I’ve been asked many times what depression feels like. I imagine the exact sensation differs from person to person. It’s hard to describe, multi faceted, but it always begins the same. I always know when I’m slipping.
It starts with an unsettled feeling. Never an exact issue that can be pin pointed. Although I may be experiencing definite problems; they aren’t the source of my discomfort. It begins as a general unease that initially believe I can soothe. Have you ever had a bad day, but you know you’ll feel better once you get home? You just need to get into more comfortable surroundings or have a nice cup of tea for things to be vastly improved? That’s how it kicks off.
Except you get home and nothing changes. You think I just need to talk to so so, they’ll help me. They don’t. So, you have bath.
Try to read
Paint your nails
Watch something soppy with Tom Hanks
Attempt some overdue tasks.
Nothing works. The pit in your stomach remains. You’re stuck in this icky I don’t feel quite right bubble. It’s not terrible, but it’s also not nice. You pin your hopes on tomorrow. Right now is a blip. If you can only get to sleep, you will awake unburdened.
You can’t sleep, though. Of course you can’t. Tomorrow is very far away and when it comes its colours are dulled. You want to distract yourself with pleasantries. You’re still trying to pretend that a thing exists that would erase the dread. You swing from loved ones to safe places. You sample all your favourite things, panic growing as nothing makes a dent. None of it feels light. Any pleasure is fleeting. You’re not buried yet, but you are digging the hole and you know what’s coming.
You don’t know how long it will last or exactly why this happening again. You don’t know how to stop it. You know it’s going to be bad and the only way out is through. Sometimes I think that knowledge might be the worst bit. I wish I didn’t know how much it’s going hurt.
I’m doing a spot of enforced positive thinking & hoping it bears fruit. Join in me in focusing on the pleasant and crossing my fingers that the good feelings grow.
1. I don’t have much call for work out wear, but I did love that plus size Nike mannequin. Fat folk can & do live full lives. I love it when brands get behind us wearing whatever the hell we want. It’s also satisfying to watch people tying themselves in knots trying to excuse their fat phobia.
2. I’ve been planning a self love/sexy gallery wall in my bedroom for so long and this month I finally executed it. It makes me happy to lie in bed and look at my kinky Shakespeare.
3. I’ve been out of the dating pool for quite a while. My initial dips back in were disappointing & a tad stressful. I didn’t feel all that hopeful about finding the sort of chilled out experience I was after. Colour me surprised to have spent June having a relaxed & super fun time with someone lovely.
4. In the grand scheme of things this may be on the trivial side, but I like it as a symbol. The Trump administration banned embassies from flying the rainbow flag for Pride month. Lots of embassy staff around the world found other ways to show their solidarity. Possibly the best example being the embassy in New Delhi, who lit up the entire building. In the face of this appalling government it is heartening that people are taking steps to visibly resist.
5. While we’re on the subject my nails have all been rainbow themed this month & carrying Pride around with me has been very pleasing.
6. I am a late adopter and probably about twenty years too old, but I have fallen in love with Lewis Capaldi this month. His songs are beautiful and his insta stories are bloody funny. If you are the one person left on the planet who hasn’t heard of him, fix that.
7. My amazing muffin made me incredibly proud this month when she won 2 bronze medals at her first Jui Jitsu state championships. My girl is so talented & her accomplishments make me so happy.
8. It’s hard not to smile when you know you’re wearing the cutest knickers. Wilde Mode happy pussy pants have been a simple pleasure this month.
9. June was the month that finally brought the new series of Killing Eve. It’s been driving me crazy that our American friends got to enjoy Villanelle’s antics whilst I languished murderless. All I can say is, it was worth the wait. Sandra Oh is a goddess.
As a wee reward for all your patience & the lovely messages I have received I’ve decided to do a little giveaway. It’s comprised of very cool bits and will be super simple.
Through a combination of order errors, sizing fails & sample sale bargains I have some items seeking a good home. I’m hoping one of my lovely followers will welcome them with open arms.
First up is this gorgeous enamel pin from Milk & Moon. Milk & Moon are a fabulous feminist brand who create tonnes of empowering pieces.
Next is this Boohoo maxi dress. I love it, it doesn’t fit. Boohoo plus sizing is pretty dodgy. I sized up & it’s still too tight. It’s a size 24, but I think it’s more like an 18/20.
Finally I have this cracking pair from Bonnie Bling. If you fancy yourself as pure gallus (or you know someone who defintely is) follow the easy peasy steps to enter.
Whenever a giveaway has a million steps to be eligible, I check out. It’s not a fun prize if entering is a full time job! Thus, I’m keeping it quick & easy. Simply follow me on Instagram then like & comment on the competition post on my grid.
UK entries only I’m afraid. Winner drawn on July 1st. Good Luck.
You may have noticed a down turn in blog activity. I’m struggling with a little writer’s block. Or big one. Even whipping this up is more tricky than I’d like.
I think my chronic indecision is the problem. I’m wrestling with a couple of Uber decisions and a whole host of related little ones. Trying to make all those choices correctly is eating up all my headspace. I am a tiny bit paralysed on the creative front.
Bear with me. I’m hoping I’ll the words will flow again soon.
It’s been a hectic week. I did some utterly lovely things & some necessary tedious things. Predictably by Friday is was unable to move. Still in recovery mode, but it was worth it.
I kicked things off with a wee hotel stay on Monday. My sis, the baba & I enjoyed a couple of days of chilling out (& carrying on) at the Westerwood Doubletree. The boy loved the pool and just like his auntie, he is a fan of a hotel breakfast. The grown ups did some relaxing and then undid it all by watching Chernobyl. Amazing tv, but quite possibly the most terrifying thing I have ever viewed.
I had to do a little trek to Gourock, which turned out to be a lot prettier than I remembered. Then hopped on the ferry to Dunoon, which although quaint was much less interesting than I recalled. I did however enjoy the fresh air & the (almost) sea air.
Hump day saw me buzzing from hospital to hospital to attend various clinics. I had my first go at a new treatment, dome boring maintenance & a whole lot of waiting around. Such is spoonie life.
Ootd wise I seem unable to kick my yellow habit this week. Clearly I am seeking a little extra cheer; yellow tones fit the bill.
Thursday I was back to rascalling with the boy. We did all our messages & fed some birds before checking out the suspension bridge. I used to be a little scared of them, but I’m so attracted to their splendour that I cowboyed up. The boy was delighted with all he could survey from the bridge. Ducks on the water, trains on the bigger bridge & especially our new tiger friend.
By Friday my body had decided it’d had enough activity. I could barely get out of bed. I did the resting thing. Saturday was more of the same. Today I finally made into the bath, fresh jammies & onto the sofa for a cuddle with my cat. I even managed to owing my nails before retreating back to bed. Go me.
I understand the appeal of ‘fake it til you make it’. It is definitely a strategy i’ve employed, but I’m beginning to wonder if maybe there’s a dangerous crossover point. Does acting like you’re ok until you can actually be alright lose it’s usefulness when OK ceases to be a realistic goal?
At the moment I’m wavering between distraction at all costs and crying in the dark. I’m filling the days with as many fun or productive things as I can physically manage. I carry on with the wee ones; go rascalling to farms & libraries & soft play. Have lunches & chats & belly laughs with people I love. They temporarily pull my edges together. I’ve been busying myself with tidying the spare room. Organising my wardrobe. Hanging art that’s been waiting in boxes for months. I keep going until my body screams. When I stop I realise the calendar is still set to my due date & there is just no way I can open the curtains today.
Some days I can almost fool myself that I’m doing ok. I can keep from asking what’s the point. Push the existential thoughts aside & paint on a smile. It never lasts long. I’m still hollow. I don’t know when the forced productivity becomes a lie. Left to my own devices I am pretty sure I would lock the door & perpetually reopen my wounds. Is this manufactured well being what people mean when they say ‘just keep swimming’? I have to be honest I feel like eventually I’ll probably drown.
I’m holding onto the possibility that it might get better. Time heals and so on. I’m not sure I believe that, though. I think most of the time you probably just get used to pain. Intellectually I can work our what’s happening. I’m grieving. Not just the baby I lost, but the idea of any baby. I’m grieving the entire life I wanted. All the babies I never got to hold and all the theoretical ones that might have made that easier bear. I no longer have hope. That’s what is making it so hard.
I’m worried that this is it. My life will always be waiting for the next life raft. Clinging to a few hours of something good before I wade back into nothing. Emotion aside I don’t even have the energy to keep up this level of diversion. The recovery to doing ratio is creeping up. It is getting harder to put on make up & push my arse out the door. I fear my real mood is leaking out.
How long can I keep this up? Congratulating myself on finally emptying the washing basket feels like a shallow victory when I can’t write anything that doesn’t make me weep. I really don’t know if I’m nailing the life goes on thing or just closing my eyes to reality. There are still pre natal vitamins in a cupboard I no longer open and a box of positive pregnancy tests under my bed. The perfume I wore when my own made me nauseous remains on my dresser. I can’t sleep. I’m struggling to imagine a future that feels fulfilling. I can’t help thinking that avoiding these truths won’t change them.
I can logic this out, but that doesn’t change the problem. I can’t afford to get crazy again. I also cannot stop wondering if this is all there is. This keep on keeping on farce is wearing me out, but I don’t see a functional alternative.
It’s been a good week. I did some lovely things and took a bunch of photos along the way. Today I’m sitting still in my jammies and recovering from the fun.
The sun came out. I wore some jelly shoes. Celebrated my favourite old man’s birthday & enjoyed my tiniest boy’s first day on the farm.
In truth I enjoyed the farm as much as the baba. How can you not love Pygmy goats & giant donkeys?
I dressed up pretty & wore naked ladies on my nails. I bought myself some flowers and found the most amazing knickers from Wilde Mode.
I am enjoying the clear blue skies & fiery sunsets. I have high hopes for a good summer.