Tag Archives: depression

18 out of 30

Posted on by
11

I walked eighteen days in the month of June. That’s a win. It’s eighteen more times than before. Yesterday I enjoyed the walk. It was easy to go uphill in some parts. The last part is always a puff. I enjoyed the wind on my face. It felt good. I felt good.

Wind has its own entity now for me. It no longer is linked to depression. I don’t frown or shrink myself smaller when I hear the wind blowing in the trees. The wind is doing what it is meant to do. I open the window a crack to let fresh air in. Who brings the fresh air? The wind. Breathe it in. And out. And again. Feel the calmness.

Walking is helping me look after my mind and body. It might be an effort at times. But I never come back home thinking it was a waste of time. It might take a few steps to get into the mood but otherwise I’m off and away. A mood changer. A game changer. I am getting the hang of this thing called walking.

I have plans to go further and explore different places. I am going to explore my city as if I were a tourist. I will get to know it like the back of my hand. Starting with the neighbourhood and then branching out to include beaches and bush walks. Winter is a good a time as any to start. Now is as good a time as any to start.

Sober as a breath of fresh air.

Advertisement

No Joy

Posted on by
59

Wendy writes of JOY on untipsyteacher and I loved her description of joy. Me. I just can’t feel it right now.

I tried writing a post last week. I didn’t post it. It was too dark and depressing. That was my mood. It was the truth. I still feel the same. Depression is here. I cannot move forward or back or over. I try to make an effort and boy is it an effort. Life should be a joy. It is not at the moment.

I am joyless. I am depressed.

Coronavirus is creating a layer on our lives which we never would have imagined.

I went for a walk for the first time in ages. I didn’t like seeing people. I did and I didn’t. Just don’t come near me but acknowledge me. Prickly as a pineapple, is me. Not sure if the walk helped. It was nice to see the water and the sky. So yes. I didn’t prepare well, didn’t wear socks so go blisters on my heels. I tried my best but today my best is bit#hy. I am not pleasant to be around.

So very tired. Exhausted. Anxious. Snappy. Prickly. Don’t say anything kind to me. I don’t deserve it. I will take it the wrong way and that compliment you said will backfire like a turd in a catapult. Walk away. I just want a break from myself. Tired. So so sick of myself.

No desire to drink again. Luckily. But tell me what is the point if all I feel now is constantly depressed? Don’t answer that. Today I lack the concept of hope. There is no hope today.

Sober as a bitten fingernail.

A request though, do you have a book that you would recommend that would be helpful in dealing with depression?

A change is afoot

Posted on by
25

Yesterday was a good day. From the outside looking in it was an ordinary day, just like any other. But it wasn’t. I felt different. I was active. I made healthy meals for brunch and dinner making sure I had vegetables. I chose soba noodles over fried eggs and bacon. Then I had more noodles for dinner with fried vegetables. Yes I like noodles.

I drank green tea throughout the day. And this is the weird part. I did not snack or have any desire to snack between or after meals. I drank tea instead. I had a bath and went to bed early. I planned my bullet journal, wrote and sketched. I exercised for twenty minutes while I read an Ebook. Gabrielle Union’s We’re Going To Need Some More Wine. Finished it. Well worth a read.

Depression was nowhere in sight. Not even on the horizon running towards me. No sign, nothing. It felt strange. It felt wonderful. I haven’t had a day like this in a long time. Everything clicked and I did normal things but it all felt, well, great. I even felt excited. I didn’t do anything special. I didn’t go anywhere. Yet, it was an extraordinary day. Today the feelings are still with me. Even DH remarked at the change.

What have I done differently? Nothing. That’s not true. It is an accumulation of daily morning pages written at anytime of day, treating myself with kind words like my new best friend, rather than the harsh words of the voice on the shoulder. I have been writing dreams mostly daily. By dreams, I mean wishes for the future, rather than the dreams when you sleep. And I am dreaming big. Letting go and writing things that dare to be written. It is freeing.

Daily rituals or routines that you enjoy or help with your day, your development, learning make the difference between disorder and order. Automatic actions make for less choices or decisions to be made. They have already been decided. There is less mental gymnastics to perform. You just do it.

I am my new project. I am determined to give my future self a healthier body, a more organised home, and a brighter future. I am looking at this with fun and enjoyment, not as a chore. If I mess up. So what. Tomorrow is a new day. I get up and try again.

My 2020 goal is the little goal. The goal where I build myself up and give myself a healthier lifestyle and build up stamina for the rest to come.

Best Decade Ever with Mel Robbins, if you follow along with the free course it really inspires you to dream. It’s not too late to join. Google it and discover for yourself.

Today is turning out like yesterday. Another extraordinary day.

Sober as. The turn of a bird’s head.

2 months on

Posted on by
30

Fed up. Writing out my feelings. Don’t for God sakes feel sorry for me or give me sympathy. I’m grumpy. It won’t be received graciously.

I managed to get outside into the garden. I was wallowing in bed feeling so low. My hair hasn’t been brushed in God knows how long. I brushed my teeth for the first time in three days. I am well overdue for a bath. I am two months into recovery from my broken ankle.

Last night I was teary eyed. Netflix couldn’t cure my depression. It didn’t lift me at all. YouTube did nothing. I was restless and barely made my daily sketch. I didn’t want to sleep. Or was it I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know. It was after 2 and I was wide awake.

I looked at the depression, self compassion modules. I read the notes and it said to read them in order. I couldn’t even bring myself to open the module. When you can barely get out of bed, with poor self hygiene then reading something to improve or elevate yourself just is so far out of reach and requiring too much energy.

As I said I made it out to the garden and sat in the sun. I threw on a dress, a baggy summer dress. Turns out it was back to front. Oh well. It matched my mood. I thought it was better to be ‘dressed’ in my own backyard than ‘running about’ in a T-shirt and underpants. I say running about with loaded sarcasm. I am still on crutches with a moon boot. My moon boot stands at attention waiting for me to jump into it when I am in bed.

My knee scooter has been banned by my physiotherapist. She said she doesn’t want to see it. She wants me to use crutches placing some weight on my right leg. So I have designed a cheat method of getting into the moon boot. The three leg Velcro straps are done up loosely, I can slide my foot into the boot, and do them up quicker. Then there are two more straps on the foot. It saves seconds. When going to the loo these seconds are precious.

I must be the most hydrated person on the planet just now. The boredom of a broken ankle makes me drink more water. What comes in must come out. Duh.

Oh and by the way I broke my fibula not the tibia, like I thought. The fibula is apparently not a weight bearing bone yet I have been off the weight on my right leg for six weeks! That will teach me for going the non-surgery route.

The colour is coming back to my right foot. From a reddy pink shade moving back to a pasty white. It is not there yet but much improved. Wrinkles have come back. Note that is a good thing. It means that the circulation is working. The swelling is gone. There is tenderness around the ankle. That’s to be expected. There is stiffness and pins and needles. This is normal because the foot hasn’t been used for a while. Weight is slowly going onto various parts. The muscles are being stretched and pulled. The toes scrunched to pick up objects. Progress is being made.

Coming up to my one year sober mark at the end of the month. Thought I would be feeling better about it but the broken ankle is getting in the way. No matter how low I feel I don’t want to drink again. But I need to develop better habits of celebration.

I am learning how to treat myself. Here she goes again with bloody ice cream. Passionfruit ice blocks with white chocolate. The most expensive ice cream I have even bought. Three blocks to a pack. I slammed aside my frugal self and let the self indulgent me free reign in the frozen aisle. I also tried a new brand of AF ginger beer. Delicious. Gingery and dry. Low sugar by the taste. I have found my summer drink.

That’s enough waffling. Wrote away the grumpiness. Feeling much better. If you comment, I promise not to bite your head off.

Floundering Inc

Posted on by
16

Which way is up?
Why are my eyes leaking?
This sigh!

I cannot smile for myself. How can I smile for anyone else?

Doing nothing can be the best way to sit out a funk. Or in this case a sit in. I hope it doesn’t last long. I cannot see an out. I know in my logical part of my brain that it won’t last forever. I know that. But. The loudest part of me cannot see that. It cannot fathom that. It despairs. It doesn’t see why I should bother trying. Why bother? What’s the point? Lie down. Give up. Stay down. You’re not worth it. You’re down right ugly. To the core.

I just want to hug myself and grip tightly and stay like that until the tears stop rolling own my cheek. Saying nothing. There are no words that comfort me. I just need to feel constricted and warm, cocooned. I don’t need unnecessary sounds of ‘there, there’ that’s just condescending. Shut up already.

Scratch that. I want to hug, not be hugged. I want to feel comfort, not be comforted. On my terms.

I cannot see myself clearly. I cannot see myself honestly. I am lying to myself. I am hard on myself. I am downright cruel. I would not treat an enemy as I do myself.

Fear grips me too. Fear to move forward. Fear of success. Fear of failure. Fear of being laughed at, ridiculed. Fear of being vulnerable. Fear of being me. Fear to try. Fear. Simple. Fear.

I can’t deal with fear today. That’s too hard.

What’s the worst that could happen?

It will never be as bad as you imagine and it won’t be as good as you imagine. It’s usually somewhere in between.

I can talk myself out of trying. Easily.

Being sober. I am clinging to that. It is my life raft. I don’t have a desire to drink.

I drank to give myself moments of peace from the negative voices in my head. I drank to take a holiday from myself. It was my way of coping with being me.

I am living with fear. This fear I want to shake off. It is crusted and mouldy, there are layers upon layers of fear. Peeling layers replaced with glossy new ones. It is suffocating me.

Trying to open a window for my soul to breathe. But the window frame is painted shut. There are nails that need to be pried out. There are cobwebs. It is filthy.

I want to have a long soak in a bathtub. I cannot do that at the moment. I have a cast on my lower leg. A bath is out of the question. God I miss having a bath.

I have plugged the leaks of my eyes. In its place a headache has surfaced. Rest.

Rest.

I am so sick of resting. The simple act of taking a walk. I would love to do that. I am going stir-crazy from a month of rest. Damn this broken foot. That is the truth of it. This will pass.

For whom it may concern

Posted on by
Reply

Why do we do the things we do?

For ourselves? For vanity? For someone else? Or without thought?

Do we dress/act to keep up appearances, to keep to another’s standard?

What is that standard? What is your standard? Does it change?

Do we present ourselves to society and the world as our true selves? Do we even know who we really are? Are we merely a reflection of whom society chooses for us? If we see a photograph of ourselves who do we see? What do we observe about ourselves within the photograph? When we look into a mirror who do we see? What version of ourselves do we see or allow ourselves to see? Is it our true self? The one in the photograph, the one in the mirror, the one who lives in our bodies?

Do we change who we are depending on the audience in front of us? A wife, a daughter, a mother, a boss, an employee, a customer, a friend, a complainant, an advisor, a protector, a child?

Becoming sober let’s one choose to question with a clearer mind. The answers may not be any clearer but at least you remember the next day what you thought about the day before.

The discovery of self is a life long quest and some days feel like a leaden plod, and others a hop, skip and a pirouette. That being said I would still rather be my true self on a rotten day than an imposter with a painted on smile and crying on the inside. I would rather I cried real tears and really felt them without embarrassment or shame. Being human has a range of emotions. We have to let them in, to experience them, in order for them to pass through and out the other side. This nothingness or flatness I feel today I have embraced it reluctantly. A stiff hug for sure but hopefully it’ll be gone tomorrow.

3:59pm Good Friday

Posted on by
12

Just to be extra clear: Don’t feel like drinking alcohol. Never really have since I stopped. Maybe once or twice in the early days because I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel. Nobody does. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t the end of the world. It was the beginning.

Today and this week or month I have been feeling out of sorts with myself.

Not drinking allows me to see, find and be myself in the raw. I am finding it hard just to get out of bed these days. Why? Don’t know. Change of season?

I have gotten out of the habit of self care or care in general. How did I get this way so quickly? I have no idea.

In no way shape or form does the idea to drink enter my head. For that I am grateful. I don’t feel ever like taking that route ever again.

Depression is settling in. I have let it in somehow. I recognise it and yet I feel helpless to help myself. I feel like a witness to something happening yet it is me it is happening to. A witness observes and is impartial to the event, yet it is me that it is happening to and I feel immune to do anything about it to improve my situation. I can see it happening. I can feel it happening. Yet I do nothing.

I cannot help myself. The desire is there. But the effort is not there. The house has gone downhill. It is chaos. My cleanliness is doubtful. I am not eating my best meals. My cats are looked after better than me. I put them first. There is no neglect there. Just neglect of myself.

How can I write I have been wondering, if I cannot help myself? Ridiculous thoughts really. I should realise that it the depression talking and not the real me. How have I fooled myself so many times?

Lately (this year) I have felt so strong with dealing with depression, noticing when it comes on and how it comes in. I felt more knowledgeable about depression. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. I might have gotten cocky. It appears so. I have been put in my place. Depression isn’t to be conquered, it is to be dealt with and lived with. It is not to be treated lightly and with superiority. Depression will put you on your arse swiftly if you mock it or think light of it.

I am on my arse.

Today I felt able to write about it. That is something. Perhaps things are on their way up after all.

Day 51

Posted on by
1

Being sober is the easy part. The decision to become sober was difficult. Finding what to do next and how to do it is the struggle. More the “how” really.

I am sober but the habits that surrounded the alcohol are still with me. Tidying and cleaning, basically housework in general is not something I excel at. Our home looks lived in. It is not a show home. It has books and comfortable couches and day beds. It has things scattered on the floor. It is not ready for visitors or guests. That’s okay for now.

I used to strive for perfection. Then I realised that it was ridiculous. I still try but not to the extent I used to do. I overdo things and need a gentle nudge to stop trying to do everything at once. I am finding more peace with dropping perfection, guilt, paranoia and regret. These things I dropped before becoming sober. Anxiety is still with me but in a much weaker form. Depression is with me too but I recognise it, accept it and have learnt to live with it better. Fear is still with me. Fear is holding me back. I know this. I recognise this. I aim to challenge myself and make the fear smaller or contained. First though comes care. I need better care before I can face fear.

The past two years I chose to face things. Facing something is scary. It is easier to postpone, to look elsewhere. It is difficult to face something but once faced it removes a brick in the wall that surrounds yourself. It allows you to find lightness, makes it easier to breathe.

Facing something allows you to move on.

Insomnia is taking a hint and edging towards her packed bags at the door. I am managing to get to sleep by about 2am. Huge improvements for me. I took a bath with Epsom salts, 2 cups worth and soaked while reading a book with tea and a nice candle. It was relaxing. I had forgotten the magnesium in Epsom salts. Magnesium sulphate, of course. One source of increasing my magnesium.

Accidentally kicked my Epsom salts glass jar in the bathroom a few weeks ago. Sober. Glass and salt everywhere. Yikes. That stopped my habit dead. I want a replacement jar for it but something unbreakable. Zip lock bag will have to suffice for now. The jar was in the corner out of the way I thought but my foot found it regardless. Clumsiness is still with me.

I made it to the gym once this week. I did mini habits twice. I am eating better. I am enjoying homemade toasted muesli and adding more fruit and vegetables to my life. My weight is going down. The scales are showing me numbers that I haven’t seen in months. A healthier me is beginning to show.

Reading is my rock. Non fiction, fiction, doesn’t really matter. My list of books to read is getting longer and my tangents are dividing as I explore further. Learning and leisure is for everyone.

Progress made. Half way through this week I got lost but I found my way back again. Onwards.

January: A Calm Start

Posted on by
Reply

2019, 34 days sober

After the Party writes about a calm start to the new year.
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
I feel hopeful for the coming new year. I don’t have any regrets for things I didn’t get around to doing the previous year. I’m not beating myself up about it. It didn’t get done, so what! It didn’t get done.
Breathe.
Forget about it.
Breathe.

I feel calm. I feel peace. There is no guilt. There is no anxiety. I feel content.

At the same time there are dishes piled in the sink, the dining table is half covered in stuff not put away. There is dust on the surfaces. The bathroom sink plug hole needs cleaning. I am living in chaos. The bed is made and I had a bath yesterday and washed my hair. The toilet is clean. A load of washing was done yesterday. There are clean sheets on the bed. Small steps to being better organised. I am still in my pyjamas.

I used to be better organised on the surface but was chaos underneath. Now I am calm underneath and chaos on the surface.

I don’t plan to have our home perfect. I want it to look lived in. It certainly does look lived in. it looks like everyone left in a hurry and were frantically looking for things and bolted out the door.

I am not on top of the laundry pile. It is high. I have made a start. One load at a time. The house didn’t become chaotic overnight. I shouldn’t expect it to become clean and tidy overnight either.

Blame the depression. I was watching a film the other night, The Quake*, and was seeing the lead actor living through a breakdown. I saw the piles of mail unopened on the table. I saw the piles of plates in the sink. I saw the untidy room and thought that looks spookily familiar. I can see what has happened. I am through the other side but it feels hard to pick up the pieces.

I used to feel shame and embarrassment. Now I feel calm and accepting. I’m not saying I’m not bothered by the mess. I accept it as it is. It is what it is. A mess. I plan to move on from it. Improve the chaos, one dish, one T-shirt, one wipe at a time. My life is a work in progress.

I really want to get back to sketching and painting. I want to make time and space for this. This is a priority this year.

*The Wave and The Quake are Norwegian films on Netflix. Watch The Wave first. The Quake is the sequel.