Exploring Mt. Everest in slippers.

It's Mother's Day here soon, and my Mum's been on my mind a lot.  I wonder how she would try and support me, because I have no doubt that she would try.  She always told me "You're lucky I love you." when things were hard. All of my life, this was a way my Mum told me that she really did love me.  Any number of times, I did something I shouldn't have, and the phrase 'you're lucky I love you' told me that while she didn't like what I did, I could still rely on her love. We went through some horrific times as a family.  My Mum made decisions that impacted our lives in positive and negative ways, and I never, NEVER, doubted that she loved me.  I did a lot of things my Mum struggled with, and there were times we barely spoke.  We differed on any number of things, but I always knew;  I was lucky she loved me.  That love meant she would never embarrass me in front of strangers (only other family!), when I lashed out at her, she would hide her hu...

I haven't posted in a couple of weeks, because I've been ... low.    Depression has so many ways of laying me low, and each one seems the worst while I'm in it.  This latest skirmish was tough.  The latest fight was against The Nothing. If you're the right age, you'll remember the movie The Neverending Story.  The Nothing.  Slowly encroaching on imagination, happiness, joy, life...  a battle that included being stuck in quicksand, being left alone to face an immense enemy, with no weapons but the heart and mind. That. I've done almost nothing in the past few weeks, and if it weren't for my pre-existing loves of football, Game of Thrones, and cups of tea, I'm not sure I'd have made it out this quickly.  Usually a 'pre-existing' condition is a bad thing.  Mine are the spars that remain when I'm running out of things to hold on to.  Haven't been out of my room in days?  My team made it to the Champions League final 16, and to w...

We know why it's a pain in the proverbial.  There's going to have to be effort before we can enjoy whatever it is we've purchased.  Whether it's a dollhouse, a bike, a set of shelves, or cabinetry; before we can get on with using whatever it is - we've got to figure out how it goes together, make sure we've got all the bits, and, irritatingly, there can be multiple attempts to get it right.  Once upon a time my brain was a fully functional piece of kit.  I think.  It could cope with what went on inside it.  Somehow, there came a day when even the simplest of tasks, became an effort of concentration.  My brain still has all the same materials, the same content, and the same potential; but every thought process requires assembly.  Where it used to be a high-speed, multi-functional super-computer; now I have dowels and some beads which, with effort, I can hold together for long enough to use as an abacus. When you've been using a super-comput...

Vague: (adj)  thinking or communicating in an unfocused or imprecise way. I've had a vague week.  So much so, I had to write this week's entry in bits. I can't think clearly.  I know lots of words and can't remember them to describe things.  The word 'um' is being used a lot.  I don't like the word um.  Struggling to find words is not who I am.  Except on vague days. My brain is slow.  I drift off.  My concentration is almost non-existent.  I'm not even thinking.  Me.  Who has an internal monologue that's usually ...fuckitall, there's a word... going all the time.... there's a word that means that.... dammit. Lots of pauses to find words.  Remember what I'm reading.  Focus on what I'm typing.  Focus is hard.  I've got an audio book on (The Martian - if you're interested), and I've replayed almost every chapter this week, because it's not being heard.  I can't even listening properly. My computer ...

Feeling good and feeling better are very different things. This week I had an epiphany.  Self care isn't about making myself feel good.  It's not about eating the things that are delicious, it's not about watching the movies I know will make me smile, and it's not about saving up for a whiskey. It's about making myself better.  It's making sure that when I make a meal, I include vegetables, it's drinking water instead of juice, it's making sleep a priority, and it's leaving the house to do more than non-interactive grocery shopping. Self care isn't easy.  When the Depression is busy trying to convince me I'm not worth the effort, putting a healthy meal together is a mammoth effort.  Putting together ANY meal is a mountain to climb.  This week I managed once, and I managed to convince myself that because it was already difficult, making veges too wouldn't make it any harder.  It didn't, and I ate all of it.  I even felt satisfaction th...

It's been a difficult week for me.  I went to see my Doctor, as my prescriptions needed to be renewed.  My Doctor has been an anchor for the last couple of years, most notably, when the suicidal thoughts were strongest, he would randomly call, to make sure I was hanging on.  'Just doing his job' you say, and yes, he is.   I'll add this.  All doctors see to the health and well-being of their patients.  All doctors do their jobs to the best of their abilities.  All doctors are people too.  Which means doctors, like teachers, like family, have individuality and are people you either click with or don't. I trust my doctor.  I am utterly honest with him.  I tell him that I know I should  exercise, that I always mean  to, but that I don't.  I admit that sometimes I drink booze instead of eat vegetables.  In return, he rolls his eyes at me, and reminds me I know better, that when I do those things, I'm letting m...

Not feeling it this week.  The positive 'self-talk', the silver linings, or the conscious realignment.  It's fucking hard work, constantly correcting the way I think.  Every single fucking thing I do, takes a ridiculous amount of effort.  I don't feel like telling myself well done for doing my laundry (so what?! everyone does laundry!), the fact it's been building up for weeks, and I ran out of clean t-shirts 4 days ago, doesn't change the fact that it's only bloody laundry.  Thanks to the industrial revolution, I don't have to do anything but take my things to a machine, and push some buttons.  Whoop-di-bloody-doo.  I don't want to celebrate doing it. I haven't vacuumed since I moved in.  In October.  The shared hoover is downstairs, and this space is about 8 x 3 paces square.  It should take me all of a few minutes.  When I finally get around to it, I don't deserve praise.  I haven't done my dishes in a while either....