The inevitable 'catch up and review' type post

This time a year ago I was in Bogota. Contemplating life, the world and another year I had escaped for three weeks to try and get a grip on why I was so increasingly unsettled.

Of course I had a complete overhaul and massive revelations that changed the course of my life entirely.  Ok hardly, but it did start me off down a track of vulnerable honesty and deconstruction.

It's a very difficult place to be in right now, looking at the determined lists and resolutions I made in what I assumed would the the low point that led to the high.  Now I know it was the beginning of a year of falling apart and sharing my weakness, and that the lows were far from the bottom and anything other than fleeting.

It's hard to ignore the instinct that tells me this year has been a failure, that I've not achieved what I set out to do.  In fact I'm taking apart big chunks of my comfortable life partly to move forward - but also because I can't carry on.  That's a horrible feeling.  To know that a year on I'm still not ok.

It's safe to say that my pride has been to diminished to nothing this year; I've had to be too honest to hold on to any illusions of togetherness or success.  After ten years of independence I've had to ask my parents to look after me again, and am forever asking friends to forgive me for hiding from them.  The title of this blog stings as I go part time to try and find the energy to build myself up again.  At the very height of insecurity I'm choosing to give up having any disposable income and giving up my home.

It's not a bucket list or handful of New Years' resolutions that I need this year.  It's not that I'm directionless or bored or lazy.

'No human, you can't
go back to bed.'

I'm broken and I'm scared.

So what do I do? Hide under my duvet indefinitely?  Unfortunately the four legged creatures I live with won't allow this. Write some lists full of gusto and positive cliches?  Been there, done that.
Make some goals?  Falling short anymore is simply too much. Pull it together? If I could, I would have already.

By my calculations that leaves one thing; wait it out.  The one good thing about living with depression for a while is that I now know what to expect. I just have to hold back the panic and breathe.

There are always chinks of light even when the dark seems unending.
Even if the clouds never cease their lurking, there are days that seem lighter.
I cannot compare myself to anyone else, particularly on social media. (Which lies.)
There is no shame in starting again, even if this isn't starting again... it's all forward.
I genuinely prefer a blank page to a rut.  Remember this.
Hurt nurtures compassion,  This is the time to become a really really nice person.
I don't have to be sorted yet, if ever.  I am allowed to muddle through.
It'll be ok.  It will.

And why I am broadcasting this quite so publicly? Because feeling ashamed feeds the dark.  Making depression a taboo also further stigmatises it. Talking about it shines light on how common it is to feel out of control and useless.  Because whatever I may feel on any given day, what I've documented reminds me that I am not completely lost, that I've had moments of clarity and hope - maybe even wisdom. I'm not whinging, I'm fighting.  I'm not pushing a sob story, I'm telling a real story.  I don't want attention, I want it on the record that I'm not going to give up.

Happy, terrifying, New Year.  There is more to come.

Christmas is not about being happy.

My love / hate relationship with Facebook is getting increasingly lopsided.  I love it for the sharing of articles and campaigns I'd never otherwise see, witticisms of my esteemed network and the opportunity to stay connected with people that my dis-organisation in non cyber life would let slip off the radar.

However, and I'm not the first to say it, it is an impeccable device for self harm.  Want to feel like you are boring, less successful and less popular than a load of your peers?  Check out your newsfeed.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not against the sharing of adventure and happy times and achievements.  But alongside this great stuff, I wonder if we're encouraged to keep up appearances.  Maybe we're tempted to shout about the good stuff to project what we want our life to be, rather than what it is.  And possibly we end up looking for affirmation from anyone who will offer it.  Most importantly what if we're sweeping stuff under the carpet at the expense of tasting a little genuine hope?

Christmas is this incredible clash of well publicised stress and pressure to make some magic.  It is the time we push real life aside and wrap the season up nicely.  Somehow Christmas has become about being tidy and putting on a good show until its all over and the mess takes over.

Yet the first Christmas was far from tidy.  It was all about love breaking into the mess of the world and showing us hope within it.  Quite opposite of sweeping the crap under the carpet, Christmas was about looking straight at it and declaring 'there is more than this'.

If I've learnt anything this year, it's that putting your struggles out there isn't a ticket to getting out of stuff or an excuse to sit in a corner and feel sorry for yourself.  But I am holding onto the idea that embracing brokenness is where real hope lies.  It's not found in pretending that everything is fine and together, instead it is in saying 'here's my mess, I am not alone in it.'

Celebrate the great bits of life, absolutely, but not if it means pretending.  Christmas is for the strugglers, the hurting and the messy.  Joy is not found in the neatly wrapped presents and perfect roast potatoes, it's in taking a breath to declare that life is full of broken bits, and in looking for where the light is shining through.

Conscious unsettling.

I've gone quiet over the past few weeks, as I have one of my 'hide and talk to as few people as possible' phases.  As winter has finally decided it's going to visit I've been making some big decisions and trying to prepare for some scary steps ahead.  And attempting some as yet unsuccessful toilet training with puppy #2.

Having spent far too much time feeling guilty and ungrateful for feeling low when I have so much, I had to force myself to look at things a little differently if I'm going to get out of the rut.  No magical cures, but a fighting chance.

What this has come down to, I now realise, is letting go of the final vestiges of The Plan.

The Plan was the inevitable path a teenage me would take, complete with a set of assumptions about when I would marry and how many children I would have.  Right up to aged 18 all I wanted was a simple 9 to 5, 2.4.  My teenage years hardly followed the norm but surely I would slip back into the groove and all would be well and ... normal?  Adulthood hit and I went with the flow but if I'm honest the risks and decisions I made were part of my 'student years = anything's allowed before I settle down' chapter.  And then the penny dropped as the milestones and deadlines of The Plan passed and I embraced the idea that there was no inevitable.  I even started celebrating my unsettled soul and looked for ways to find myself on the edges.

I have had a extraordinarily blessed 20s, I haven't saved the world or been happy much of the time but I can't deny how much I have to be grateful for.  Somewhere in the last year or so I got comfortable and settled.  But instead of taking a satisfied breath and sending a knowing nod back in time to teenage me, my spark upped and left.

I'll never know whether depression took my spark or whether my spark leaving made space for depression.  But I know that I started settling for less and stopped pushing myself.  Because I had so much why should I want to change a thing?

Just because I have a comfortable life, doesn't mean it's right.  Just because it's a pleasant plan, doesn't mean it's my plan.  And oh yeah, there's no plan.

So bringing this rambling tale to a point of some kind, I've taken some massive and terrifying steps which will make life considerably less comfortable and rather more precarious.

I'm risking fuelling my depressive voice which will tell me that people will think I'm a failure. There's a niggling train of thought which keeps telling me I'm going backwards; undoing the nice life I've worked for.  I'm admitting that at this time, I have to take the foot of the pedal and find some life balance outside of work.  I'm declaring that I'm not as strong as my aloof persona wants people to believe I am, that I'm far from sorted and I'm weird enough to not be satisfied with what others might give anything for.

He may be cute, but he poops on the sofa.

Of course I'm scared and my ego is bruised that I can't simply move forward from strength to strength.  My hope is that moving forward in weakness will help me to find some unsettled spark that allows me to feel like I'm not wasting time, that I'm not in the wrong place being the wrong person.  That stops the gnawing guilt and the 'shoulds' that strangle creativity.  My plan is to embrace the blank pages and jump into the unknown with all I have to offer.

Fingers crossed on the puppy's toilet training too.

Simile though your heart is breaking

'But what does it feel like?'

Sometimes this is asked because all the poetry of clouds and darkness doesn't make sense, and sometimes as a way of trying to understand how 'feeling sad' can knock someone's life off balance in such practical and real ways.

For my own sake I've tried many ways to articulate what it is I feel, although it can be hard to get past describing the effects rather than the experience.  I thought I might share my humble attempt;

So in the style of Alanis Morissette here's the list.  But it's not about irony (not that her song is either really...), it's about depression.

Imagine taking the feeling associated with each bullet point and putting it in a bottle.  On some days you just drink one of the bottles, on others you might have them all in your system.  (In case anyone is alarmed by the list, I haven't experienced all these actual things - I'm just using my imagination to conjure up a reaction that can be likened to some of the experience of depression.)


It's like...

• Being on a non-stop train to the airport and quickly realising you've not got your passport.  But you have to sit on the train and wait to arrive knowing you're going to miss your flight.
• Standing within a crowd of strangers who are whispering about you and giving you suspicious looks.
• The feeling the day after everyone you love found out you'd been lying to them.
• An indefinite, restless wait for a call to tell you bad news
• Standing in an ice rink in bare feet whilst cocky children whizz around you.
• It's just arriving to a party you'd been looking forward to, to find everyone leaving and you missed it.
• Knowing that everyone you know has been given a £5000 gift for being wonderful, and you weren't eligible
• Listening to the person you secretly love tell you about their new relationship.
• Being the only one at work that knows you're all going to lose your jobs at any moment.
• Finding out your group of best friends went on holiday without you.
• Trying on all of your clothes and none of them fitting, and you have no money to replace them.
• Showing a painting you've worked tirelessly to finish to your loved ones for them to be underwhelmed.
• Tidying up after a party you threw, that only you came to
• Knowing you'll be stuck in a rut doing the same mundane routine for the rest of your life
• Waking up on the day you have to go to a funeral or event or work that you've been dreading
• Doing a massive supermarket shop and realising you haven't got your wallet at the checkout
• Getting to your wedding day and finding you're not enjoying it
• Going on a once in a lifetime trip and being ill in bed for all of it
• Feeling the loss of someone so deeply even though the world has moved on
• Everyone telling you that you 'should be better by now' and questioning you as to why you aren't coping

Two of my most effective antidotes

Well, that's quite a larder of bottled up feelings. I appreciate that it might only make sense to people with my kind of imagination and emotional sensitivities,  But one of the defining features of depression is that so often the feelings are there without the logical trigger.  'I just feel low' is possibly more frustrating when it has no 'because'.

I guess that the challenge is to find some antidotes and soothing balms among it all.

And yes, I've now got Ironic in my head too.  It's like raaaayyeeeaaain...

I don't want to talk about it

A couple of people have dropped me a note on this topic, and it happens to be somewhat of a specialism of mine.

What do you do when someone is clearly struggling and sinking but shuts everyone out?

This is different, of course, from the times when someone is clearly struggling and doesn't ask for help but would accept it if offered.  Or indeed, from the times when someone is clearly struggling and is acting out until someone intervenes.

If I could offer an answer to that pain-filled question 'what do I do to help?', then I would.  But I'm not sure I can.  Some things do pop to mind; like be careful of impromptu plans and changes, and don't set a deep and meaningful in motion as this can cause frustration at the sheer lack of words available and a feeling of failure.

But instead of my usual abstract (but oh so helpful) lists, I decided to write to myself (add that to the list of things I may need to seek counselling over...).  I hope it helps;


If only I could crawl into your skin and make you feel less alone.  Those breaths that seem so shallow, they will deepen again.  

And yes, life seems so hard at the moment.  It is.  It's not your imagination or your weakness that makes it so.  It is hard for you.  It is ok that you feel that.  So stop being hard on yourself for what you feel, there is enough to be getting on with.

And if you could just cry, maybe it would make some space for the air to move around and ease the burden of each breath.  There is nothing to be gained in holding back.

You feel unworthy of anyone's help as though everyone else has 'proper' problems to deal with.  But what would you say to someone who had been ill like you have - would you honestly think they'd used up all their support quota?  Would you get fed up of them?  Well as you already think everyone else is better than you; follow that thought through and assume they're more patient and more loving and let them show you their kindness.

There will be a time soon when the words of others will no longer crash into your splintering head with such overwhelming potency that you feel you might fall apart at your already strained seams.  Don't dwell in the silence too long, go and find the songs around you even if they sting at first.

You're right, no one can say anything that might help and you can't yet describe what you feel.  If you can't face talking to anyone, write to them.  Ask them to write to you.  Send up the silent flare and let them know you don't know what you need but you're feeling empty.  Just them knowing will help.  

Accept the gifts people leave on your doorstep, metaphorically and otherwise.  You will find strength to be on the other side - being the one giving - another day.  

You're going to feel out of control for a little while.  There isn't enough time in the world for you to get yourself together to face the surprises and spontaneous changes launched at you, so dwell in the chaos and mess.  Let it swirl around you until you're ready to join the pace again.  You must not hide for long.  

You will not feel like this for much longer.  See it through.  Keep doing the small things, they're big enough for now.  Save the world another time.  

And Lau, it'll all be ok.  You're doing ok.

Twice as much

We're back to the day to day.  No mad trips to plan or challenges to feel guilty about not training for or bags to pack.

I find the hum drum of the ordinary to be the most threatening rhythm in which to function.  Give me pressure and distraction and variety anytime - I may have my ups and downs but I prefer the multicolour to the uniform beige.

And this fear of being dragged into the fog is possibly what led me to accidentally get another puppy...

Druna was too irresistible.  I went to a meeting, I came back with a Springerdoradoodle (Springer/Labrador x Mini Poodle).  Mabel is warming to the idea of being a big sister now she's over the shock.

Clearly I'm both turning into a crazy dog lady and consciously letting myself in for a few months of more poop, training and twice as much canine loopiness.  So why?

I find it easier to look after myself if there's something I need to look after myself for.  Owning dogs obviously is a selfish act; they are to enhance my own lifestyle and make me healthier.  I need them as much as they need me, and that is a very positive thing at the moment.

When the hum drum of the daily grind gets to me I have two creatures at different parts of their discovery and dependence to remind me of the joys to be found each day.  I have the innocent vulnerability of a snoring 9 week old to show me that beauty can be found in weakness.  My prancing 2 year old puppy demonstrates the simplicity of loyalty and gratefulness.

The rhythm of the ordinary can be joined by phrases of everyday adventure and notes of humble happiness.

And of course my dogs are pretty cute.

How did I do THAT?

I've been a long way.  And come back again.

It's safe to say that I haven't hidden just how nervous I have been about the cycle challenge my Dad and I took on this year.  It's been quite the palaver and I've been on the verge of backing out on more occasions than I care to admit.

Here's us at the start line:

Here's us at the finish line:


















Four days, three countries, three hundred miles.  And I rode every single one of them.  WHAT?!?!?

So being that I made quite the meal of it all, I wouldn't blame anyone for asking 'how exactly did I manage it?!'

Honestly?  I don't know.

But I have a few ideas;

- I didn't want to let my dad down.  That was worse than the thought of hating it.

- I didn't want to have to tell everyone I backed out or gave up.

- The more I did, the more I surprised myself.  The more I achieved, the more I wanted to know how much further I could go.  The further I got, the more I could do...

- It was rarefied air; all I had to do each day was get on a bike.  That's it.  Just keep said bike moving forward.  And that seemed a lot more manageable than normal life.

They say that people get to the end of these challenges and feel sad that it's over and I confess that sounded like utter tosh a week ago.  But come Saturday and the final 10 miles and I got it.  Partly because of the high of making it, the beauty of the scenery and the uplifting support from home.  But for me, I wanted to stay in the bubble, where all I needed to do was get on a bike.

My trusty steed.

In my last post I mentioned that carrying baggage is part of life.  I took mine all the way to Brussels.  And I wasn't the only one.  It was clear that we'd all been carrying some hefty weight with us for the trip.  Yet no one was shouting about theirs or opening it up for show and tell.  Trips like these are utter escapism and in the bubble you get to focus on something far easier than what you're carrying.

It was a privilege to travel with the weary and the burdened, quietly and positively.  The father raising money for the Teenage Cancer Trust because his son has cancer.  The gentle man going through a divorce.  The funny northerner who had a suspected heart attack a few weeks ago.  I only caught glimpses of the baggage we each held to our chests but it was a breath of fresh air to both silently acknowledge and overcome it all if only for a few days.

I want to keep cycling if only to keep up some fitness and balance out my biscuit habit.  And I also want to seek out some rarefied air occasionally.  I think it might help to readjust the load and look at the scenery for a few moments.  I need days where all I need to do is get on a bike, so that when I step back out of the bubble I can be that little bit fitter.

p.s. you can still sponsor us

Fear and padded shorts.

On Sunday I preached on Matthew 16:21-28.  If you've not picked it up from my previous blogs, it's worth knowing that I'm not feeling much at the moment, it's a numb trudging through treacle type time.

When I first approached this text my heart sunk - here we go again, another passage that is interpreted in a number of ways; not all of which are particularly helpful.  There it was ready to thwack me about the head; pick up your cross and carry your burdens.  Some people add 'these things are sent to try us' or 'give everything up because then you'll be rich in heaven'.

Here's what I saw.

Jesus lived a life, and it can't have passed him by that most humans picked up a fair bit of baggage on the way.  Surely Jesus was inviting us burdened folk to pick it all up and come on the journey with him.  Maybe Jesus was essentially saying 'your baggage doesn't exclude you, bring it with you, you can use it, we can find hope within it.'

Blessed are the cracked; for they will let in the light.

I feel like I'm carrying a heavy load at the moment and it makes me want to give up, a lot.  I'm often like a child silently whimpering 'please don't make me go.'  But that load doesn't exclude me from moving forward and interacting with the world around me - not despite the brokenness but through it.

Tomorrow I travel to my childhood home for the last time before my parents leave that side of the country, and embark on simply the hardest thing I've ever attempted.  It sounds so silly in a world of serious stories and conflict, but my 300 mile charity cycle ride is a big deal at this moment in my life.

If I make it to the start line, I will have overcome the anxiety that makes it hard to leave my flat.  If I manage to ride most of the route each day I will have overcome my lack of fitness.  If I do the whole challenge I will be exceeding my own expectations.  But pulling out or giving up is not an option - I won't deal well with letting anyone down or having another failure on my books.

Whatever happens I will be carrying my burdens and my brokenness with me, all the way to Brussels, because they are part of my journey and there is hope within them.

Sinking, Standing, Speaking

There are certain moments in life where you think 'I just need to get through this somehow'.  These are the moments that if you fall, you fall irretrievably - or so it feels.

I had the privilege last weekend of leading four evening sessions at the Greenbelt festival as part of the worship programme.  I had done something similar last year but used a lot of content I had already tried and tested and a team I knew I could change things on.  This year we had no projection facility, a new venue and well, I'm far from the high last year's festival put me on.

I chose to take a whole new approach to it all and actually plan the sessions, write them out and have them printed ready if someone else needed to step in (always wary of a migraine, falling into a hole or some-such).  As I played out the sessions on the safety of my laptop I wrote freely and included some of the poems I've churned out over the past year.  Just lots of words on the page, as I prepared I knew I had plenty to read.

Only a flipping double rainbow

Before I knew it, set up was done and the first session was fast approaching.  I felt nothing.  Ready to go through the motions for the weekend.  The musician I was relying on to make the whole thing wonderful couldn't make it until the Saturday, so it was just me and my pre-written content.

The details aren't important really. The whole weekend went well, several people even asked for copies of my poems.  I was pretty astounded. What I will remember is the lack of nerves, the overwhelming feeling that I just had to get through it.  And being really surprised that no one found me out...

Always a little bit exciting to see
something you designed being
carried by thousands of people

As if to push the point entirely, on the final evening I went up to the venue without my notes.  I'm not sure why.  None of my colleagues could make it and my wonderful musician had gone home.  I assumed it would just be me sitting in the rain for an hour...  But the people came and huddled in under the canvas.  I stared at the mic with a few minutes to go.  There was nothing going on in my mind, no nerves, no excitement, nothing.  In that moment I could sum up what I had been feeling; 'I feel so worthless, such lack of self esteem that I don't even care if these people hate what I have to offer.  There is no ego to bruise, nothing to lose.'

For the following 40 minutes I completely made it up.  Drew from the depths of my memory and wrote poems on the hoof.  I led prayers from my heart and told a couple of old faithful stories.  It was improv worship and pretty darned stupid.

I doubt I impressed everyone in the venue, nor did I fool the crowd that I was reciting carefully crafted material.  But one lady summed it up for me; 'I haven't been to many things because of the kids and I came to this simply because the time worked.  But it was worth several seminars, and it was perfect.  You have the gift of getting out of the way and letting God speak through your heart.'

And so I've been reflecting on this; maybe it is a privilege and a gift to feel so empty sometimes.  To feel there is no pride at stake, no confidence to dent.  Because you offer only what you have, and in a world of fakes and pretence that honesty is well received.  Maybe the gift of depression is that on occasion, you're able to get out of the way.

I'm not advocating lack of preparation and I am fortunate that Greenbelt offers audiences of openness and understanding so that my heart on sleeve, ever so slightly experimental style fits right in.

But at a moment in my journey where I feel so low, having nothing to lose might just be my most precious gift.

What a difference a day makes

It's not that I've had a miraculous healing.  But I have been in a place today to give myself a good talking to.

Being a 'bit of a depressive' means spending a lot of time wishing I had more control over some things and denying I have any say in others.  And then there's all this introvert stuff to contend with (seriously, I thought I was more unique* than this, I'm becoming increasingly common...).

One issue I have to constantly battle is the feeling that I've lost or wasted time.  That the steps backward are more than the steps forward.

Today I decided to finally take my own advice on this matter.  Being that time moves constantly forward, it is impossible to go backward.  Every step is one forward, some might simply be into mud.  Or poop.  Or quicksand.

But all these steps are in the right direction, I can't undo the journey even if I wanted to.  So if it's all forward, with varying degrees of ease and scenery, then it can't be a disaster - right?  The bad days are just ... bad days. So I can chill the hell out.

I decided today to stop dwelling on the days I've lost this week.  If anything can be categorised as 'wasted time' surely it's that.

Today I got up, worked, took Mabel out, went to the shops, went and told the opticians my contact lens prescription was definitely wrong (it was, really wrong) and I did the kind of vacuuming where you have to actually move things.   All things I couldn't have conceived of doing 48 hours ago.  Today feels like I've taken an easier step.

The thing about seeing life as a series of forward and backwards motions, winning or losing, is that you place yourself in a constant war.  And that is simply too tiring.  So is being in conflict with yourself.  As much as it can feel easier to be wrestling with some inner demonic version of me rather than understand the vague otherness of depression, actually I need to work with myself, even the parts of me I blame.  And I probably need to stop giving myself multiple personalities.  Somewhere along the way I might be able to find a peaceful truce with myself and the clouds that come overhead.  Instead of war, some tough peacekeeping.

Today I feel like I'm standing on firm enough ground to assert all this. Tomorrow I may lose sight of it all.  But no more battles.  This war is done.



*yes I know you can't be 'more' unique.  but you get my gist, stop nitpicking and make me a cup of tea.**

**it was worth a try.

Dear me. Come back. Please.

A few months ago, at the height of my bucket list making, I challenged my dad to take on a cycle ride for charity and to up the stakes I said I'd do it with him.  Neither of us have ever been outdoors or sporty people, yes dad had a brief mountain biking period and used to play squash every Friday (which in my earlier years I honestly thought meant seeing how many glasses of squash he could down) and I've had fits and spurts of gym going.  Nevertheless you could confidently assume we were unlikely candidates for a tough cycle escapade.

To my utter astonishment (and his) dad has surpassed all expectations and with less than a month to go has followed the testing training timetable even getting up at 6am to get a ride in before work.  Honestly, he's become quite the cycling geek.  I'm really very proud of him.

I, on the other hand, am a different story.  I already had my spin classes on the go and a bike ready to borrow, routes planned out for the first few weeks at least.  But with work and other commitments, rain and heat... well ... my will power went on holiday without me.  I did go to some spin classes.  Each day I made the determined pledge that tomorrow I will get to the training proper.  I just couldn't seem to face it, motivation to do anything - even things I might enjoy - has been severely lacking.

Someone said to me 'you'll do it; you're the girl that trekked part of the Jurassic coast a week after a hospital stay, you hiked in the Sahara without any training, you're the kind of person who rises to challenges...'

That was certainly the girl that suggested this ride.  But as time has passed and I've found it really hard to get into gear, I've had to concede, that girl's not here right now.  

It is an uphill battle to get up and do normal life at the moment. Adding 100 miles a week on a bike...?

I did do a little bit of 'training' in 40C heat in Vietnam

So this is where I am at:

Last weekend I had a good hit of strength and motivation, got a new bike and went for a long ride with my dad. I felt good; I felt that the challenge was going to be good for me and that I might just do it.

A couple of hours ago I got up from a migraine that started three days ago.

To say that I'm bruised and worn down is an understatement.  'That girl' is no where to be seen.

I don't know how this chapter will end.  Whether it will be a story of triumph over adversity, or another failure.  I don't know if the determined, stubborn me will come back just in the nick of time, or whether she'll remain in hiding.  I don't know whether we'll raise enough money, whether we'll enjoy it or whether I will even be able to get out of bed to get to the start line.

If anyone sees the real me around, tell her I could really do with her help...


p.s. if anyone does want to sponsor us go to www.justgiving.com/mcadamcycle - thank you

I'm fine.

Cards on the table; I've been really up and down for a few weeks.  It's been hard work.

And I need to write it here because sometimes this is my best weapon.

Depression is a clever evolving beast that when strong; dances just out of reach like a whispish, warping, blinding darkness.  Just as I can explain a little of how it can be, it changes just enough to knock me from my self assured perch.  And when I've had to apologise for letting people down, missing things or not being myself; when I'm struggling to control the rapid mood changes and explain them to those in the line of fire; when I'm clutching to my growing armoury ready to pull out the next list and action plan...

...then it takes my words.

Recently someone kindly asked how they would know I needed some help in a low time.  I said that its when I disappear and hide from the world that I'm really struggling.  'So, what do we do then?'  'Well, nothing, because I won't want to see or talk to you...'.

Right at the point I need my hand held I can't seem to find the strength to offer it up.  I fall into neutral mode and honestly, it's like being switched to black and white.  My occasionally coherent thoughts turn to constantly blurry whispers and my voice is so deep inside me I don't know how I ever used it.  My default for these times, when I get out and force myself onto the world, is the 'I'm fine' mantra. The numb smile.  Head down, get home, emotionally curl up and try and find a way to get the distant screams out from beneath this wretched skin.  I'm fine.

Even if I could face it, sitting in strangled silence unable to really express what's going on... well I'd feel guilty.  And at times like this, I have enough of that.

This is a cycle I want to - will - break and the times of feeling OK are regular enough to hold in my memory when the world gets all big and scary.  So I have been sitting at my laptop, or with pen in hand, or phone at the ready.  I've scribbled nonsense, typed incoherence and lost grip of spelling and grammar more than usual.  I have kept some writings, deleted most and lost a few (which were clearly prize winning world changing pieces of poetry and/or prose and I'll believe nothing to the contrary).

And now this.  A slightly public collection of words.

I can't promise I'm going to start answering the door, the phone or any one of the gazillion ways to contact me when I'm feeling lost.  Sometimes I need to find the strength to hold out my hand before anyone can help.  But I hope that
will become easier the more I refuse to bottle up the light I do have to shed within me.

These words are my last line of defence and my greatest source of strength.
They say to my clouds - 'Oi.  I'm still here, actually. Exposing you; diffusing the lies your darkness tells me. So move it along.  I'm still in charge, so pipe down.  We're going outside.'

Mirror

Scared I may not recognise what I see

I force myself to stand at the mirror

To look for where I might have gone

Some sign deep beneath reaching up

It has been so long since I knew who owned my body

Controlled the gates so often shut

Determined the colour of words that fall

From my bitten battered lips

My skin, dented from clenched fingers

Crawls as stifling air swirls

I am here somewhere but not present

Abdication has left incoherent trails

It seems I have abandoned this ship

Left bobbing in turbulent waters

Watching with waived will

As life passes through this sinking vessel

It is not clear whether I can or will come back

The point of no return jumps forward and behind

Hot tears mingle on unfamiliar cheeks

I wait for a final gasp as I go under

My breath fills my retching chest

Eyes too tired from being forced open

A tiny flicker catches my soul’s gaze

I am here in this, longing to start again

Scared I may not recognise what I see

I force myself to stand at the mirror

To look for where I might have gone

Ready to bring her back to liberation

I hate the summer holidays.

I know 90s fashion has come back,
but this was surely never an actual 'look'?

I haven't always, I had a super happy childhood filled with paddling pools and the seaside and making mud 'jam' in the garden which was found years later in quite the stinky state...

I've begun dreading August since I left the rhythm of the academic year. I thought that I would feel all grown up, going to work while children played.  Like when you start using the word 'essay' when you're eleven to make your homework sound proper, little did you know that fifteen years later you'd be wishing like anything for a measly book report (Just me?).

I know I should be super duper grateful that I have the choice to take holidays at cheaper, less busy times of the year and I am.  Yet a set of insidious sadnesses creep in at this time of year when I'm doing my best to stay patient with the darling tourists who dawdle their way in a zigzag fashion across my intended path in town or scream at their overtired children in the supermarket.

It's certainly exacerbated when you live in a seaside holiday town. I'm not sure I can even describe it. I feel like I'm edging my way round the walls of a party I wasn't invited to, keeping my head down so no one susses me.  Like I was meant to go somewhere but missed the bus.

I probably sound like such a brat to those who have 6 or so weeks of juggling work and childcare and financial pressure and family commitments and weddings and trying to get a little rest in there somewhere.  It's not that I'm blindly jealous.  It really is simply a case of feeling... wrong.

At work no one seems to be at the end of their email, no deadlines are imminent and no decisions are made in August.  People are away or spending time with loved ones and many social groups and activities put everything on hold until September.

That's what gets at me... by not being part of the holiday thing, I'm on hold.  I can't carry on as normal yet I'm supposed to.  At its best it's bonus time to slow down and take stock, catch up on non urgent tasks and enjoy the warmer weather without having to go anywhere.  But at its worse, I feel wrong.  Like I don't fit, like I'm excluded.  (My thoughts on how childless adults get treated by our culture are not for now, but they are informed by times like these.)

Little me. Being profound, no doubt.

I have an obsessive need to find purpose in as much as possible and August sticks its fingers up at my futile attempts to get a fracking thing done.  I know, I know.  Chill out.  I'll try.  But even if it's something as silly as a summer holiday; it is easier to chill out when you feel part of something.

And that's not something I feel very often.

Anxiety.

Anxiety.  Even the word is jagged.  

That feeling that you’re about to go on stage to be questioned by people that want to catch you out and you know you don’t know the answers and you can’t think straight enough to know if you can even talk your way out of it.

Butterflies and nerves and jittering sickness take over.

Your mind can’t settle on one clear image or phrase, they all flash to and fro clashing with each other and becoming shattered piles of lost responsibilities taunting you from the corners of your consciousness.

Without realising it your nails are denting your skin and your jaw is aching from the tight clench which simply won’t make the situation settle the hell down.

Futility rears its head over your shoulder, promising that if you just go back to bed and close your eyes it will all pass.  You are completely convinced that it will be better if only you can squeeze it all out of your shut tear soaked eyes.

The beating of your heart is so loud everyone must be able to hear it and know how weak you are being.  Your blood vessels decide to wreak havoc with your lungs, daring them to stop then race a while.  

You're being stolen from but you can't stop it and you can't even shout for help.

The in and out of breathing, which you frantically tell yourself is usually so simple, becomes a task that requires massive attention.  Panic overtakes each breath as the next seems out of reach and as you breathe too fast and too shallow you think you may not survive this internal onslaught.  

Soon you are in a battle with breathing, wrestling for control.  Nails dig in holding on to sanity as it seemingly dissipates with every thundering thump the heart hurls through your body.

It will pass.  It always does.

But that doesn’t mean you’ve won.

I'm jealous of my dog. Seriously.

Does anyone else look at their dog and wish with all their heart they could swap places?  Really, not flippantly, but with utter envy and wholehearted regret that it cannot be.  If only I believed that somehow I could be reincarnated I truly think that I would put my energies into positioning my soul into the right place for a puppy rebirth.

Ok, this has got a bit weird.  And I wish I could say I was overstating the truth but the fact is, I often look at Mabel and know I would give an awful lot to have such a joyful life.  Yes it's shorter than the average (Western) human's but it's lived with such gusto.  I wouldn't mind running into a few glass doors and accidentally drinking the odd spilled pool of vinegar (she is a bit of a twit) if it meant I could find utter fulfillment in a tummy tickle or a moving ball.  And gosh, how she loves people.  Unconditionally, without limit, judgement or memory.

Clearly, to live like this requires you to be dimmer than a darkened room in a long lost cave... but as Mabel demonstrates; ignorance is sometimes bliss.

So here I am again, resigned to my dismal fate of not being a dog.  I have a brain that over-thinks and is often a bit wonky (medical term there).  I feel burdened, restless and reluctant most of my waking hours.  And as for people... well most seem ok I guess.  But I'm not gonna lick their faces.

For me it is not second nature, or first for that matter, to enjoy things or throw caution to the wind.  Unlike Mabel, I more than look where I am going and wonder if I have the energy to chase anything at all.  I am preoccupied by purpose, possessed by the search for meaning and anxious to not fall off anything - metaphorically or literally.

Mabel's had her fair share of accidents, cuts and bruises.  And does it slow her down?  If only... And yes, she doesn't have to pay bills, concern herself with climate change or worry about her health.  But I've said it before and I declare it again; I want to be More Mabel.

I went surfing for the first time this weekend and got a glimpse of what Mabelness might feel like.  I took on those waves, determined to get through them to reach a decent depth to catch a wave.  However many times they pushed me backwards and slapped me about I kept pushing through them.  I lollopped onto the board on my stomach regardless of how clumsy I felt, I attempted to stand up even though I knew I'd probably fall straight off.  I risked being chucked off more than I risked missing a good wave.  I kept going.  Because it was really fun.

I don't do many things in life just for the sake of it, I'm a bit too thinky perhaps.  I do things because they need to be done and even the things I want to do are probably because I've put them on a list as part of a strategy to be a more fulfilled, interesting person.  But I don't chase balls for absolutely no reason other that because I like it (definitely metaphorical).

Every time I envy Mabel sleeping contentedly without a care in the world or running like a loon up and down the stairs just cos she likes it, I'm going to do something that doesn't matter.  Might be go for a pointless walk.  Or put on a nice outfit for no reason.  It might be to bake a cake for no one or write someone a card just because.  It might be to join Mabel on the floor and see if I can work out what is so fascinating about licking the rug (it probably won't include that one actually).  Who knows.  It doesn't matter.  Not everything has to.

Traffic

Ho Chi Minh

If you want an amusing reaction, tell people you're going on holiday to Vietnam.  Never fails.

It's not that unusual; the road between Ho Chi Minh and Hanoi is well travelled by backpackers, adventure seekers and Russian gazillionaires alike.

The country has only been open to tourism for 20 years and has a poorly documented history over this side of the world.  I'll post more photos and thoughts as I go.  In the meantime there is only one thing to start with.

The traffic.  It's legendary.  And here's what it looks like.



By the end of my trip I was an expert at avoiding the buses before I stepped out and simply looking forward.  The best thing is to let the bikes (40 million of them in a country of 90 million people) work round you, walking slowly and consistently so that they can predict your movements.  By looking at the oncoming swarm of traffic your instincts not to die will kick in, and that's how accidents happen.

If anyone smells a metaphor coming... they'd be right.  It's a little one though, stop rolling your eyes.

Light traffic somewhere in Hue, Vietnam

The year has passed its half way point, my lists are ticking along nicely and for the most part things are moving upwards with my internal search for peace.  I'm more aware than ever of the things most likely to trip me up and I do all I can to clear the path.  It can be consuming, constantly checking for holes I might fall into.  I spend a lot of time looking down and missing the scenery.

And sometimes, if I keep looking over my shoulder at the potential scariness coming my way, fixating on the negative and living in fear of bad days ... well I believe it's known as a self fulfilling prophecy.

Eyes forward, go slowly and get to the other side.  Right now that's the best idea.  If it worked in Vietnam...?

Another quote

“We don’t experience life as it is. We experience life as we are”

(from the Talmud – part of the central text of the Jewish faith)

Burn Out

I had a revelation this week.  I'm not sure if my conclusions will stick, be controversial, prompt some responses - I hope they do.  I'm thinking out loud (yet silently, oh how profound) and would love to hear what ideas other people have on this here subject.  Here goes:

It is all too common for people in all sorts of sectors to over work.  I know from my experience in ministry and the charity sector that there's a certain badge of honour attached to pushing yourself.  No one says it, but we all want to be one of those people seen to be earning our way and going the extra mile.  Some of us do thrive under pressure and like the whirlwind of busy-ness.  But there is a sort of martyrdom to it all, and it inevitably leads to burn out or break down.

Mabel recharging.

For me, some of the reasons I pushed myself so hard in the past include:

- fear that I wasn't good enough
- fear that I would be judged for not doing enough
- fear that I would let people down
- fear that I wouldn't be respected
- fear that I had nothing else to fill the time
- fear that I wouldn't be as good as everyone else

Hmmm.  I also liked my job, loved the work and enjoyed myself.  Mostly.  I like to be seen as a 'busy person', I thought that showed my value.  My ego loved it when people admired how I 'fit it all in' or 'kept going'.

Until I stopped keeping on going.  And as I picked myself up knowing I had to change something I lost sight of who I was outside of what I did.

So as I've grown up a bit I've tried to learn some new habits, but I've struggled to know when to go the extra mile and when to stay within strict boundaries.  I mean, giving your all  is a good thing, right?

I think, that there is a difference between going the extra mile and over doing it.

One is selfish, the other is selfless.

I wonder if there's a checklist that might be useful (lists, love 'em), something like this:

- Am I doing extra because I have to earn something
- Am I doing more because I feel passionately I can offer something
- Am I giving more because I don't want someone else to do it
- Am I giving extra because someone needs me to help

... and so on.  Sacrifice is biblical.  Earning your worth or feeding your ego is not.

I think that putting others first can be something that sustains us, as long as we let others serve us too and value ourselves.  So, go the extra mile but make sure you've got the right shoes on.

Thoughts?

To the other 1 in 4

Time for a slightly less ranty post.  Less fun, but just as necessary.

There are various statistics on mental health issues.  It's estimated that 1 in 4 people in the UK will suffer from a mental health issue each year.  My guess is that a lot of people keep it to themselves and get through it alone, while others need a small army of support just to keep going.

Either way, at least 1 in 4 people must be supporting those who are suffering.  And that can't be easy.

These people are nothing short of heroes.  To watch someone you love feel so awful about themselves, to feel helpless and unsure of how to act from one day to the next; let alone being on the sharp end of someone's moods... it can be just as hard, albeit in a different way, for the supporters as it is for those who are ill.

So for you wonderful, exceptional people hanging in there with the broken, sad and suffering, I made a list;

1.  Thank you for not being put off when you do something hugely generous and you don't seem to see a reaction.  There is one.  Really deep down.  You are so appreciated, please don't think you're not.  Emotional expression is unavailable at the moment.

2. Thank you for not stopping the calls, texts, IMs, emails and such even when no one picks up or answers.  It might feel futile and outright rude, but even seeing your name on the screen says 'I care, I notice you, I'm thinking of you'.

3.  Thank you for not trying to be a fixer.  It's so tempting to come up with a to do list and action plan in the face of someone who isn't thinking clearly.  But sometimes a listening ear is all that's required, and being 'managed' can feel overwhelming.  Thank you for waiting for the right time to take the lead, it's frustrating, but your tolerance is so valued.

4.  Thank you for being patient.  With mood swings, the time it take to do anything, and how long it's taking to see an improvement.  Thank you for not putting on any pressure to get better any more quickly, the feeling of guilt can be so weighty that it's such a help to know you're ok with however long it takes.

5.  Thank you for trying to understand in a meaningful way.  There are no clear cut categories or 'normal' processes, thank you for getting how individual and confusing it can all be.

6. Thank you for acting normally.  Mental health issues make you feel like you're so odd that it's nice to know 'normal' people can stand to be around.  And being treated like a child, a leper or non-English speaker just adds to the feeling of being weird and alone.

7. Thank you for getting how important small steps are without seeing them as silly.  And for being there to help take them.

8.  Thank you for your forgiveness, for all of the above.

Nice quote

One day

 

Irregular Choice shoes.  Sigh.