My Blog Bubble

As a teenager we lived next door to a lady with depression.   She and her husband were lovely people, they would always stop and chat, but sometimes she would retreat and we wouldn't see her for months. Instead we would only see Ernie on his daily walk. Then suddenly she would be back beside him with long hair (Gladys always had short hair). I didn't really take much notice but can remember my mum commenting about Gladys and her long hair meaning she had been depressed.   Now, looking back, I can see how they were connected. How Glady wouldn't want to leave the house and thus her hair would grow and she would look unkempt when she did reappear. I get it now. Growing up depression wasn't really something I knew much about. I know members of my family have suffered with it but it just kind of passed me by. After all we all have sad days or  short periods. Well that's what I thought. Just get on with it. Keep smiling.   However my short periods would get longer...

Take things day by day they say. Sometimes that can be a struggle. Taking things hour by hour also seems too difficult. I try to deal with things as they come along and so today I thought I'd blog about my first thought when I wake: Always: is it a weekend (no work, time with family and friends)?  If not then I know I need to battle with myself to get out of bed.  I know everyone hates getting up. For me it isn't so much that I hate it it's more that I just cannot seem to do it as I know what lies ahead: another day.  If I get up I have to accept the fact I need to shower and get dressed, get Eliza up and dressed, drop her off and go to work, all before I can come home again to my place of "safety". The task of what I am going to wear overwhelms me sometimes and I cannot get out of bed without having a clear plan of action. If a chosen garment isn't clean then my plan crumbles and so do I. Silly isn't it?  How can something so small affect...

Everywhere I look I am seeing posts about #100HappyDays. Or posting three #positive things a day. Even I have been sucked in and am partaking in the daily challenge of finding something that made me smile, taking a photo, and posting in to my Instagram (@LuluSLR) account. I am only on day 3 and found Day 2 a struggle. Why?  I suffer with #depression and my least favourite day of the week is a Thursday.  Anyhow I got there and posted a photo of my daughter doing her impression of Elsa from #Frozen. Doing this got me thinking about why I chose to take part. I thought it would be good for me, make me find something to smile about, even when I don't want to. However it made me think I should do the same for what makes me #sad. This is less about photos and more about words after all who wants to see my miserable face everyday!  Especially when the things that make me feel down are often in my head.  I am going to blog on what it's like to live with #depressio...

There are so many things that make me think of you. Daily. Today as I was walking to the station I realised that I am not left with a hole, with a sense of grief, sad that you died; I am left with a sense of happiness, of gladness that you lived. Is it because I have grieved well or is it because you lived magnificently and brought us up to be thankful? I am grateful that we have so many memories and stories. That I see you in so many of the things I do. Your memory lives on when I let the children know that you loved this or would have enjoyed that or even that you would have hated something. When I tell Eliza how proud you would have been of her recent school report. When we talk to Dexter about you and point you out in photos. I love that we have “your beach”. A place we can go as a family to enjoy the seaside and to remember you. I love that I can laugh with you still. Or that I say hello if I see a Robin in the garden. Or I smile at a random white feather fl...

There is a constant tug of war in my head. Between the positive and the negative. The devil and the Angel on my shoulder. Constantly buzzing in my ear. My depression causes the negative devil to speak loudest and causes my anxiety to worsen. On good days or when I am busy or surrounded by people I can't hear that dastardly little blighter. And on others days my positive white angel will pipe up and tell him to pipe down. She will counteract what he has to say.  There is constant chatter; I am never alone. They say silence is deafening and for someone with mental illness that is so true.  Music can help drown out the voices. Mediation can but that is harder. Keeping your mind busy. Maybe through mindfulness or watching a film. They prevent me from hearing the voices.  Sometimes I wish they would leave me alone and let me enjoy some peace and quiet

Communication is to blame for so many things. Oftentimes it's the lack of communication that leads to misunderstandings and mistakes. However in this day of technology I think that there is an overload of communications or at least ways to communicate. This isn't a blog about modern technology and how it is blighting our lives. Or about the information overload we have. Or misinformation from newspapers and politicians. Nor is it about the fact that I cannot survive without having to ask Google to answer things I do not know or need confirmation on. This is about how relationships have changed due to the numerous ways we have to communicate and I am not sure it is for the better.  When I was a kid phones were attached to the wall and the handset attached to the phone. There was no wondering around or hiding in your bedroom. Your parents always knew what was going on (unless you were posh enough to have a phone in your bedroom).  If you wanted to see a friend you ha...

Today I found myself laughing and joking at my current situation; a relationship breakdown with a custody issue thrown in. Who in their right mind would be smiling about that?  Why am I not crying and feeling sad?  Am I putting a brave face on it or is this me coping? I just don't know. Is this the result of being on medication? Will it hit me one day like a sledgehammer and I won't want to creep out of my pit? Or am I just getting on with it. Putting my daughter first and making light of a situation that has been unsuspectingly thrust upon me? Who am I? Am I this strong woman?  Am I this bubbly person that everyone sees? Or am I papering over cracks and painting on a smile? It scares me that I really don't know.

I think a lot about my illness is subconscious and how things play on my mind without me realising. It isn't until I stop to wonder why I am feeling especially low or sad inside that I look for a reason. Oftentimes there is a lot of searching to be done and sometimes no answers are found. Without my realising this time of year has been creeping up on me. August and September are probably my worst two months of the year which is ironic as it is also birthday season and the beginning of autumn (my favourite time of year).  August is the reminder of that decision I made three years ago that will forever be tinged with regret. September now holds a new meaning. A time to realise that I am not in control and that sometimes life takes unexpected turns. It was a Thursday last year, but as with all dates, this year it falls on a Friday. A day to remember I am fallible and can be broken. A time to remember I could not be here. So should be thankful. A time to grieve for my loss, my ...

Those internal incessant voices Are your repeated words They are the horrible things said That I should never have heard They repeat themselves overtly And burn within my heart Until I can only hear them And they slowly tear me apart I can be on my own completely Or smiling within a crowd The sun could be shining brightly Or I could be under a storm cloud They start to strangle me And cloud my busy mind Until I can't but help to wish My mind be free my body left behind

When it's a jar.  We all know that old riddle. And we all know that the door remains a door. So why is it that some think that rape is not rape if it's by someone you know or if it was non-violent?  And by some I include me, I didn't report my rape because I knew the man that did it. I worked with him and I was young and naive. I trusted when my colleagues told me that it was better all round to let it go (before the days of Frozen) and to just not go to meetings he would attend. So that is what I did. Looking back now, and with how times have changed, I see now my mistake. I said no, I pleaded, he didn't listen he just buried my head in the pillow and did what he felt he had a right to do. I was 21. He was a married man with children. I was trapped by him for years but finally I allowed myself to be free.  There are people out there that believe that abuse is not abuse without bruises.   Maybe once I too was the same. I was controlled in my marriage. Made ...

Love doesn't end in a firework. There are no flares to light the way to the next chapter of your life. Love fizzles out. Like a bottle of champagne sitting in a fridge without a spoon. It just loses its bubbles until one day it is flat. Sometimes something shifts. One person changes. One person gives up.  The fights culminate. Sometimes it is a whisper. A Subtle change. Whatever it is the end is signalled. Does it really come as a shock. Is it inevitable. Are you the first, or the last, to see it coming? Where do those emotions go?  What happens to all that love?  That friendship?  Why doesn't it bend like normal friendships? Why does it splinter into a million painful pieces? Oftentimes it can be put down to others. Their opinions. Their interference. Their reliance. Sometimes it is the influence of outside forces. Sometimes it is just time, circumstance, situational.  What are we?

This too is a previously unpublished post: Do you know that when they question you about physical violence from a partner (domestic abuse) they ask one question that surprised me: Does the person show violence towards your pets? That really got me thinking about what someone thinks of you if they are happy to abuse you.  Abuse takes many forms, it can be physical (obvious signs like bruises or hidden bruises), it can be mental (constant threats, put downs, arguments). In fact there are so many forms it is hard to work out when you are in an abusive relationship.  Everyone argues and has heated debates. Not everyone lives with someone that makes them feel like they have nowhere to go or that they deserve what is thrust upon them.  Oftentimes the person being abused doesn't even realise. It is a long process and you believe that what you have is love. You believe you can fix them. You can heal whatever broke them just by loving them.  Chances are ...

A hard-hitter from three years ago that remained unpublished until now: I always knew what I wanted to be when I grew up - happy and successful - I was never really sure what I wanted to be though. That changed often but seem to always go back to the same thing - maybe a blog for another time. Lets talk about the happy and successful: neither of which I seem to have attained as yet.  Now I am not silly I know fairy tales are just that, I don't believe in living happily ever after, I don't even believe love can last. So that part never figured hugely in my future: I was going to be the next Dr Robertson (via phd not medicine); I was going to have a successful career whereby I could fend or myself; I was going to meet the man I was to marry at 26; we were going to have two children; we were going to be happy. Simple(s). So lets look at that plan: I only managed a Masters (but I did achieve that whilst working full time); currently I am unemployed - I have ha...

In Paul's first letter to the Corinthians he spoke of love and nowadays we hear those words read at weddings. My experience of love has shown me a different way.  It isn't that I "have not love" it is just that I have no experience of the love that he speaks about. Love isn't patient it rings and rings, if there is no answer it rings again.  Love is 16 missed calls Love isn't   kind it is cruel and full of harsh words.  Spite and venom. Lo ve  does envy.  It is a green eyed monster.  It is jealous of all that it once held dear.  And yet some times it does not envy and it seems to not even care. It does boast; love is full of selfish pride. Love is arrogant, pretentious, conceited, pompous, insolent. Love is rude. Ill-tempered.  Short-fused. Love has only one way and it isn't mine Love is irritable. And worst of all, love is resentful, and full of regrets. Love does rejoice at wrongdoing, it cares little...

The Carpenters said it was Rainy Days and Mondays but hey... A very good friend of mine recently asked what do I do on my black days and it got me thinking. What do I do on days when I just want to curl up under my duvet and never wake up? On days when I want to cry myself to sleep and hide from the world. When I want to creep into my lair and just stay there? Sometimes I do just that. However that is a luxury, how many of us are able to just forget about the world? Sometimes we go off the rails and we do just that we get so caught up in our own misery we forget the people around us. However I am talking of the dark days when you are still trudging along pretending to yourself and the world that it's all ok.  So what do we do? What do I do? I try to step outside my bubble. To realise that there is a me and a world and we are able to live symbiotically.  I think the key is remembering you. Reminding yourself that you are a person in your own right. Not ju...

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.  T...

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...

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.