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.