Merry Christmas one and all...

That time of year has approached once more... Christmas. Christmas divides opinion: you either love it (so much so that the minute the iconic Coca Cola Adverts chants its melodic catchphrase' Holidays are Coming, Holidays are Coming,' your stomach whirrs with excitement) or you hate it (so much so that the mere mention of the profane word makes you break out in sweats and want to pull the duvet over your head until March.) I am in the first category: I love it.

When I say I love Christmas I think back to the physical, spiritual and emotional response the word Christmas once evoked in me. Although my childhood wasn't always easy- with more than 6 siblings living at home in a small 3 bedroomed house, money was tight and as eldest, I never got very much  (except a never-ending to-do list to help around the house) -regardless, my mother still kept the spirit of Christmas alive. Childhood, although chaotic and heart-breaking at times, was filled with love and joyful Christmas cheer: families around the table, wonky trees covered in garish baubles, which incidentally always fell off the tree, breaking into tiny pieces, casting shards of glass all over the floor which I always, without fail, trod on. Christmas was about anticipation, singing along to Top Of The Pops Christmas specials, gift wrapping, carrots for Rudolf and re-runs of old Christmas TV Specials: Only Fools and Horses, The Royale Family, quiz shows. Christmas was warm in my childhood. I wish I could bottle that feeling.

Then my teenage years approached- I fell in love and Christmas became an altogether new experience: a time for lovingly embracing with the love of my life, in my bedroom with candles aglow dreaming wistfully about future children. Christmas day was filled with presents from the lover: naughty chocolates, sensual nightwear (to be reserved for when living alone) visits as couples to different families, feeling a sense of belonging in the world like a rite of passage- being a part of the grown up world. It was also enjoyed with drunken nights out and endless parties thrown in for fun and good measure. That time was also warm but in a different way. Again, I wish I could bottle that feeling.

Then there came the Christmases after the break-up of first love when I was a student, living alone in a tiny little flat living on Mastercard's Credit Limit (which I am still paying off today almost 10 years later!) I remember the first ever time waking up alone on Christmas morning- I was 21 and had spent the night before sobbing childlike tears because it was the first time I would not be visiting my first-love's home in 5 years. I was sentimental. I was hormonal and I was cold. But, I was still Happy. A family Christmas dinner was awaiting me. Nothing could break my festive spirit. I was stoic in the face of adversity- maybe it was the hope that things would get better again but whatever it was: I wish I could bottle that feeling.

And this year- this year I am approaching 30 and I am the most comfortable off, financially, I have ever been, I am living with a supportive partner and I have a family who love me. I have a job and I have security. But, for some reason I just cannot get the festive warmth and cheer. Why is this? Maybe it is the depression, maybe it is life, maybe it is weariness or maybe it is my medication but whatever it is I am in despair and I need an antidote. I want the warm fuzzy feeling, the gut-wrenching excitement back. I am in no way a Scrooge: I have tried everything to keep my spirits up: My Living room is brightly lit with a gorgeous tree and lots of shiny presents which I have lovingly chosen for loved ones- and to add meaning I even handmade special gifts as extras all containing special Christmas poems. As far as I am aware I am going about the right way to get the Christmas feeling but why am I vacant?

I guess  I will have to try to stop chasing the happiness. Maybe the answer is to sit back, relax and enjoy the small pleasures around me: 2 weeks leave from work, fragrant candles aglow, hot bubble baths, the smell of warm mince-pie, the texture of a gift before you tear it open, the look on the face of others when you get them that perfect gift, the smile and excitement of a child and the wonder of the beautiful world. I am blessed. I am lucky. I am more fortunate that those who will have nothing and no one this Christmas, not even basic essentials. But, Why can't I have happiness?

Dear Santa, if you are reading this please make me feel better soon.

Haikus

Dear reader,

I thought I would throw a little haikus your way to brighten up your day. I enjoy writing haikus-with a structure so simple (5,7,5 syllables) and a message so true.

Get Better soon

Take a little pill,

Smile at the day ahead

Get a little rest

Sending Hope your way

May the sun kiss you,

May the birds sing well to you,

May you get better

Literature

Reader,

I have been recently Arthur Miller's play, 'Death of a Salesman.' Have any of you read it? It is one of my personal favourite pieces of literature of all time. So simply written, yet so powerfully conveyed is the mental decline of Miller's protagonist, Willy Loman, that one cannot help but read about the plight of this man. This poor, poor man who does not fit into the society in which he is living. Have you ever felt like that before? That if you were born in a different era, at a different time or walked in a different body your life would be easier?

Which leads me to another question: Why, when I am so down myself, am I compelled to read about the mental decline of others in the pits of despair? Why not reach for the feel good classics? 'To Kill a Mockingbird' is always a wholeheartedly feel good book to pick you up. The heroic Atticus commands respect, admiration and even restores the faith in humanity and the charismatic and humorous Dill draws out belly rumbling laughs.

However, there is just something intensely mesmerising about reading books like 'Death of a Salesman' when feeling at a low ebb. Maybe it's the personal soul searching that goes on when digesting lines which one can feel: 'He's just a little boat looking for a harbour,' or 'He's a human being...and attention must be paid to him.' Maybe it's because when I read this play I can always match the characters up to people I know in my life. Everybody knows a Willy Loman. You may even be a Willy Loman yourself, dear reader. Everyone knows a Biff Loman: a self-indulged child who grows up to waste his own life, while apportioning blame on everyone around him. Everyone knows a Linda Loman- the strong matriarch who keeps the family together. Everyone knows or can identify with Happy Loman- the child who has to fight for his father's attention all his life.

Whoever you are, or for whatever reason you read, "Death of a Salesman" is a play I would recommend. It won't life your spirits on a rainy day; it won't give you hope when you feel there is none; it will not make you laugh. There is one thing it will do, however. It will expose you, first hand, to the psychological decline of a man on the brink: the brink of society and the brink of mental decline. And maybe, through reading this you can feel satisfied that life is hard, your mental illness is justified, to be expected even in this constant whirlwind of stress we call life. It gives you reason and answers for feeling the way you do.

therapy

Dear reader,

I feel compelled to write as I had my first follow up appointment with my psychologist yesterday. I had a bit of a 'breakdown' a few weeks back when I woke up-it was during a particularly sunny spell, the temperature was 20 degrees, the sun splitting the trees and humanity was happy- I on the other hand, felt bleak, heavy and sick. I could not move my legs. I was due to start work in one hour. I did what I usually do: I showered and attempted to dress but as I was putting on my clothes, I felt a real leaden weight and fell on a heap on my bathroom floor. I did not know what to do. I could not go on.
Frightened and desperate, I picked up the phone and called my GP, who gave me an appointment. I just about managed to dress myself and pulled back my still wet hair. What happened next was a blur: how I got to the Doctor's surgery I do not know.

Most of my issues are to do with self-esteem, and this is one of the main reasons why I am as ill as I am: apparently I have deep rooted self-esteem issues from childhood (more about that later). So as I went in to the doctor's surgery I felt that familiar sense of anxiety: I was scared: scared to tell the doctor what was wrong for fear of being thought of as stupid, scared to talk about my illness, scared of being there in general. So I did what I usually did and told the doctor I was feeling a 'bit unwell'- a bit of an understatement. He did what he usually did and upped my dose of anti-depressants. I told him I was scared for my sanity that day. He told me to get back in touch with my mental health professional (I had just finished an intensive course of CAT: Cognitive Analytical Therapy) and arrange something  there. I left feeling worse. There was no way out. nobody could help me and it was all me.

I broke down outside the surgery and desperately called my therapist- there was nothing else I could think of... I wanted to die but I was scared. I needed help. I was put through to the very kind secretary who arranged a call back for me. There was nothing else that could be done. I made my way back home, closed the blinds to blind out the blistering sun and lay in my bed sobbing. I called my work to tell them I wouldn't be in (something I had completely forgotten in the midst of my anxiety) and fell asleep.
I received a call back from the secretary and she arranged an appointment with a psychologist for 4 weeks later.

Yesterday was that day. My session was a review of how I had been feeling. I told him about the ups and downs, the stresses of everyday life, the pain and suffering. He has agreed that group therapy is best for me- talking in a group with similar like minded people who are going through the same issues. because, I'm sure I don't need to tell those sufferers out there that while you have the love and support of family and friends from time-to-time, it is very difficult for a non sufferer to really feel what you are. I guess this is one of the reasons I started this blog in the first place to communicate with others like me who suffer like me.

I will keep in touch to inform you of how that sessions are getting on... Thanks for listening!

FOMO syndrome

I was reading a magazine article the other day, ladies and gentleman, and came across an article which highlights a new syndrome: FOMO syndrome- yes, you've read it right! What is this FOMO syndrome you may ask? According to the article it is a Fear Of Missing Out syndrome and is related to Facebook. For those of you who use Facebook, you will be familiar with the regular updates your friends post on their walls: 'Another great weekend at the party of the century!' 'Living the dream!' 'Meeting all the girls for carnage this weekend!'

I for one am used to such comments as these on a regular basis... Yes, I am happy that my friends are happy living the dream and partying until dawn but, at the same time, I cannot help feeling a deep sense of inadequacy every time I scroll down the home pages of Facebook. Every Sunday morning, after I have spent a Saturday under the dark cave of the duvet, I scrawl the pages and read the updates and every update I read just exacerbates my feelings of inadequacy. I am left with thoughts such as: I should be living like this. What am I missing out on? Why can't I live a normal life like this and have fun with friends? Why do I lock myself away? The truth is, I do feel inadequate and I can't help wondering when it all went wrong. I just want to feel again, is it my fault that I don't or is it a result of the illness?

My weekend

Once again, dear reader, I have had quite a difficult weekend with my mental health and boy does it show on my face: I woke today with three huge zits on my face, I thought at nearly 30 the teenage acne had been and gone but it appears not. I am also prone to migraine and indeed I have had a stonker of a migraine for the past three days. That along with the big black bags under the eyes- which give me the appearance of someone who has been hit on the eyes with two snooker balls-means that I am not feeling that great. Physically and mentally.
What do you do when things are like this? I for one know how difficult it is to do anything when feeling like this because for one, depression is so debilitating. It is easier when feeling this way to close the blinds, go to sleep for as long as sleep will allow and cry to oneself. But, on the better days, one can reflect and realise that these actions are damaging and don't help in the least. For me they lead to a sense of frustration: when I come out of these black periods I think about how I am wasting my life and days like this are days lost on this earth. I also feel a sense of loss, like I am losing out because days like this means that I am missing out on a social life; a love life; any sort of life which is why I am writing this entry today. To loo back when the going is tough and think about the choices I have to help myself. But then again, that is always easier said than done.

Death

                                              Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath

Depression is a killer- literally! I have just heard some dreadfully sad news today; about the death of an old colleague who took their own life. The thing that shocked me more than anything- apart from the shock of the news, of course-was the discovery that this colleague had depression. The reason this shocked me is because this colleague suffered silently- when I worked with him I was never aware of any signs of depression and you see, that is the thing about depression- it is often disguised. We disguise it from our friends, we disguise it from our colleagues and we disguise it from as many people as we can get away disguising it from. But, it strikes. And sometimes it kills.

My heart goes out to the family of this colleague because, back to my original blog, depression has many victims- in particular, those who love and care for the sufferer. At this moment death does not exist for my colleague- in fact he is released from his torment. However, the torment has just begun for his family- his death only exists for them and they will suffer long term.

I too have disguised my depression for many years, well certainly from my work colleagues and friends. However, things got a bit too much for me last year and I had to take a spell off work. This roused speculation and, as often happens in the workplace, rumours began: 'Why is she off?' 'Is she stressed?' 'Could she be pregnant?' 'She hasn't been looking too well recently!' People were shocked to discover that I had depression because after all 'She (me!) was always so smiley!' 'She was always so normal!' 'She was so good at her job, you would never have known!'

 Why did I disguise my depression from my work peers for so long? Because I was ashamed- or that should be present tense- am ashamed. It is difficult for non sufferers to understand the pain and suffering that goes on inside the head of a sufferer. Words cannot describe it- some can get close: horrific, sickening, painful, terrorising, nightmarish...but no word in the English language can describe it.

The truth is I was a coward- I wanted to appear 'normal' so much that I spent the last few years of my life becoming so obsessed with being 'normal' that I ignored my depression and subsequently made myself even more sick! Am I glad that (some) people now know about my depression? The truth is I don't know. On one hand, it is a bit of a relief not having to keep up this pretence that everything is 'ALRIGHT' but then again people do treat me a bit with 'kid gloves.' Many people, particularly in the work place, and particularly seniors, mistake depression for stress-Yes, they are linked in some way but they are two entirely different things! They both evoke two completely different feelings. However, this misconception has lead my seniors to take away some of my responsibility and are often careful in how they speak to me. I no longer seem to have the same 'great worker, potential star' status I once had. It is as if I am tarnished.

The question is: did I do the right thing opening up about my illness or should I have trudged through life with my eyes closed, my heart heavy and my brain sick? I know what I prefer...

a mild case of the blues

Today I have had a mild case of the blues: not enough to send me into the deep pits of despair but enough to make me feeling lonely, frustrated and trapped in my own mind. I wonder if this is a normal feeling- after all it is Monday and people generally feel a bit hopeless on a Monday for a wide range of reasons- do they not?
I am guessing most people dread a Monday as it serves as an anti-climax: an anti-climax to a weekend filled with drink, laughter and friends? Maybe not, maybe like me they dread a Monday because it is another day in the mindset of a person with depression. Maybe like me, you never feel rested on a Monday because you wake with an ache in your stomach and a vacancy in your head. Your weekend wasn't filled with laughter and fun but isolation, fear and frustrations...
Today I went a walk after work to try to combat these blues- after all, a nice brisk walk does wonders does it not? Not for me, unfortunately. Whilst it did tire me out in a physical way- much preferred to the mental way- I found myself walking and thinking- after all what more is there to do when walking along? What did I think as I walked- I thought of how utterly alone I felt and vulnerable and exposed. All of this lead to a bit of panic and anxiety and I had to cut my walk short, unfortunately. Oh well, there is always tomorrow...

Hello!

Fellow bloggers,

I have started a new account to blog my experiences of depression- one of the most common words in our everyday vocabulary. Depression is a word that everyone, everywhere has heard at some point in their life (and I don't mean depression of the economic kind!). If you type the word into google you will be hit with 252,000,000 searches. Yet, the 'generic' term depression can mean so many things to the many millions of people who suffer from it.

Depression can be such a controversial word: the next time you are in work say to your colleagues: I have depression. The next time you are at an interview say: I have depression. The next time you meet up with the woman who has just lost her husband to cancer say the words: I have depression. See what you get...

 Of course depression is difficult to understand for those who have never suffered it- I totally get that! Why, no one likes a whinger or a moaner and at times it seems like all depression sufferers seem to do is moan and whine. I suppose my blog is just that: an area in which I can rant, whine and blow out my deepest and darkest thoughts in my bleakest moments so technically, yes, I am just moaning. But, the reason I write on a blog about depression, as opposed to in a regular old-fashioned diary is because I want people to read it. I want sufferers to read and hopefully understand some of what I am saying- perhaps they too have experienced similar to me. But, not only that, this blog is for the other sufferers of depression- and by that I do not mean the depressed patient but I mean the spouse or partner of a depressed person, because they too suffer. After all, can you imagine anything more bleak than waking up beside a person everyday who can't face the day? A person who at times will not talk to you, will not acknowledge you and even at times will turn your world upside down on a whim- you tell me that is not suffering!

Over the next few entries I will detail my experiences. Some days, like today, I will feel fine, normal or as normal as one can be; then there will be days when I will be at my deepest and darkest moments- days which I feel will be important to write about, especially if you want an insight into the mind of a sufferer. I think this will also be good for me because sometimes, on the good days, you forget the worst days and talk yourself out of being 'ill.' And every sufferer knows, pretending your depression does not exist is never a good thing. After all, that's what I've done for the past 10 years...