My Blog Bubble

One of the things about depression is the fact that it doesn't matter how bad you are if you know someone is suffering you reach out to them. You don't want then to feel as bad as you so you want them to feel better.  You want them to know they are not alone and that you care. I do it all the time and I have realised, since writing this, that many others do the same.   It is like a radar. We reach out to help those that are afraid to ask for help themselves. Those we can see are suffering. And like moths to a flickering light we are pulled to those that need us those that have shown bravery and stood up. We draw solace from the fact we are not alone. Strength from being a crook for someone to lean on. Understanding from being someone else's shoulder to cry on, their ear to speak to. Sometimes we say nothing and other times we are the voice of reason.  We may not be able to fix ourselves but strive to fix those that bleed, like us, whenever we can.  Thank yo

This blog has been on and off for two years and mainly in the off position whilst I struggle with my mental health. Below is a short poem I wrote in May 2014: I want to go to sleep and not wake up Of what's on offer I have had enough I don't want to pass away nor give up the fight I am not losing the battle I'm finding the light There seems very little to keep me here Walk towards the light without any fear I won't be missed: at least not for long  You can laugh and smile; life does go on  Wear bright colours don't wear black Always look forward; don't look back I will be waiting and watching over you Always remember that I loved you.  Recent events and my continuing counselling often get me thinking about suicide. One question I am asked often is if I have suicidal thoughts. The sad fact about mental health is that, yes, I do. More often than I care to think about. I wonder how easy it would be to crash my car or step in from of t

I wrote this two years ago and never published it as I didn't feel I should: Is a bully that leaves a mark on someone's body worse than a bully that leaves a mark on someone's conscious - on their soul? I am inclined to think yes - maybe that is why I allow myself to stay in relationships with a bully.  Whereas I know the world wouldn't agree. A bully is a bully: be it mental or physical.  You can make excuses for their behaviour - something at which I am most practiced - but it doesn't make it right.  So why can I not admit that I am being bullied? I think everyone was bullied as a kid - I just chose to befriend the bully and "get him on side" and I think I have been doing the same ever since if I am honest.  What makes someone think they are allowed to pick fault with another person? We are all allowed opinions but you are not meant to enforce them on another. You may have insecurities but the way to beat them is not to put ano

Dear Alcohol You make me in to a fun, somewhat loud, drunk.  I love to dance and joke and chat.  I then fall asleep especially with the addition thereafter of fresh air. Why is it you cannot do the same for everybody?  Why does the same drug have different effects on people?  I know it's about emotional responses and biological make up, physiological, psychology and various other ologies as well.  However this letter is to you. Why turn somebody I love in to a mean hearted, foul tongued, obnoxious, selfish, argumentative, opinionated, miserable bully?  Why?  It is breaking my heart.   They say that "what is on the drunk man's lips is in the sober man's heart" (in vino veritas) and if that is so I am in trouble.  So many unkind words and statements.  They are making me numb.  Please don't turn them to hate. Sticks and stones may break my bones but names stay forever with me. I ask you, alcohol, stop stealing my life.

Everyone has bad days. Most of us have sad days. We all suffer those can't be bothered days. Maybe it's the weather or, for us women, hormones. Those on the road less travelled have these feelings daily. We wake up with a heavy depression lying across our brow. It pulls at the bags under our eyes that were brought by a sleepless night. We wake up and haul our sorry arses out of bed. Shower if we can get it together and put on some clothes; not really caring what we are wearing or if we wore the outfit yesterday. Then off we plod to work or on the school run. Coats on, mask on, ready to face the day with a smile.  It's a battle and one we often fail to win until we get home and count the hours until bed time. A bed time that brings with it a fretful sleep.  Yes we all have bad days. Depression isn't just a bad day. It is a way of life. 

Today somebody cracked an Ostrich egg full of sad over my head. It hurt like hell. Right on my crown. The sad then slowly seeped down my face, over my eyes and past my mouth. Gluing me together.  It dribbled on to my shoulders and throughout the day made it's messy way down my clothed body.  I feel rotten and my head aches.  

Elton John was wrong. Sorry is not the hardest word. In fact it is all to easily said and not meant.  For years I thought that flowers were a sad excuse for a sorry. Now I realise that what is worse is the empty shell of a sorry. The echo of an unmeant apology received in hope but ushered in haste.  I cannot count the times I have heard the word. From a forced apology "say you are sorry" to one that is said unkept.  We all say sorry. We bump in to someone and manners tell us to apologise. We drop something and we apologise. Sorry here is lighthearted but still meant. Kids fight or shout and apologise as they are taught to do. Sometimes they mean it sometimes they just say it. They are kids after all.  Adults should know better.  Sorry should mean just that. It isn't an excuse for bad behaviour. It isn't a "make everything better with one word". It should be said with the mouth, the heart and the mind.  If you are sorry then be sorr

Pain tugs at my body Reminding me of what I lost It punches me in the gut And makes me double over I wince in agony But in the back of my mind I know it is my body Telling me I am healing  It tells me, every time, That things are changing That they haven't taken it all And my body heals My mind, on the other hand, Is still quiet It's is holding back So far from ready So far from being able to fight It's a long road And one of incomplete recovery A move to a new way A different path

I am not asking you to do anything I am not nagging all the time I am just sitting writing poetry Looking for words that rhyme I want you to understand me I need to feel your love around I need you to know we are both lost And that we both can be found All I am doing is whispering quietly  Hoping that you will hear That you will finally understand  That there is nothing left to fear You lock yourself away completely You have another drink You tie yourself up in knots And all you do is think and think You do not listen when I speak At least you do not hear You are running away internally And making our future unclear. Please stop overthinking Worrying what you may lose  Look at what you have, be brave;  And us, I ask, please choose

It's been a few weeks since my life altering surgery (sounds more drastic than it was maybe; however I guess it was, in some ways, life saving).  Anyhow I haven't been able to write as have been in pain and dealing with my physical scars. I told the doctor recently that I am only able to deal with the physical and have had to disconnect from my body as I hate what it has done to me. I am still unable to really deal with what the surgery means and the implications it may have on my future.  Anyhow this blog is to say I may not be coping so well and other peoples good news may hit me like a sledgehammer. However I know that I am thankful for my family and friends. For my beautiful girl, my worried partner, my caring dog, my parents, my friends that have all come forward to help me and those that have been an ear or just a "like".  Thank you so much you have done more than you will ever know.

Some things just take over. There I was feeling like life was on the up and that maybe I was on the right side of my dark journey. Walking towards the brighter side of life. Then kaboom. The words "no you won't be returning to work you won't be leaving the hospital" hit me full on in the face. That phrase made the whole awful situation more real. I visit A&E on occasion (riding breaks and poling dislocations) but never have I had to stay. Even after Eliza I managed less than ten hours in hospital. I couldn't believe this was happening.  I felt scared and bereft, alone, sad.  I felt like I was being punished. And then I saw the consultant.  Told off for not going in sooner he told me that by ignoring the pain it was highly likely he would have been resuscitating me if I had left it any longer.  Wow. I realised then that I was in trouble and that a high pain threshold is not always a good thing. Anyhow I had the surgery that night. I had my

Not all abuse in a relationship is physical. Just like all illnesses are not obvious. Although they are "mental" it doesn't make them any less significant.   An Open Letter: Your words are often harsh and I let them float over my head. I know it's not you thinking. It's alcohol, it's tiredness, it's money, it's family, it's drugs, its work, it's whatever excuse I decide to label it with to move on. Sometimes they cut so deep. Putting small cracks in my heart that need love to  fill the gaps. When this happens forgiveness takes a little longer.  When it is constant the opposite happens and I pull down the shutters. I stop feeling. I stop caring. I am numb. This is when I want to never wake up.  And then there are the unforgivable things. The venomous words spat from your mouth. Not in anger. Not in rage. Just in hate and apathy.  What do I do with those?  Where do I go from there?

My medication has turned my black dog to a small bundle of fluff. He is controlled, held back as it were, and lives in my stomach. I know he is there and at times I can feel him straining at the leash to get out. It scares me. I guess I could liken him to a Gremlin. Looks cute and harmless but add water and he becomes a menace and ruins everything. The medication, on the whole, keeps the water at bay.  Sometimes though I can feel that little tike getting ready for a swim and I don't know how to stop him. He gets into my thoughts and my actions. He controls my subconscious. I want to be happy but he wants to play.  I'd say I want him to drown but that would only make matters worse!  I just hope that one day he finds a new home. Maybe not with someone else but somewhere away from me

I  think most people have heard depression expressed as a black dog. Hopefully some of you have also seen the video entitled I Had a Black dog ( http://youtu.be/XiCrniLQGYc  ). If you haven't please do have a watch as it is great.  For Chris' birthday this year I bought him a book: Living With A Black Dog.  Often he says that people don't know what it is like to live with someone with depression and that only through my blog a Has he learnt more about my illness.  Well they have made the book into a short video and I highly recommend a watch ( http://www.upworthy.com/let-these-drawings-with-a-dog-show-you-what-you-should-do-when-you-approach-someone-with-depression?c=ufb1 ) Sorry if this is a bit of a cop out blog but I would like to start raising awareness of other blogs and information out there. In the hope of spreading the word that depression is REAL.

The oddest thing just happened to me. In the middle of a pole class I just put on my trackies, my hoodie and left. I am not a quitter. I never leave a film halfway through, I see things through, I read a book to the end, it doesn't mean I am enjoying it but if I sign up to it I stay with it. I wouldn't want to waste my time or money after all.  Today however I just had to leave. I had an overwhelming sense of being an outsider, or being useless, just feeling wrong. Pole isn't like that, it's all inclusive, but today it was like I was at a new studio: a complete beginner.  I put my hood up and stepped out I to the rain and cried. I just felt wrong....

I am not one that goes in for self help.  Lets be honest I don't really go in for any kind of help.  Reaching out to my doctor last Christmas was a massive step for me.  I have always thought I can do anything on my own and do not need other people's help.  I now know this is not the case and that I shouldn't be embarrassed to ask. Anyhow I have taken to reading about depression, both online and books.  In fact I recently bought a book for me (Ruby Wax) and one for Chris (Living with the Black Dog) as I felt it was time to start to understand this illness a little more.  However I don't seem to get a chance to read it as there is always something going on.  In fact I rarely read books anymore and that used to be something I loved.  The escapism.   It then got me thinking about other things that I have let slip or in fact let go of completely.  Things that used to keep me grounded, happy, normal. I stopped horse riding when I was pregnant.  Since having El

The sense of failure can be on different scales. Big or small the feeling never goes away and is always there just nudging us constantly in the head. It might as well be shouting "loser" at the top of it's voice. Today I feel like I have failed as I haven't managed to find anyone to help with the ice bucket challenge, I was meant to have a pamper session but it was cancelled AND I have eaten bread despite saying I wouldn't as I desperately need to lose weight.  However it can often be on a greater scale. I can look at my life and see what I have achieved and then see what I have done with it. I have a degree and a Masters and now earn a wage that doesn't pay my bills. I don't own a home (well I am on the mortgage to my marital home but that is a battle I seem incapable of winning).  I think I will stop there as this isn't a pity rant. It's just a blog post! The feeling of failure is overwhelming sometimes. It makes me bow my head in

Anxious the Elephant will m ean very little to most folk but asi have friends who worked for Haven Holidays I have heard of him. The reason for the title is a little tenuous....  M y thinking was this: anxiety and depression are often the elephants in the room. Completely ignored despite their presence as people are embarrassed about mental illness.  Today's topic is anxiety. I am not a stressy person or a worrier so I am not prone to panic attacks but have witnessed them first hand with my Dad.  However today I was feeling a little under the weather but continued as normal. I felt that I was not "happy" and couldn't quite place what was wrong. All of a sudden, for no reason at all, whilst in a shop my stomach somersaulted into my throat and started to strangle me from the inside.  Or at least that how it felt. For only the second time in my life I felt a need to run to fresh air, the last time was many years ago in a crowded pub a couple of weeks after I was r

You call me selfish. You say it so often and the funny thing is it is always when I am trying to be selfless. When I say I don't mind or it's your choice. Or maybe it's when I am putting my little girl ahead of me or ahead of you. You call that selfish but I call it being a mother.  Anyhow people often state that depression is a selfish illness and that suicide is a purely selfish act. I too was one until I contemplated it after being taken down by this disease.  We aren't being selfish we are just lost. Not lost in a bubble of our own doing but a void. An empty void. We aren't putting ourselves first or moving away we are just not feeling anything.  And then past that we start to think about our family and friends and what a drain we are on them. We start to think how much better their lives would be without us. So you see, we are far from being selfish, we are trying to be the complete opposite.  Yes those that are left behind will mourn but

Everyone always says "but you are always the life and soul of the party. You are always smiling. You are the last person I thought that would suffer from depression".  I have spoken about it before: it's all about masks and putting on a face. No, that's not true, it isn't all about that. I am naturally a happy-go-lucky person. Just sometimes I am not and I used to feel the need to hide it behind larger laughs and smiles.  Today I am looking at Comedians and why so many suffer with depression. This isn't in light of the recent sad news about Robin Williams as this blog had already been written. However I feel a need to mention him too.  When we think of comedians and depression we think Jack Dee. His act was born out of a lack of success and he went on the stage once miserable and it took off from there. However he (as far as I know) doesn't suffer with this disease.  I think the route of the problem lies in the mass highs. And from a great height there is

One of my underlying feelings is that of feeling irritated. By the smallest of things; how my dog licks his paws; how someone chews their food; constantly being asked the same thing.  Now don't get me wrong EVERYONE gets irritated. And everyone gets annoyed. But to live constantly with a sense of annoyance is hard work. It is completely irrational and it can be the silliest of things that set it off.  It is then a slippery slope to getting stressed and worked up, possible explosion and finally tears. Stupid over exuberant irrationality. It urks me. 

An odd title I know but when I did a thesaurus check on the antonym of pleasure I got pain... Maybe the Pain of Guilt is a better title. Whichever you choose today is about that! I think part of why I am where I am is an overwhelming feeling of guilt. And guilt is a funny thing. Something you cannot shake. Something you just cannot let go of however hard you try. I know I need to forgive myself but I just cannot.  There isn't much I feel guilty about to be honest. I try to live my life without regrets. So yes I feel bad that I didn't get to see my grandmother before she died (frustratingly I was going to see her on the Saturday but she decided to pop her clogs before the weekend).  Yes I feel bad for not seeing my family and friends as much but they all (should) know that I love them and keep them in my thoughts. I feel bad that my house isn't spic and span and I am not a stay at home mum but Eliza is a fantastic child and I live to ensure she is happy.  So

I think one of the scariest feelings that I get with my depression is that of nothingness.  Not in a nice yoga-like-meditation way but in a vast emptiness type of a way. It is an all consuming numbness. You just do not care about anything.  Not what you say to me or think of me. I am full to brimming with nothing. The darkness comes from this, the lethargy, the apathy.  Nothing matters. I think this is where the suicidal tendencies creep in. I don't care what happens next. What would happen if I drove into that tree?  Or if I took a cocktail of tablets?  I have never seen any such thing through as I have Eliza and she deserves more from me.  She is the only thing that makes me feel something and can drag me from my black hole. And for that I will be eternally grateful.  The numbness scares me most of all......