Its been a while since I updated. Life has become slightly busier as I have more commitments right now than I did when I first started writing. The last couple of weeks have also been fairly turbulent, which has held me up from getting on here. For that reason, I’m going to centre this update on my mental health rather than physical. The latter part is also not going terribly well.
I am still unable to exercise, moreso right now because my left foot has swollen up and even walking is a challenge, let alone much else. I had my first physio appointment on Wednesday and I wasn’t even in there for five minutes… I showed the nice lady my foot and she said there was nothing we could do today and I should go to the urgent care centre. I did, and doc said there’s a build up of fluid or something where I’ve been putting too much pressure on that foot to avoid leaning on my bad leg. I kind of have to laugh at this point. It’s Saturday night and I’m sat in my flat with a bag of frozen veg on my elevated foot. I am feeling like quite the lamer. It seems to be getting slightly better at least.
So, the last couple of weeks. Again, I have to laugh. I’m better the last few days, but otherwise emotionally, I’ve been very wobbly. Fighting to get out of bed in the morning, crying at inappropriate moments, putting off showering, comfort eating… All the stuff that tells me I’m heading for a dark place. I don’t really want to go into details of what triggered it here but it culminated in a huge blip last weekend. I had a night out on the Friday that went pear shaped – alcohol was involved – and I ended the night going home early and feeling very sad. I know that I shouldn’t drink when I’m already not doing good, it’s the worst idea… I wanted to go out and have a good night and just feel normal. I’m going dry again for a while. Why do it to myself? I didn’t have a huge amount to drink, even, but it didn’t matter. The result was still the same.
The next day – mentally more than physically – I felt like absolute hell. I didn’t move from the sofa, just sort of laid there and cried some and slept a bit and thought a lot. I could have done that all day. I could still be there right now, a week later – it’s not unheard of – except I forced myself to do something I’ve only recently learned to do. I picked up my phone.
I messaged my close friend who lives nearby and asked if she was free to come over. I felt silly, I felt scared, I felt vulnerable – but she came. She sat with me all evening. We watched American Pie and talked about crisps. It was so nice just having her there with me; a reminder that I’m not alone, no matter how much that bitch voice in my head tells me I am. Just a few hours of hanging out with my friend, shooting the shit and being normal – it helped so much. I felt better. Reminded that there are good things and good people in life and what goes on in my head is not the be all and end all.
The next day my mum came over; again, I asked her. I asked for help. Just doing that, made me feel powerful again. Reminded me that I’m not helpless to this stupid illness. Part of it too is that my mum has an amazing way of putting things in perspective. She’s very pragmatic about things, which is what I need sometimes when I get caught up purely with the emotions. I talked about a lot of stuff with her – things that had been happening, things I was feeling, and she listened patiently. I didn’t feel like a burden and I realised I didn’t need to – this is my mum, for Christ’s sake – but it was still such a big deal for me to message my friend, to call my mum, to say, ‘I need help.’
I’m so glad I did. After my mum left, I managed to get off the sofa. I then packed my bag for the next day, had a shower and set my alarm. I was still feeling like a big bag of dicks – but feeling, at the very least, like I could carry on, like I could cope. Maybe it will never feel comfortable asking for my help, but I proved to myself that I could do it. I’m learning.
People have told that I’m a fighter, that I’m brave. When I’m just going through the motions, it doesn’t feel like that at all. I do all I can; I take my meds, I use all the self help going, but I’ve accepted that for me, depression as a chronic illness that all I can do is manage. And that’s okay. I have a damn fucking good life. I cant always see that, especially when I’m really down, but I really, really do. For people like me, recovery isn’t going to be something that happens once then I never think about it again Recovery is going to be a constant process. I’ve not failed because I have a blip for a few days. I’m just not doing as good on those days as I do on other days. And that’s okay too. My friends and family have been amazingly supportive over the past few months, and I will never stop feeling grateful for that – for all the people who sat with me, listened to me, put themselves out for me. I am so, so lucky and I don’t know where I would be without them. I couldn’t fight at all without that support. It’s important. There is some guilt that comes with that; fear that I’m a burden, that I’m taking an emotional dump, that I’m just silly and whiny. But I know if any member of my friends or family were in that place – I’d be there too. I wouldn’t think that about them. So why am I so fucking hard on myself?
I’m lucky. But I’m conflicted.
Even just admitting sometimes that I’m not doing so good is very difficult. I am pushing myself hard to be open on this blog. In day to day life, I have no problem telling people I have a trapped nerve. But telling them I have depression? That’s different. I fear judgement. I fear they’ll see me differently. Yet usually, they’re just really surprised. They say things like, ‘really? But you seem so happy.’
In a way, I am happy. Life is good. I just have an illness. And that illness is not who I am. It’s also down to the fact that chronically sad people learn from a young age to pretend everything is fine, even to act as if we’re more chipper than the average. We have to mask it, otherwise we wouldn’t get by in this world. We would just be crushed. Sometimes I feel ashamed that I feel things so much more intensely than other people. I feel like a freak. Intellectually I know I’m not. I purely have a chemical imbalance in my brain. But emotionally? Forget it. I’m working on it. The stigma against mental illness will never change without openness. Be the change you want to see in the world and all that noise. It’s just not always that easy.
Speaking of quotes, there’s a song by Amanda Palmer called Bigger on the Inside that I haven’t listened to for ages, but it popped up as a random earworm the other day. I started thinking a bit about what that phrase meant. Presumably from the lyrics she wrote the song in response to all the horrible cyber bullying she was a victim of a few years back. I really like the phrase, though: I am bigger on the inside. I can handle more than I realise. I am stronger than I think. That’s how I choose to interpret it. I’ve adopted it as my new affirmation.
Tonight I made myself a nice healthy clean meal for the first time in several days… And I already feel better from the simple pleasure of cooking. Also just from getting some food inside me… I have little appetite at the moment. I’m trying to remember this feeling; that nice, contented relaxed feeling of being full of healthy food I made all by myself. There’s no reason why I can’t do that every day. And I didn’t even make too much mess in the kitchen. My flatmate will be pleased.
Exercise wise, I hope I can start doing some yoga at least when my foot is better. Physio says I can indeed do some exercise with my leg, just that I need to lay off the HIIT. That’s a double edged sword…
I digress. I’ll end with this: If you want to help someone who is depressed, know that you cant fix us. We dont expect you to. Ultimately, just be beside us. If we need to talk, listen; if we don’t want to talk, just be there. Your presence is comforting.
Equally, sometimes your presence isn’t comforting and we need to be alone. That’s about us, not you. The best way to help in this situation is to give us space.
And please, if you need to: set boundaries with us. Do it gently. Sometimes we’ll drain you. Sometimes you’ll feel helpless. Call us out if our behaviour hurts you – again, gently – there’s no point in both of us being depressed.
But above all, remember us how we are when we’re well. That’s the real us. And above, above all – please, please don’t give up on us. We’re still in there. We’re fighting. It may not look like it sometimes – but every second we’re still here, we’re fighting.
And if you’re depressed – if you can bear it, please reach out. To anyone – a friend, a family member, an organisation, a helpline… The list is endless. And it’s so worth it. I promise
Steph Gets Clean 