Staying home is getting hard. My reasons for struggling may be different to yours. No doubt there will always be someone in worse situation than all of us. It’s still ok to feel whatever you feel. We’re living through a crisis that no one was prepared for. It’s perfectly normal to have no idea how to deal with such an unprecedented set of events.
A badly managed pandemic is going to mess with our heads. There’s no getting away from that. Aspects of this catastrophe might compound existing mental health issues. Such large scale uncertainty & fear may trigger symptoms in those who have never experienced them before. Please be gentle with yourself. It is totally normal to struggle with mood in extreme circumstances. It is not your fault that you find this overwhelming. It is scary to feel so powerless. Even more so to be dealing with such acute emotions in completely alien circumstances. You are allowed to be a mess. This shit is tricky, but it’s not forever.
Whilst we’re in the thick of it, it’s important to look after ourselves. Bin all the shoulds. Whatever gets you through the night really is alright. If you need routine, create it. If video calls & comfort food are your heart’s desire, do it. There are no rules. Complete your magnum opus or have a lot of long lies. Both are reasonable reactions. As long as you’re not endangering yourself or others, it’s all good.
If you’re starting to find that you don’t know how to handle the ‘new normal’, I have a few pointers. I’ve had years of wrangling a crazy brain and unruly body. It’s left me quite well equipped for societal disaster.
It’s my experience that taking care of everyday practicalities can relieve some stress.
Make a budget. If you know exactly what’s coming in it is easier to juggle what’s going out. If there are bills you will have difficulty with contact companies ASAP. Most big organisations are offering payment breaks, reduced payment plans etc at the moment. It feels so much better to not have the worry hanging over you. Check what financial aid is available to you during this crisis. There are various government schemes that might help make ends meet.
Plan in advance. Check each day for shopping delivery slots. You can usually have two booked at a time. Some supermarkets offer priority to people most vulnerable to covid 19, it’s worth checking if you qualify. I always buy some food that needs little preparation in case I don’t feel up to cooking. Speak to your GP about how to best request & collect prescriptions. Don’t wait until you need your medication, running out is incredibly stressful. There are delivery services available for people who cannot leave their house.
Make lists. I love a list. When everything is swimming around in my head it feels hectic. Order resumes when I can see what I need to do on paper. Plus ticking things off is very satisfying. I make a list for each day. I spread housework, life admin & work throughout the week. Leave time to rest & between hated tasks. Prioritise what’s most important for each day. Do not freak out if you can’t get everything done. Focus on the essentials for that day. Dishes in the sink won’t hurt you. I usually make separate lists for things I need to buy, calls I need to make & appointments I need to keep. Our current situation limits those things somewhat.
Permission to deviate. Let yourself scrap it all if you really need to. Just don’t ditch it forever.
Most of all, be kind. Indulge in whatever makes you feel good. Eat the treats. Send yourself flowers. Drink the tequila. Keep talking about how you feel. Ask for help if you need it. Everyone is dealing with their own variant of yuck; let’s try to take care of ourselves & each other.
It’s Friday night. I’m watching Bridget Jones’s baby (again) after which I shall go to bed & continue re reading Persuasion. Probably a pretty nice cosy night in, but Bridget & Austen are red flags for me.
I always read Austen when I feel wobbly. I find the manners & gentle wit soothing. Whenever I read about Elliots or Dashwoods they seep into my dreams. Georgian heroines winning happy endings is a definite upgrade on what’s usually swilling around my subconscious. Bridget Jones offers a similar, but slightly more bittersweet comfort. Echoes of Austen, shadows of my own experience. Sadly, sans the fairy tale ending. They amount to my mixed media version of a junk food binge.
I love some good old fashioned romance, but my own Mr Darcy is not what I’m longing for. I don’t know that I’m actually cut out for the conventional vision of love. I’ve given it some good tries; satisfaction never abounds. Perhaps what I miss is just more innocent times. Younger me believed in things I can’t muster the faith for anymore. That is both freeing and, well, sad.
I feel like I’m standing on the edge. I can’t see what lies beneath. The uncertainty scares me. I’m grinding through the days. Fighting the urge to stay in bed. Backing thoughts of blood into corners. I’m teetering on the brink of that big blank something.
Maybe this is how you feel when you’re prone to crazy and about to turn 40. Or perhaps this is just always going to happen. Remission & Relapse. Almost sounds like a novel a 21st century Jane Austen would write. She’d probably find a way to lighten to the mood. Alas, I lack her talent.
Instead I’ll borrow some well-being from her work. Mansfield Park can follow Persuasion. I might even dig out the Bridget books too. I’ll take light relief where I can get. Hold my nerve. I’ve survived steeper falls than this. There’s always safe ground waiting.
January was a rough ride. Between norovirus, ear, throat, kidney infections and good old depression I haven’t had much fun recently. Out of the longest month I had about 5 good days & I only managed to look half decent on 3 of those. As ridiculous as it sounds, i’m quite pleased with myself for pulling it together & getting out the door that much.
What do spoonies wear when they are struck with regular person illness, but still want to look cute? A new found love of wide leg trousers has been my saviour. I still prefer a flirty dress, but I’ll be seeking out more of this style. My keep warm & comfortable whilst still looking cute uniform has been a combination of the wide legs, vests & my slouchiest cardigan.
Trousers – Elvi
T- Shirt – Pretty Little Thing
Crop Top – Asos Curve
Cardi – Daisy Street via Asos
The first iteration of this look was for lunch with my fav man. I paired my beautiful velvet trousers from Xmas with the softest crop top & sheer tee.
Vest – Primark
Next up was a Tuesday adventure with the boy. I swapped out the t shirt for this sharky vest. The big toothy beast with the caption harmless amuses me. The boy is also a fan of anything with a shark.
Trousers – Asos Design x La Quan Smith
Vest – Primark
Last week I made it out to see my littlest niece & all my nephews before the infections really took hold. I was feeling rough & so grateful that I’d ordered these leopard print babies. Lovely warm fabric, gentle elasticated waist & big pockets make them a spoonie dream.
And in the interest of transparency, this is what I look like the rest of the time.
January is turning into quite a challenge on both physical & mental health fronts. Mood dips at this time of year are predictable, but this feels like it’s edging towards more than that. Thus, I am doing the sensible thing & taking a rest.
I’ll be still be sharing other people’s cool stuff & perhaps bits from the archives. There’ll be a pause on new content. If you begin to miss me, you can find me here & here.
It’s been a fairly standard day. I got some writing finished, sorted a little admin & did a food shop. No exciting hijinks. Nothing horrible either. Why then do I find myself feeling so overwhelmingly sad?
An hour ago I was just getting on with the daily grind. I wasn’t jumping for joy, but I was fine. From one moment to the next my equilibrium vanished. For no discernible reason I am flooded with melancholy. It is one of most baffling aspects of my mental illness. It extends beyond feeling miserable. My inability to comprehend what is happening leaves me powerless to combat it.
Control is a big thing for me. I think, because there have been major parts of my life in which I lacked significant sway. That leaves me uneasy with the uncertain components of my mental health. It is very frightening to know that my mood may descend at any moment. It’s even more alarming when I don’t know why. I can’t tackle a problem when I cannot identify the cause.
All that’s left is trying to ride out the low. With no clue as how long the trip may last, it is hard not to lose hope. It’s hard to compute how much of a hold these periods take on me. This isn’t deepest, darkest despair. It’s what I think of as everyday depression. More grey than black. A persistent ache rather than unbearable pain. Yet its unpredictability looms large.
So, how do I combat the urge to believe there isn’t any point fighting a battle when I know I’ll lose the war? This is good a starting point. I write about my crazy head in an effort to exert dominion over it. I try to talk about it or at least just label it out loud. Not having to pretend that everything is a ok can help. I remind myself that I can and have exited these dips. There is colour in my life waiting to reappear. Of course I take my meds and then I just hold tight.
Long term mental illness is a slog. It leaves you no option other than to dig in & get dirty. My heart goes out to anyone else who is stuck in the trenches.
You know how they say you can’t smell your own perfume, so you have to careful now to wear too much? I feel a bit like that about my body. Specifically, my scars.
I’ve lived with the damage for so long that I cannot judge how severe it is. Mostly, I don’t think about my scars at all. They’re not a consideration in dressing anymore. I’m not ashamed or embarrassed of what they may signify. I usually find any rudeness engendered by my patchwork skin says more about the observer than the observed.
However, every once on a blue moon I have a moment. Often it’s my own doing. I catch sight of my reflection at an unusual angle or change under different lighting and I’m shocked. Horrified maybe. Not so much at my appearance as the fact that I did this to myself.
More rarely it’s as a result of another’s extreme reaction. A gasp or frightened look stirs much more than judgemental comments. When my battle scars scare others it stirs the old guilty feelings.
In either case it is doubt that knocks my confidence. I find it impossible to determine if my body is hideous or merely slightly disfigured. Without a clear grasp of what I have done I feel adrift. It takes me back to my days in the self harm trenches; never knowing how serious a wound was. Unable to grasp onto any equilibrium.
Am I a dramatic fool over nothing or inflicting horror on innocent parties? And which would be worse? The uncertainty shakes me. I feel an imposter. For all my proclamations of body confidence there are times when my self inflicted seams run deep.
I’m stuck in a moment right now. I fight the urge to hide. Steal myself against thoughts of splitting those seams open. It’ll pass. In the meantime I’ll have the long sleeve weather to regain my surety.
Today has always been hard, but this year is worse. I always thought I’d give you siblings & they would help remembering you to be less painful. It never occurred to me that I would be reliving your loss over & over again. I hope they’re with you. I wish you were all with me. I’ll always love you.
I’ve been a bit stuck in the doldrums. Sometimes when my mood takes a dive I can get overwhelmed and struggle to get anything done. To tackle that I decided to make a concentrated effort to take time for myself; focusing on things that release pressure and make me feel good. It has been successful strategy. A treated & rested me has managed to get more on top of things.
I started last week with a wee spa escape. I grabbed my Mum & Sister and embarked upon a relaxing break in a Dundee. Of course we let the Baba crash our girls trip.
We had a lovely time luxuriating in the spa and kicking back in our suite. We checked out the stunning V&A. Indulged in some delicious food and had a tonne of carry on. I’m so glad my family are such loveable maniacs. We always have so much fun together. It was bliss for me to spend so much time with the boy. I love getting to do bedtime, reading him endless stories and hearing him call out my name when he wakes up. Little ones are the best medicine.
Dress – Monki
Shirt – Boohoo
Tights – Snag Tights
I arrived home midweek and got stuck right into my outstanding ‘to do’ lists. After a few days trundling through housework and editing I was ready for something lighter. Diversion came in the form of the wonderful Strathaven Balloon Festival. I’ve always loved hot air balloons. Unfortunately the rides book out weeks in advance, so I didn’t get a chance to take to the skies. Good times were still had. Someone turned the sun back on for us this weekend and we got a scorcher.
We had a go around the boating pond before a little bouncing.
Watched people fall from the sky and got up close with some owls.
Did a bit of colouring and then the boy got to try out a mini balloon ride.
Finally it was time for the star of the show. They were worth the wait.
I tried to beat the heat with barely there t shirt & the cutest crop top. I still felt like I was a million degrees, but at least I looked pretty cool.
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 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.