Packing up my past

I've read a number of blogs started by people as part of the discernment/training process.  At first I did actually start a separate blog to record these moments for prosperity, partly to indicate a separate part of my life and mostly to have a clean slate on which to write.

But quickly I realised that I needed to chronicle this ordination lark on this here blog.  This blog that has seen me declare a war on global poverty with youthful vigour and fall apart in the darkness of depression.

A while ago when I was having a wobble about whether I was a good fit for a vicar collar, I re read posts from a couple of years ago that I'd not read since hitting 'publish'.

Firstly, sorry everyone, bit intense there for a while...

It's peculiar (and narcissistic) to peep back in time and watch yourself struggle.  But it reassured me that if I can get from there to here, I might just have the resources to go back and forth and wherever else life takes me.  I expected to feel embarrassed but alongside the bemusement I felt a little sense of peace.  The dark didn't overwhelm me, the clouds didn't stay.

I need to continue writing here because whilst it may be a new chapter, it is a continuation of the story.  It hasn't happened apart from the struggles, triumphs and attempts at wisdom that have come before.  It has been borne out of those experiences and I can no more delete the blog posts from the internet than remove times that have shaped and bruised, challenged and humbled me.

Just because I'm geographically moving and changing career doesn't mean I am leaving a thing behind whether I want to or not.  And that's probably just as well.

The ineffective use of kittens.

Good for them.  I'm going back to bed.

Now, I want to have a little word about the difference between worry and anxiety.  Chiefly, all those 'life is too short to worry' pictures with happy kittens watching the sunset do not inspire people with anxiety.  Also, worrying is natural, so the kitten can shut up.

As far as I can tell (and I've not referred to the all knowing Google about this) worry takes up your thoughts; people who are more inclined to be worriers spend time thinking around the issues and distraction, counting to ten and seeking out a good listener can really help.

Anxiety on the other hand comes from a deeper place than the conscious mind.

Descriptions of the anxiety I experience are usually met with comments like 'but you seem so together?' 'you don't seem nervous when you talk on stage?' 'you seem so confident!'.  All those things are true, and have nothing to do with my struggle with anxiety.

Well I must be special then, cos I lose a LOT.  Stupid lion.

One way to describe it might be to say that my consciousness has two levels.  Ms Rational remains logical and calm, identifying what has caused an anxious reaction and steadily keeps my thoughts in check.  She's the one you'll meet.  That's who is in charge when I am working, doing a spot of public speaking and looking so very together.

Ms Anxious occasionally cranks up the speed and density of my thoughts which start whizzing through my mind, mashing together and blurring so I can't quite catch them.  She amps up my heart rate and makes me feel a tad nauseous and if left to her own devices will get me all shaky and determined that going to bed and hiding is most definitely the best scenario for everyone.  She's a quieter voice, usually and as much as she seems to be able to prompt some clever physical reactions, she is a part of me I have to treat with sensitivity and gentleness as really, she's just looking out for me.  Like my autistic puppy, she's scared of everything.

Ask my dogs, they know you're most likely to get run over.

I first hooked up with my own anxiety when I was 13 and we've been working on our relationship ever since.

For the most part, it is like glimpsing a threat on the periphery of my vision and having a physical response.  I carry on regardless, making sure I find little wins to overcome any negativity that might creep in.  And I go about my business with perhaps a bit more effort than I'd like.

At its worst anxiety makes it very hard work to get through the front door, be in crowds and look at my to do list without feeling overwhelmed.  This is not because I am worrying about those things at all, I know there is nothing to be scared of and that nothing bad will happen.  But anxiety lies deeper than my logic and prompts physical reactions that take more than a good talking to.  (Oh and panic attacks - I haven't had one in a long time but the fear of having one is enough to bring one on.  I know, hilarious.)

What the heck does this MEAN?

We all find coping mechanisms for our struggles.  I have to be very deliberate about some of mine, others have simply evolved as I've grown up.  For example it was only recently when I had a bad day that I noticed I was digging my nails into my hands as I walked through town, and realised that usually I semi-consciously force my hands to unclench and stretch...

But the best way to cope with being someone with anxiety is to recognise that it doesn't make us weak.  That's why the sunset pictures and the pseudo inspirational quotes about being peaceful and calm and worry free and fully mindful about everything everyday get to me.  I don't need to feel guilty that I struggle sometimes.  It does not make me a failure, it does not mean I'm not doing 'living' properly.  Anxious people are unbelievably strong, both on the days we overcome it and on the days we run and hide, and I will not have any kitten tell me otherwise.

Is a peaceful mind an aspiration?  Absolutely.  Would I love to find it easy to come and go, do what I like, face social situations with excitement and jump out of bed each day simply delighted by all the possibilities ahead?  Of course.  But in the meantime I shall mostly be busy being a human, facing my demons, and handling the baggage.

Pipe down

In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.

Dante Alighieri

I guess that, because I am immersed in the world and language of depression I forget that to those who aren't, my honesty is a bit blunt.  However, if it's any consolation I really have reigned it in...My lovely friend put me on to this book, and if you read the free sample you'll find a number of quotes describing people's experience of depression.  They are raw and brutal, and refreshing.

Regardless of whether you feel all this cloud talk is appropriately tempered or not, it's fair to ask why I feel the need to write so publicly about it all.  

I've previously mentioned that being open and honest about mental health adds to the fight against stigma and isolation.  The more people who talk about it, the more people understand it, the more people find hope.

There's a far less worthy reason though.  Control.

For a long time I played the 'I'm fine' game on the assumption that my sadness was boring to everyone else, until I had to bite the bullet and reach out for support.

Opening up means letting go of control, and remember that the depressive lens adds a hint of paranoia to precedings.  So I write like this to make sure I am in control of what is out there, what is known about me.  Even if it's just my paranoia that everyone thinks I'm a waste of space, I'd rather it wasn't based on speculation.

And finally, it's control over my scatty mind.  Writing it, publishing these words says to myself 'see, I'm not too lost.'

Have you met the Vicious Spiral? It's mean.

If you've not had the misfortune to meet this particular phenomenon, I will now introduce you through the medium of a scribble:

I drew this on yellow paper to make it japey.

The Vicious Spiral is a haunting process that, with sinister subtlety, drags a fragile being away from joy.  It's unpredictable, and yet feels inevitable.  It's obvious and yet insidious.  

For the past month my insomnia, a companion for as long as I can remember, has gone on leave and instead I have found myself needing at least 12 hours sleep otherwise I feel like I'm going to keel over and preferably I'd be getting closer to 16 hours of zzz's.   And it's not refreshing sleep; if I'm awake I'm wanting to be in bed.  It has been disabling.  And while what started this new fad shall most likely remain a mystery, it is now a habitual spiraling mess.

Work has meant I've had days when I've hoped a reset button had been pressed and I could be returned to living during daylight hours but the truth is, I'm so fed up and lethargic if I can stay in bed, I do.  It's really difficult to dredge up will power when everything feels so difficult, and lethargy makes rational thinking feel impossible, and the sense of failure makes everything seem pointless anyway.

Now, to the point of this post (which is not to have a big public me-fest).  Have you ever tried to tell normal people - particularly those with demanding jobs and family lives - that you're so very tired and sleeping for more than half the day?  If you haven't, let me warn you that the response is not as compassionate as you might hope.  'I have nothing to get me out of bed' and 'I go to bed at 8pm and sleep right through' does not engender too much sympathy, confusion is more likely.  (That said, my parents are awesome and my mother can finish the end of my whinging with true empathy and accuracy).

So I'm actually writing this as a plea to those seeking to understand and support their struggling friends.  Sometimes the things us depressives find hard will sound preposterous, ungrateful and pathetic.  We know.  We think so too.

What fuels the spiral is not just the practical pitfalls.  It's the shame.

It's the constant voice that whispers that everyone else is coping better with a harder deal and that you must be so useless you can't even deal with the easy lot you've been given.  You are convinced that everyone will think less of you, laugh or even get annoyed at you for being so weak.

So you withdraw and hide and tell everyone you're fine because it's embarrassing to admit that it's hard to get out of bed or that you're scared to leave the house.  And the spiral takes hold and it's an almighty effort to reverse it.

We all want to be the hero about whom people say things such as 'she's so strong even with all she's up against' or 'he is so together'.  We want to be admired for our strength over adversity, and be 'brave'.  It's awful to know that with even a relatively light load to carry, you still can't cope.  What have I got to be depressed about?

Professional nappers.

My plea to both sufferers and supporters is this; it is easy to be compassionate to people who are struggling in ways you can understand.  It is very hard when the struggles seem disproportionate or insignificant.  But depression changes the measures and scales, and comparisons between people's lives are distracting.

I guess (because I'm really no expert) that this whole deal is about taking people at their word.  If people say they want to support you, tell them what's going on even if you don't know how they can help.  If someone tells you they are struggling, listen to their hurt not just the practical details which may seem silly.

And if you are tempted to go back to bed, I recommend getting some nap buddies.

Changing the world

I've been trying to write this post for a week, unable to work out what it is I want to say.  You see, I started this year by spending a few weeks moping.  Good quality, fully invested mopedom. I looked at the Kingdom of Mope, staged a coup and became Ruler.

Then over the space of a week I abdicated, choosing to slowly return to the Real World.  The World in which I am not in charge or control but I probably stand more chance at reaching some of my potential.  As you can imagine, I'm desperate to write a list of some kind, bullet pointing how I got from one world to another.  But instead I have two evolving insights;

For the past months I've been taking a little more notice of articles about mental health and on the whole have found them, and the mere fact they exist in mainstream discourse, a comfort.  When I saw Ruby Wax was blogging from her own depths and the way she was received on social media by people crying 'yes, exactly' I was inspired by her courage not just to write it, but to wait it out.

I did let myself wallow a bit, and a bit too long.  But the new twist was that I didn't let it add to the wonky voices that so regularly convince me I'm worthless.  Just an illness.  Just waiting it for it to pass, like the clouds.

Secondly, I have learned how sensitive I am to inconsistency and to change.  Depression makes you constantly measure yourself to the external and the more things around you change, the more it makes your confidence wobble.  But if I need consistency from other people, I really have to apply it to my values.  After a fortnight in Wallowsville I remembered that no one was going to come and save me.  There were gorgeous people with hands outstretched to me, but no one was going to lift my arm up to meet them.

Bottom line?  Depressed or not, I'm a better person when my world doesn't revolve around me.  When I hold on to the smallest shred of knowledge that I am able to still give something at my lowest, rather than give nothing when I'm hiding under my duvet, I get just enough motivation to sigh 'nothing to lose' and start making contact with the scary Outside Land.

A few scary steps taken and the simple fact that the clouds were on the move and I'm ending the month in a different place.  I'll probably pop back to Cloudy Town sometime but I won't panic.  I may write a bad review... but I'll keep my eye on the horizon and stick to my guns; no one can take the initial steps out of there but me.  So when I'm ready, time to get trudging.

One final thing, if I may.  I got some feedback suggesting I stop 'adding to the whingers on the internet'.

I started this blog at a point in my little life where I believed that everyone can make a real difference to our world, whatever part we play.  Over the past year I've doubted that I might be included in that assertion.

People like Stephen Fry and Ruby Wax and so many others are changing the face of mental health, making those who feel they are struggling and unimportant know that they are not alone - far from it in fact.  The more people who talk about it, admit to it and normalise it the better.  What if we could take the stigma away from depression so that we can deal with the illness head on?!

I'm not famous or influential, but in joining in that conversation, adding to the movement; I am in fact trying to changing the world a little.


Thank goodness. I do not have the brain space to think of a new name for this blog....

The fog will lift

The fog will lift, I keep telling myself

Forcing out the breaths while waiting it out

This is not an insurmountable state

A vacuum pulling me from myself

It is not spiralling beyond hope

Despite the dark’s insistence it will win

Days may be empty but not wasted

The sun sets and rises or eyes adjust

Hope is not in overcoming or escape

But in the collection of tear soaked scars

And not because they make you stronger

This is seeing life in all its colours

Enduring happiness is not success

Any more than avoidance of sorrow

Bruises hint of a heart that is engaged

Though it’s ache might cast a deep shadow

The fog will lift and though it may linger

Dancing in my peripheral vision

This is stormy weather I must get through

For now I breathe and wait for what comes next

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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

A reply

Ah the feedback I was waiting for.  I wasn't fishing for it, but I would be lying if I didn't say I was braced.

Bizarrely my blog has spread beyond my own networks, which is lovely if a little strange.  I've been receiving thoughts every so often from all sorts of people, and I'm very grateful and humbled.  This one I relish because it gives me the opportunity to offer my opinions on a couple of things.  And I love sharing my opinions nearly as much as I love a list.  Here it is, enjoy...;


'I know I don't know you, and I don't want to offend you.  But I read your blog and it made me feel very uncomfortable'

You. Are. Welcome.

'On one hand I applaud your attempts to be honest and encourage people in similar situations.  But I think that this kind of sharing should be done in private not over the internet.  I think that it encourages people to celebrate how hard their life is rather than working to get back to normal.  It's very clearly a way of attention seeking which is indulgent.'  

I think I'll ponder on your use of the term 'normal'.  I do know I plan never to get back to it though.  Sounds dull.  I plan to sail through to 'slightly eccentric with a hint of special'.

'It sounds like you are turning your situation into a badge of honour.  Lots of people do this and prefer to stay miserable rather than turn there life around.  In fact some people choose it.'

You meant 'their'.

'You also wright about how you are a woman of faith.'

write.

'Yet you do not mention prayer as a way , THE way, of getting better.  It is GOD who heals us and can free us from our bondage.'

Sounds racy.

'I think the best thing you should do is find a spiritual director, which you CLEARLY do not have, and petition GOD for his PEACE to flood your heart.  Looking to your OWN strength is what has brought you to your knees, and on your knees you will find healing in God's love.  

PLEASE don't encourage people to look to themselves when as a CHRISTIAN you should always be pointing to God.  I hope you have some Christian friends who can be a support instead of anonymous readers on the internet.

Shouty.

I wish you well for the future.'

I'm not sure about the morality of reproducing this on my blog.  But then, reading about a stranger suffering from depression and deciding to write to them with some criticism feels just as morally dubious.  So... forgive me. I'll deal with any guilt if and when it comes.

Ok.  I wrote a reply, then deleted it and wrote this one;

'Thank you very much for taking the time to write to me, you clearly felt strongly and I applaud you for acting on your scruples.  I don't want to make any assumptions about your experiences, your faith or your own situation.  I only have what you have written and it would be unfair to make a judgement, don't you think?

I hope I'd made it clear that I'm not an expert nor am I trying to dish out advice.  My blog is just a collection of my thoughts to share with my friends and anyone else who is interested.  But I'm happy to offer my opinions on your message. Delighted, in fact.

I agree that attention seeking is indulgent.  However, you have got me wrong and I'm glad to have the opportunity to say a bit more.  Firstly, I'm quite the introvert.  I don't want much attention at all, I'd quite like to be left alone.  But I realised that repression and folding into myself was not doing me any good; even someone naturally aloof needs relationships.  So the blog is a safe place for me, I can share and think out loud and make connections without crying in anyone's face -which in my opinion, still might not be attention seeking.  It might just be being honest.

I don't encourage the 'celebration' of  hardship at all, it is rather impossible to celebrate anything when you're depressed.  Believe me if I could do a jig every time I had a panic attack at the thought of leaving my flat than I would.  I'm half Irish so it would be a fabulous sight.  Apart from the dry heaving.

Instead I feel that sharing struggles actually defuses them. The more we can take the shame and secrecy away from mental illness the more we will find strength, community and hope.  As for sharing on the Internet, well everyone's doing it. I just wanted to be cool.

I believe that there are people who do not want to work their way into a healthier more stable way of being.  Somehow the sadness becomes a safety blanket.  However I don't think this is a sign of someone who has chosen to be lazy and grumpy.  I think that if someone prefers to be sad rather than seek an alternative then they have another set of problems weighing on them.  In which case they need more understanding and support than ever.

The idea that you can 'choose' to be depressed is outright ignorant - apologies, I don't mean to offend.  It is an illness, just like physical ones.  You need help, time and to be treated as an individual to get better.  And of course, some people have the kind of illness that doesn't get better, instead it just gets managed.

In the office of the Church of North India, Delhi,
by John Stott

It is wonderful for you that you have such a clear understanding of your beliefs and what God does and doesn't do.  It frustrates me that I'm tempted to justify my faith when in fact, it does not need justifying.  But please don't worry.  I have friends who are being answers to any prayer that might be prayed.

What I will say though, is that I think that I do point people to God.  God is love after all. When I encourage people to not be ashamed of their struggles, to find trusted friends to hold them up, to serve even when it is difficult.  Ok, I'm not quoting scripture on my blog.  But I do reflect the gospel - the gospel that promotes nurturing relationships that love sacrificially, without prejudice or agenda.  Oh, and yes I look to what God has given me too rather than waiting for an unlikely caped superhero to swoop in.  After all, I'm flipping awesome.

Thanks for your thoughts and I wish you well.'

Describing the dark

I was sent a lovely message this week from someone struggling to understand what their relative, newly diagnosed with depression, is going through. It was a brave and humbling request to get beyond abstract and cold symptom lists and truly get under the skin of suffering. Most people just want to know what to do, but to be courageous enough to climb into the hole was truly touching.

I have to emphasise again that I'm no expert, nor do I speak for anyone else - just me. Apparently my reply was helpful though, and I was encouraged to share it not simply for people who want to understand but to give words to those trying to express themselves. I hope it doesn't come across as over-sharing or indulgent, forgive me if I am overstepping the mark. But on the off-chance someone feels a little less alone I'll risk it.

I wrote this a while ago in the middle of the night to try and give a form to the mess I felt;

It creeps up on you.  

Like a shadow that stalks you subtly until it slowly moves into your light, surrounding you and removing every colour from the landscape one by one.  

It’s amazing how the world can be so grey and so blinding all at once.  

And then you’re claustrophobic and agoraphobic in turn.  

You are desperate for attention and company and comfort but ignore the phone when it rings and turn down invitations.  

The cycle of determined pledges and broken promises starts, progressively fuelling the fire of self loathing.  

You’re too tired to function or to sleep.  

You either starve or binge.  

You self harm with truths of others’ perfect lives and happy futures.  

There is no doubt that everyone else copes with life better than you, and you are broken and weak to feel as you do.  

You know you should count your blessings but when you do you add so many ‘buts’ and footnotes your list is swamped in hopelessness.  

Soon you forget what it was like to walk lightly through each day as your body becomes weighed down with the clouds.  

Sometimes you are strong enough to put on a convincing mask but the more you do the more you become a lie, a fake.  

The more you fail, the less you deserve.  

And the pithy platitudes.  They infuriate you.  

As do the smiles outside and the sun shining. 

Flowers mock you and music grates.  

You can’t keep up with conversation yet the dialogue in your head is unceasing.  

You feel safe hidden away while screaming with sadness at your invisibility.  

Some days you’re ok.  

Normal seems achievable.  

You fit in, no one would know.  

You even laugh a little. 

Think straight for a while.  

You can make plans and breathe evenly.  

But it doesn't last.  

You’re so fragile the smallest thing tips you back into the hole.  

Or maybe nothing does, you just use up all of your happy.

The numb usually wins with occasional despair.  

At best, you find yourself in awe of how the human body can produce so many tears.  

You deliberately look at yourself in the mirror to put a picture to the feeling of bloated eyes and stinging cheeks.

You hope that your own eyes might say something back to you.  

But there’s nothing.  Nothing has changed.  

You would rather feel furious than empty.  

The days go so slowly yet the weeks pass too quickly and you feel there is more of your life behind you than in front.  

Your heart niggles that you were meant to be something but the darkness laughs at how futile you are.  

It tells you that you were always too broken to be of any use.  

You wait. Something is restless but all you can make out is lethargy.

You know it can't go on forever, but you can't remember how else to be.

I would add a few more paragraphs now. The other side of the conversation going on in my head, the truths that now override some of the nonsense.  

Thank you to all those who help people like me to find the truths. To be able to add more paragraphs. Thank you for being brave enough to jump into the hole.

p.s. here are someone else's' experience: Halfway