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...?