculous. Tiredness is a good old trigger for binge eating! Washing today isn’t optional – mind you, it shouldn’t have been optional for the last few days! – For those keeping track, I’ve not washed for a whole week. Not only have I not washed, I have not brushed my teeth either. It became an energy units thing. To ensure I left the house each day to meet people, I needed all the energy units I could muster. Therefore, something had to sleep, and for me, that’s self-care. What’s worrying is that I don’t seem to be able to smell myself which either means I am not as dirty as I should be or, and far more worrying, I’ve become so used to smelling that I don’t even notice it. Let’s not dwell on this too much! (Apologies for anyone who may have been eating whilst reading this!). The other problem with not washing for a week is that the dry shampoo really starts to stack up on the scalp. There’s at least a can’s worth on my scalp keeping my hair from dripping with grease. So, with that delightful image in mind it’s time to hit the shower. Sod’s law is a cruel thing. My light has blown in the bathroom. Simple enough I hear you say, well, no. My light in the bathroom is some ‘special’ fitting that’s flush against the ceiling. Try as I might to pull, twist and bang it off, it’s not budging. I’ve had this place for nearly 6 years and never encountered this problem. To add to this, the bathroom doesn’t have a window, it’s an internal room so showering is going to have to be in the dark with the door open. Not so bad I hear you say except you’ve missed a critical thing. The cats. Yes, really, since getting them nearly 3 years ago, I’ve basically not been to the toilet alone! The do love to follow mw. Normally, when I shower, I must lock them out the bathroom. One cat has learnt how to open doors so a lock is required. So, do I shower in pitch black but cat free or shower with the door open and risk having a couple of furry friends join me? I go for the latter. They seem amused but thank fully don’t jump in with me. It was a very real concern.
London, as like most of the UK, is basking in a heat wave at the moment. The cruel things about heat waves and being female is that hairdryers + hot weather = puffy hair! I also think my hair has gone into shock that it’s clean so has added an extra layer of puffiness just for fun. All of this is making me feel very insecure and when my phone pings, I am really hoping it’s Friend GG cancelling our lunch plans. It’s not, she’s simply saying how hot it is and see me later. Bugger. So, it looks like I am going to have to leave the house. It’s not that I don’t want to see Friend GG, it’s that I would like to continue hiding inside the flat. I weigh up walking to the train station (2 miles away) or getting the bus but if I am ever going to stop loathing my body, walking is the right direction of change. I’m getting quicker too. This may seem trivial but, it’s actually really pleasing for me. I hand over another extortionate amount of money and get on the train.
It’s another 1.5 miles to the lunch stop so some more steps accrued. To make up for yesterday’s sloth like activities, I’m going to need to hit some record today. I’ve started a new book but I’m struggling to absorb it so start back at the beginning whilst waiting for Friend GG.
After lunch, we go to her favourite coffee shop. We are out of London but my request for an almond milk flat white is accommodated, it’s obviously spread to the M25 outer area! Sat in the sun and I’ve managed to sit in the right place to add to my patchy tanning on Monday. My patchy lobster marks aren’t going to thank me! I am tired and my chat is pretty shit. I tell her how I’d not washed in a week. I’d expected a slight gasp, a flinch, something but she stayed as cool as a cucumber which is not easy in this heatwave. Her response is that there will come a day when I can manage leaving the house daily AND washing but I’ve got to give it time.
I’m definitely a broken record. Not just literally broken but also metaphorically- I’m repeating the shame shit to people over and over. I can’t help it. Trying to get better is so damn all-consuming that I don’t have any other banter. No work chat, no friends’ problems to work through (when you admit you were ready to kill yourself, funnily enough, people don’t tell you their problems, they think you’ve got enough going on – truth is, is love to help my friends sort through some problems, is feel ‘Normal’ so feel free to make some crap up guys!
After the coffee, I walk back to the station and then walk home at the other end. Once by the house, I really fancy a glass of Rose wine. I seem to have gotten a craving for it. It’s also a chance to even out the arms and have another attempt at starting my book. A lady on the bench next to me asks if I’d mind watching her things whilst she goes to the bathroom. It’s weird when people ask you to look after their stuff. I mean, I’m happy to and I take the role very seriously but I’m not sure I’d ‘fight’ someone if they tried to steal it. Instead of saying ‘Yes, sure!’ I should probably say ‘Yes, so long as someone doesn’t actually try to take it, in which case no, sorry, you’re on your own!’
Father sends me a text. He’s confusing me. I don’t know how to handle this. Mum’s responses are age old. I can predict them before they happen, but Father, he’s a different kettle of fish. I don’t know how he feels about me. I don’t know what he wants me to do to make him feel better that his youngest daughter is a crazy person – I’m allowed to call myself this, others are not – I don’t know that my fragile state of mind can handle this complication. But the guilt washes over me. How do I make sure he feels ok? No Patient C, worry about you first and the rest of the world second. Whilst we’re at it, you’ve been discharged and therefore no longer Patient C, you are now Person C. Your mind may still be a scrambled mess but you’re not Patient anymore (and that can be read in many ways given my desperation for ‘Normal’).
I’m not ok today. I’m drowning in worry that I shouldn’t even be thinking of. I’m struggling to apply all the new techniques I’ve learnt. The punitive bully that is my brain is roaring it’s loud ugly roar. I want out. I can’t see the elusive light at the end of the tunnel. I want someone to tell me I’m ok as I am. I’m loved and cared for and clever enough and funny enough and everything else enough AS I AM. To top it all off, the person I am is also unevenly sunburnt. I’m now not only obese and crazy, I’m a muddled mix of ghostly white and lobster red. It’s not a good look.
I head home via the deli. I’m going to stay with Friends AG & DG on Friday and I’ve just massively overcompensated by spending too much on thank you gifts. Why why why why why?
Once home, I bump into the new tenants on the ground floor. They seem nice which is a huge relief. She’s also pregnant, hopefully that means no more 0630 drunken yoga sessions on the communal stairs – really, the last tenants made a habit of this! I wonder why we asked them to leave? Hopefully some ‘Normal’ tenants will make house feel more settled which in turn, may help me reach ‘Normal’, or is that too much to ask?
I’ve done >16,000 steps today and although I’ve wanted to cry a few times, I’ve survived another day AND I’m clean. Let’s hope tomorrow continues along the same lines.
stunning London Sunset and a random posted spotted on my walk home