Two hands

On Thursday night I hugged my father in law.

I cried, he cried, my mother in law cried. I told him I loved him, then I held his hand, whilst his wife held the other. My husband, his son, looked on, trying not to cry.

His hand was silky soft but bony -too skinny for the once round and jolly man I first met 10 years ago. He squeezed and stroked my hand with an affection that surprised me, for he was a quiet, non emotive sort. I'm so glad he did though, and that he told me he loved me too. I'm so glad I went to see him that night and didn't leave it until the next day as planned. I will treasure that last visit forever for he passed away the next day.

Baby Joe woke up for a feed at 3 am the night I visited my Father in law and as I sat up in bed with him, he held my hand.

As his tiny, soft little fingers grasped onto mine as he sleepily gulped his milk, I couldn't help but compare the two hands I'd held that day.

One hand, frail, old and soft, communicating with people by action where words failed it's owner, expressing love through a squeeze or a gesture to come over for a hug. A hand that was saying goodbye.

The other a hand that's just learning what it can do. That reaches and pulls everything in sight, including my hair and his toes. A hand that still has a thousand things to learn. That might play an instrument one day, might climb a mountain or swim a sea. A hand that's saying hello.

Holding both types of hand melted my heart.

I wish I could hold them both forever and never let go.

Stress busting selfcare (in secret?)

Evening friends.

There's quite a lot going on in my little world at the moment. Sophie, Joe & DH all had the dreaded sickness bug, followed very quickly by ear infections (Sophie) immunisations (Joe) and random temperatures (both of them).

Children are hard work. A toddler with an ear infection is the work of the devil.

Whilst we've been fighting our germs, my lovely Father in a Law has been fighting battles of his own. There's quite a back story with my FILs health, but to summarise he is 80, has had triple heart bypass surgery, two hip replacements, bowl cancer and stomach cancer. In 2012 he was given 2 months to live, but he's the most resilient old guy you've ever met and has been going strong until now. He went in to Guys Hospital in London 5 weeks ago to have an operation to remove the cancer from his lung and prolong his life and since then his health, both physical and mental, has  deteriorated drastically.

Yesterday we finally managed to get him transferred to a local hospital, but the journey nearly killed him and the doctors there have been shocked with the state he's in. They believe he had a stroke 5 weeks ago at Guys and it was never picked up, but they cannot confirm their suspicions with a scan as he's not currently well enough.

It's all been unbelievable stressful for everyone, no sleep, whining kids, constant phone calls.... It takes it's toll. Sunday morning one of our cars wouldn't start and it was the last straw for me, I had to have a good cry and go for an hour or so time out,

I felt better for it but I did, and still do, feel awful for needing it.

It was my DH who had to spend the day up in London, arguing with Doctors, listening to his dad saying he just wants to die, and there I am saying a I need a break? How selfish is that?
I was so ashamed for not being able to cope better, for not being able to support people who needed it more than ever.

When I got back home Sunday I sorted out my thoughts. I realised that I'd spent 2 weeks running around, tolerating things and not doing any of the things I know help me maintain balance, mainly because, with everything that's been going on, I felt too guilty to make time for them. How can I think about going for a run at a time like this? How could I nip out without the kids for a few hours when DH has so much going on?

That's why Things came to a head on Sunday. I didn't deal with any of the stress, did nothing to recharge my batteries, then suddenly felt overwhelmed and exhausted.

I'm trying to learn from it. Tonight my sister came and helped with the kids bath and bedtime and I popped out for a run whilst she was here, but it felt SO cheeky! Asking someone to help you when you're struggling with the kids is one thing, asking them to babysit is another, but babysitting whilst I run? I feel like anyone, even my sister, will think that's a very cheeky thing to ask. In my mind they're  rolling they're eyes, thinking how I've got my priorities all wrong and how I should be worried about DH or FIL - not running!
 I've messaged some friends about grabbing a short lunch or coffee or something at the weekend just so I can have an hour or two without the kids. I haven't asked DH about that yet because again, I feel selfish and cheeky and I'm putting it off. Even though I know that an hours break like that will massively help me stay in control.

It is really, really hard to put yourself first, especially in situations like this, but I'm really starting to understand why it's important. I'd be better at it if I could do it without anyone knowing. If I could selfcare without fear of the selfish label.

Did I not deserve to be loved, Like everyone else was loved?

It doesn't matter what you've bought your children this Christmas. The biggest present, the most expensive present, the fashionable present or no present at all... It's irrelevant. It doesn't matter how many holidays you go on, whether you live in a 5 bedroom detached house or a 2 bed council terrace.

The number of instruments they're learning, how academically gifted they are, the after school clubs they attend or the sports trophies they've won - all of it is completely worthless as an assessment of your parenting skills.

The age old cliche is true, the one thing that matters, the only thing that matters, is that you love them and you show it.

Say it often, hug them and kiss them and ruffle their hair. Pay an interest in their life, listen to their stories. PLAY with them. Show them how to do their hair, give them make up advice and help them get ready for discos. Freeze your arse off at football matches cheering them on.

Don't wish they were different. Don't compare them to other peoples children and wish they were less loud/cheeky/sensitive or more intelligent/outgoing or sporty. They'll pick up on it, they'll feel the critique. Trust me, I did and it has never left me.

Embrace them for who they are, love them unconditionally and the rest of their upbringing, well that's all just gravy. You'll get some things wrong & some things right. You'll argue with them, you'll exasperate each-other, and I'm certain at some point they'll tell you they hate you.

But they won't mean it.

I'm sorry to say that I do mean it when I say I hate my mum (although there is something distinctly blasphemous about seeing that written down. Only an awful person could hate their own mother right?)

I love her in a 'she's my mum so I have to' kind of way, and I feel pity towards her because I understand where her issues come from, but I also hate her. I know it's a psychological stereotype, a text book scenario, but her lack of love, interest and involvement in my life has left me continuously and unsuccessfully trying to fill a void.

It's a void that affects my self confidence, my ability to handle criticism or confrontation, and inevitably, my love life. I hate myself for it, I constantly assess myself and what I do/who I am trying to stop being the 'way' I am. Trying desperately to be 'normal'.

Try as I might, I just can't forgive her for giving me these issues that I have to deal with for the rest of my life.

But I didn't write this to talk about me and my demons, I've known what they are for a long time, and I will continue my battles with them throughout my life. Maybe one day I'll beat them, but that remains to be seen.

My real fear, my more recent concern and what suddenly feels like the only thing that really matters in my life, is my ability to prevent my children from having demons of their own. Or worse; them being passed my demons as an emotional legacy.

How do I stop that happening? And what's more how do I stop myself from over compensating and smothering my children with love and compassion to the point of non discipline or lack of balance?

All I want is for them to have the opposite in life to what I had. And to grow up with confidence, love, kindness and fun, knowing that someone believes in them.

There was a line in a film I went to see with a friend tonight - 'Did I not deserve to be loved, like everyone else was loved?'

If that line ever resonates with my children the way it did with me, then I have failed badly in life.

The Tale of Two Parties

Hello my lovelies, it's been a while hasn't it?

If it makes you feel any better, you're not the only thing being neglected. My list of things to do to help stay 'balanced' has fallen by the wayside for a couple of weeks now. I've not even been for a run!

It's just been a little manic. DH's dad has been in hospital and we've all not been feeling quite right, a house full of tired and run down parents and snotty children not able to get out in the fresh air and be active, which is the thing we love the most. I need to shake it off this week and get back to doing all the positive things to lift the mood and atmosphere. Constant rain is not helping :-( 

Perhaps my GP could prescribe a trip abroad?

I've been on my own with the kids this weekend and yesterday I took Sophie to two children's birthday parties. Granted, four hours of children screaming and playing is enough to give anyone a headache and feel a bit antisocial but I was really surprised by the effect the parties had on me.

The first party was for Sophie's best friend whom she goes to nursery with. A three year olds party with no more than ten kids in attendance, all around the same age. Crucially, nearly every kid there I knew, some of them since Sophie was born as there's a group of us that have been close since the antenatal days.

I happily spoke to other parents at the party, even tried to make conversation with a few I knew only slightly from Nursery drop off. I was comfortable enough to push myself in those situations and to not hide or shy away from it. I don't recall feeling anything more than fleeting moments of anxiety during the two hours we were there.

I don't think anyone would've seen me there and thought I was suffering from any kind of confidence, depression or anxiety issue whatsoever.

The second party was a much larger affair for my bestie's little girl. Lots more kids, larger age range and lots more people that I didn't know. There were quite a few people I did know too, none that I'd consider proper friends, but plenty of acquaintances that I could've tagged on to for company. Weirdly though, they were the people I felt worst around.

Thing is, when my depression started kicking off again at the beginning of this year, I posted about it on facebook. Not my cleverest idea perhaps, but why should I hide my mental health issues whilst Joe Bloggs shares pictures of his dinner?

I came off of facebook not long after, but I know it's generally known in social circles that I got a lot worse and spent some time in hospital towards the end of my pregnancy.

A lot of my acquaintances in the room at the party would've known it, and I hadn't seen many of them since I had Joe.

One of them I bumped into at the local supermarket, but instead of chatting like she normally would, she said hello and kept walking, blatantly uncomfortable talking to me.

So, in this room full of strangers and acquaintances all I found myself doing was putting thoughts in their heads.

I guessed at what they must be thinking of me. I convinced myself that all they were doing was gossipping about me, silently judging me and my mental health. It started the stupid bloody cycle where I got so convinced I was being judged that I just didn't want to look at or talk to anyone - I wanted to find a corner of the room and stay there. Once I was there though and actively pretending not to recognise people or see people so I didn't have to talk to them, I felt horrid. I decided that everyone else was thinking how rude and stand offish I was being, and kept thinking how unhelpful I was being to my best friend, which made me feel even worse.

Her dad came and sat with me at one point. He knows all of my history and is very sympathetic and understanding. What is refreshing is his bluntness with me (and I suspect it's where my bestie gets it from and why I love her so). He just out right asked about my depression and how I'm doing, and says he's sorry to hear I was so unwell.

So many people actively avoid mentioning it and would never dream of saying something like that, but he cleared the air immediately by doing it. Put it out there and just made it ok and normal and seemed genuinely concerned for me. So much so that I told him about the anxiety I was feeling at the party too and I could've hugged him just for giving me that one person in the room who was completely normal with me, and made me feel less judged.  

Even sitting with him though, I saw one mum starting at us constantly, trying to figure out what we were talking about. She didn't even seem discreet about it, just sat there looking at us. I wish I'd had the confidence or balls to just look back at her and ask what was wrong. Put her on the spot instead of letting her make me feel like a fish in tank.

I left a little early to pick up Joe from my dad's and leaving was like a weight lifting. My anxiety levels were back to normal by the time I got home.

I really did not see this coming, I didn't have any fears or anxiety about going to the party at all and although I've never been a fan of crowds of people I don't know I can normally get past it and have a good time.

It's made me think about how I'm doing. I have been feeling massively better this last month or so, with exception of the odd bad day, and I have always classed my current stage as recovery, but now I am wondering how much of it is down to avoidance? Because, when I think about it, I am actively avoiding doing anything other than with the close circle of friends and family who have supported me this year.

I changed my food shopping habits, from monthly to weekly because I said it would save money, but now I think about it what it really avoids is trips out on my own with the kids in the week to get fresh veg etc. I call people to come to soft play with me because 'I don't want to have to leave Joe if Soph needs the loo'.., I avoid trips into town because I don't want to spend money, and I cancelled takeaway night at DH friends house because I was tired.... but in reality the more I think about it and the more I analyse it, the more I realise I am avoiding anxious situations. Even if Sophie desperately needs to get out I have avoided trips to the park or library unless I could find someone to come along.

Until now I honestly hadn't realised I was doing it. I think I was justifying it even to myself, but Saturday's taught me a lesson and I need to push myself a little this week to try and go out and face people. Strangers and acquaintances, especially people who know of my depression but haven't seen me for a long time. I have nothing to feel ashamed of.

Even if they are judging me as much as I fear they are, does that not say more about them than it does about me? The sad thing is, so many of the people I feel self conscious, anxious or judged around probably suffer with something similar, but they'll never tell and I'll never open up because we're both too concerned with what other people think.

I wish people were as quick to say "I heard you've been unwell, how are you doing now?" as they are to say "did you hear about so and so, apparently she's depressed......"

Running for my life

Ok so here's the thing.

I know it's really, really annoying when people post constant status' about going for a run on Facebook or Twitter. I get that posts of maps outlining routes, apps showing time and distance stats and all of that crap are highly uninteresting and probably deemed a bit 'showy-offy' by the non running, no desire to run majority. 

But I totally and absolutely understand why they do it. And I'm joining in.

This week has been a bit flat. I've not had any severe downs, but no super highs either, just plodding along, getting by. Last night I went for a run when my husband got home from work. I didn't really fancy it, it was dark, cold and raining and with yet another round of PMT to contend with I'd have much rather have stayed in the warm and curled up with some chocolate. BUT I kept telling myself how good I would feel afterwards.

I started out aiming for 2.5 miles and was soaked and fed up before I'd done half a mile. Then a song came on my iPod. A song that takes me right back to my best friends living room more than two years ago, where her husband stood with nothing but shorts on, singing along to it.

He died of a heart attack not long afterwards.

Hearing that song, whilst running in the dark and the rain, made me smile. I hope it doesn't sound weird, but I had a little conversation with him in my head whilst I ran. He told me to 'Get on with it Love'.  'Bring it on mate'. was my response.
I went on to run 4 miles in my best time since I had Joe, and dare I say, it felt almost effortless.

My mind can make most things negative. I can turn an innocent offer to help me with something into meaning I'm stupid, if someone says I've lost weight I think of how fat I must have been for them to notice and if someone is off, rude or upset I will always assume it is something I've done. I try very very hard to give myself credit for what I do and how I do it, but it is not in my nature to really ever believe anything positive is down to me.
But with running, I have to accept it.

I cannot question that the person who made me go out last night was me. Because no one else can put my Lycra on and force me out of the door into the cold. The only person who did it, and keeps doing it, is me. I can't even ridicule myself for the time I take out to do it, and call it selfish or indulgent because, for christs sake, it's running! It is the one thing in my life, where I can achieve, and really believe that I've achieved. If I run a new personal best time or distance, no one can take that away from me, including my depressed mind.

Nearly 5 years ago, in February 2010,  I ran my first 10k (6 ish miles) race, to support a charity and a friend. It took me well over an hour and I had to walk a lot of it. As soon as I finished I went to get my fags out of the car.

In April 2013 I almost ran my first marathon. After 20 miles, feeling sick, I stopped to walk for a bit and although I ran again later on, I didn't manage to run the whole 26.2 miles non stop which was my goal.

In April 2015 I'm trying again.

Not everyone has been very supportive of that decision. Family are concerned I am taking on too much, friends think I'm crazy. But the daft thing is, I think they should be more worried if I ever stop running. I have to have that thing in my life that I'm proud of myself for. I need the marathon date as motivation, and I NEED to run the whole thing this time. To run the whole marathon, to beat my demons and my doubters, will be unquestionable achievement that my mind will never, ever be able to take away from me.

I can hate myself, my personality, how I look, but I can't question my dedication to the road, my ability to push myself over mile upon mile of tarmac just because I want to achieve something that badly.

Maybe that will be my epitaph the day I die. "She struggled with everything, but running".

Somebody flicked the switch again

Dreamt about work again last night. God damn brain. Woke up this morning feel anxious and panicky.


I popped a couple of diazepam in my purse before we went out for the day, because now I have a fear that I'm going to get overwhelmed with a panic attack like the one last Friday whilst I'm out in public. I needn't have worried though, its been such a busy day with friends and their kids that I've not had a a moment to myself to worry about all the things wrong in my life, let alone start panicking about them.


And now, 12 hours or so later, a funny thing has happened. My mood has gone completely in the opposite direction.


I went for a run as soon as DH got home from work. Four miles in the dark with no music on because I forgot to charge my iPod. Just my breathing, feet pounding on the path, the occasional beep from my Garmin to keep me company.
I know I wasn't feel amazing at the beginning of the run, I remember thinking, somewhere during mile one, how bloody shit it is that I have to deal with all this mental health stuff when other people get to live 'normal' lives. You know, the age old question; why me?


But then my mind did a wonderful and rare thing. It argued back.


It waved my beautiful children that I'm getting to spend all this time at home with in my face.
It reminded me that whilst I struggle with my mental health, at least I have my Physical health. That I have a degree of control over whether my illness kills me. So many people aren't that lucky.
It pointed out all my wonderful friends that actually do a really good job of trying to understand an illness that is as easy to explain as the offside rule.
My family, whom whilst not very good with emotional or mental issues, have never deserted me or laughed at me.
And it reminded me of the things I've found this year. My ability to, and love of writing. My twitter family.


I ran miles two, three, and four, feeling positive, energised and engaged and I still feel that way now. Not hyper. Just a contented kind of OK.
And whilst the switch flicking is confusing and frustrating, I think I'm just going to take the good with the bad and make the most of feeling this way tonight.


I'm going to get in bed now and listen to some of my favorite songs on spotify, for no reason other than it's something I love to do and I don't do it enough. Maybe that'll help the switch stay in place for a little bit longer. I sure hope so

Crying for help

I am starting tonight's blog post sat in my Doctors Surgery waiting room, waiting to review the medication for my anxiety and depression.

Friday morning I woke up anxious, having dreamt all night about returning to work. That's not an unusual occurrence, I dream about that occasionally and it always results in me feeling vulnerable and off balance the next day. However, later in the morning, driving to do a food shop I got an overwhelming need to cry, and a sudden sense of panic and anxiety. I found myself driving along taking deep breaths just trying to calm myself.
Thankfully one of my clients rang my mobile and a brief hands free chat with them distracted me enough for the 'attack' (I'm not sure if that's an appropriate name but don't know what else to call it) to pass.
Food shopping kept my mind off of things and although I still felt weird and panicky I figured it would pass once I picked Sophie up from Nursery and was kept busy running around with her all afternoon.
After lunch though, sat on the sofa feeding Joe his milk, I started crying.
Wrenching, uncontrollable sobbing. The kind where your nose is streaming as much as your eyes, where your head hurts and you want to calm down but every time you so much as pause you feel so desolate and unhappy you start sobbing again.
I just couldn't stop. I paid little attention to the rest of Joes feed, but managed to put him in his baby swing. Sophie brought me tissues looking concerned and asking what was wrong, I told her through my tears that I felt poorly, that it was nothing she'd done and not to worry. I can't tell you how much I hate her seeing me like that, how desperately I don't want to scare her, or upset her, but honestly there was nothing I could do. It was a literal floodgate of emotions and once it started it just wouldn't stop.

I started to go into shut down mode, something normally reserved for when my depression is at it's severest. I huddle up tight in a ball, normally rocking or swaying, close my eyes and sob. That's it, for hours. Sometimes I eventually stop crying but I still sit there doing nothing else. I don't want to interact, I struggle to function, and most scarily I struggle to care.
If Sophie fell over and hurt herself whilst I was in shut down mode I honestly cannot guarantee I'd be able to snap out of it to help her. I had some Promethazine left from the hospital which would've calmed me down, but it always makes me very sleepy, and after crying for so long I'd have been out like a light, leaving the kids to their own devices.

Knowing this, I tried desperately to find someone I trusted to come round and help. It wasn't so much that I thought anyone could do anything for me at this point, as it was that I wanted someone to be there to look after the kids, so I could just be left to it.

My closest friends couldn't be there for various reasons (and to you all, I know you would've been if you could've been, please don't feel bad) and I couldn't reach the family members that I felt comfortable seeing in that kind of state. In the end, out of utter desperation I rang my GP. He wasn't working, another GP was on. That completely threw me and I panicked, hanging up the phone*.
My health visitors number was on the wall, and I glimpsed it out of the corner of my eye. Thank god she answered the phone, and even more that she dropped everything and was with me within ten minutes.

I told her as much as I could, through snot and tears. I couldn't make decisions or answer questions. I just could not function, and thankfully she recognised that. She took over with the kids, and rang my GP*. She booked an appointment for me for that afternoon. She told me to take painkillers for my head and then left me to lay on the sofa, covering my eyes with my arms. My sister rang and I asked her to come over.
I don't remember much for a while after that. Everything carried on around me, people talking, phones going off, kids vying for attention, but all I could do was lay there in the self imposed darkness, trying to calm down. I lay there plotting how, once everyone had left me alone, I'd go to bed to sleep, then wake up in the middle of the night and leave. Just that. Leave.
It didn't matter where to, and I had no reason why, I just wanted to go and be left alone somewhere, not having to deal with, or feel, anything.

Plotting that escape calmed me down. By the time I saw the alternative GP that evening I could communicate without crying, I was out of shut down mode.
He prescribed me Diazepam, a low dose, and advised me to take some that night and whenever required over the weekend but ONLY if required.

I slept like a log that night, no chance to find out if I still intended to fulfil my plans to disappear. I have not felt myself since, and I've feared regression or relapse (two words the health visitor unfortunately kept using when she arrived which was unhelpful for my mood).
BUT I'm proud to say I still know my body & fucked up mind well enough to do what I can to combat and fight my current state of mind.
Saturday morning I woke up in full on 'curl up, sleep all day and ignore the world' mode and I knew I had to do something to stop it. I put soph on the back of my bike and rode round the estates for half hour. Fresh air, endorphins and a giggling toddler worked their magic and I managed to stay out of bed and pretty coherent for the rest of the weekend.

I have now had my medication review with my GP, and we're sticking with 40mg citalopram, with diazepam on hand for any further panic attacks. I think I've mentioned before that there are some hormone issues in my family, and I suffer from very severe PMT. The GP and I suspect post pregnancy hormones for this sudden, light switch, panic attack, and I'm going to start logging my anxiety levels and my periods in a diary to see just how much they correlate.
He did a hypnotherapy session for me whilst I was there and I felt better for it immediately. Calmer, more in control. Soothed.

Now, sat here in bed writing this and reflecting on the past few days, I feel a mixture of emotions. I'm honestly devastated that I went back to being so low, so quickly, when I've come so far these past 3 months. I'm embarrassed because so few people understand or believe how it can happen for no reason. There was no trigger. Just a build up of anxiety, a switch flicked by someone somewhere and boom, I'm a crying, incapable, selfish wreck again.

But I'm also relieved. Relieved that it last hours instead of days or weeks.
And thankful that I've a support network in place of people I can call without fear of judgement or ignorance; dear friends, some family and, of course, Twitter. Full of like minded friends who really do know how it feels, replying to my cries for help & keeping me company until people could get to me, I'd be truly lost without Twitter. Several times over.

I know I'm doing well, I know one panic attack does not a failure make, but I am sick of the lack of control. Of my body doing things to make my life miserable no matter what
I do. I'm not a wallower, I fight, I like to be in control and I do everything I can to help myself. But days like Friday make me feel like it's never enough. That no matter what I do, my mind will sabotage it.

My life is a story made up of two sane steps forward, three crazy steps back....on and on and on and on.


*I have the most amazing Doctor, he manages to show understanding without patronising and you get a sense that he genuinely cares and wants you to be ok. The amount of times he's gone over and above for me, seeing me for hypnosis at the last minute and booking me in for appointments at 6.30 in the morning is amazing. I often wonder how different my recovery may have been, or indeed if it would have happened at all, without his support. When the health visitor rang the surgery on Friday, they were already going to call me back. They'd picked up that I was upset on the phone when I'd rung and hung up, got the number I'd called from and found my medical history. I think that is amazing. My surgery, my GP- they're a bloody credit to the NHS.

PMT induced rant about PMT

Tonight I am struggling. Actually I've been struggling for a few days now. Anxiety is at a peak, confidence in anything I do is questionable and that old voice in my head telling me how shit I am is back.

I'm certain this is all down to hormones. I'm currently having my 5th period since Joe was born (he's three months old) and PMT has always been a real issue for me.  Even during the years when I didn't suffer a bout of depression I've struggled with a severe dip in mood every month. It's one of the reasons I doubt I will ever come off of my medication.

When I have PMT I am impatient, spiteful, hurtful and selfish. I'm teary and emotional - even more so than usual - and I hate myself for it. I hear myself snapping at people, I see myself wanting to cry over something I spend the other three weeks of the month not thinking about  and I hate it. I hate the lack of control. I hate that no matter what I do, my body will put me through this every month.

I'm doing everything I can to help myself, I exercise regularly, I sleep as much as anyone with a toddler and 3 month old baby can and I'm taking 40mg of Citalopram a day. What else can I do?

I don't want to feel like this anymore, but more than that I don't want to have to face dealing with it every bloody month. Don't tell me to accept it's the way I am, don't tell me to be gentle with myself or love myself because I can't, not when I'm like this.

I hate the way I look, the way I act. I hate the way I feel and I hate that I'm even writing this crock of self pitying crap.

Hormones have a lot to answer for. I know I'll feel better in a few days and look back on this, probably with a degree of embarrassment. But it's how I feel now, and every month.

And I'm so frigging tired of it.

Failing to Fake it.

I'm no longer very private or secretive about my depression and anxiety with friends or family, but, if for some reason I choose to, I've always been able to hide it.

With the exception of when my depression is at severest, I am one of those (fortunate?) people that can hide what they're really feeling behind a mask of confidence. I hide my uncomfortableness at making conversation, interminable need to be liked and inability to look people in the eye behind constant jokes and banter.I am loud and sometimes crass, drawing attention to myself in a way that I can control, to avoid any attention/interaction that I don't want or can't deal with.
I've never made a conscious decision to deal with it that way, it's just something I've done since I was a teenager. My default setting when I meet new people, or go to parties and events.

I have a work version of it too - friends I've worked with in the past have called it 'Corporate' me and I guess that's a good description. I could switch into a professional, work like mode for meetings, presentations etc even if I was stupidly anxious underneath it all. Some of that was the same 'faking it' but some of it was my complete and utter faith in my ability to do my job.

You see, since I was first diagnosed with depression at 19 years old I have questioned many things in my life, I have beaten myself over almost every aspect of my personality, decisions, looks and ability, but I have always, unfailingly, believed I was good at my job.

Even if I struggled not to run from a room full of people at a seminar, took every bit of constructive criticism personally, or had nightmares over having to give a colleague bad news - the underlying belief was still there. The bit I did, at my desk, on my own, I was awesome at, and that gave me enough real confidence to fake the rest.

But I've discovered this week that somethings broken the balance - When it comes to work I'm now failing to fake it.

I printed off some leaflets for my new business this week and walked down the high street of my little town visiting small local firms hoping to introduce myself and what I do. Don't get me wrong, I know this was a big challenge to set myself, that anyone would be daunted at the prospect of just walking into a shop or cafe and asking for the owner and having to sell themselves and what they do. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I fully expected the 'corporate' version of me to just kick in and suck it up like it always would have done before.

It didn't. I stumbled over my words, I couldn't think of anything positive to say, and I went into most businesses almost apologetically. After the first few blatantly uninterested people I wanted to cry, and I started to shake with nerves. I forced myself to do some more and I did eventually get one lady who was enthusiastic and friendly, but I walked home disheartened.
What little real confidence I had before this relapse has escaped me. I'm trying to fake it, but without my belief in myself and what I can do, and with my ever growing desire for people not to look at me, I'm failing.

Of all the things I have had to deal with during and after my relapse this one makes me feel the saddest. I always had work before, if everything else fell down around me, if my life was one big fucking mess, I could still go to work and just get on with something that made me feel good. If I can't fake it enough to have that, what do I have left?
I guess this is part of my recovery, I have to figure out a way to rebuild the bits of me that depression chipped away at. The problem is, how do I get confidence without working again? And how do I get work without confidence. Or at the very least, the ability to fake it?

Filling My Cup

Wow what a manic few days!

Some of you already know that I spent last weekend in Leeds visiting friends. It was a big step for me as not only was I travelling alone, but my friend is someone I used to work with and work can be a massive trigger for my anxiety problems. I wasn't sure how I'd feel talking to her about it.

Two hours into the drive up there I started to feel emotional and lonely. I skipped all the sad and romantic songs on shuffle and just had a good cry. I don't know what bought it on, perhaps being alone for so long in the car, without anything to distract myself with, meant that I was letting myself think about stuff that I normally manage to avoid.
It wasn't bad crying, if that makes any sense. Yes I felt sad and tired and lonely, but mostly I just felt I needed a good cry, and it was ok to let it out.

I was fine again after a bit, and apart from a few tears when I greeted my dear friend, there were no more tears for the rest of the weekend. We worked on my business website Saturday lunch time, then I checked into the hotel, got in the big comfy bed with a chocolate brownie and had a snooze! The evening was spent out for dinner and drinks, talking about old and new times, just enjoying seeing my friend again. You spend so much time with the people you work with, and Stephanie is one of the loveliest,  kindest, most creative people you could meet. I miss seeing her almost everyday more than anything else about my old job.

After 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep (almost unheard of when I'm at home, thanks to my darling kids!) I had breakfast in my bed, checked out and went for a walk before meeting Steph & her husband for a Sunday pub Lunch, listening to fabulous jazz music.

It was as relaxing, and enjoyable as it sounds. Every hour without the kids wanting something, without housework to do, nursery bags to pack and washing to sort felt like an hour closer to being me.

I love my children. They are so precious to me and I do not begrudge a moment of time spent being their mother. But oh my god it was nice to remember that that isn't all I am. Dinner without a deadline, bed without crying alarm clocks, and time in the morning to put on make up, just because I felt like it.

On Sunday morning when I was alone, wondering the streets of Ilkley, I felt the familiar pang if anxiety and wanted to go hide in the corner of a cafe with a cuppa. But instead I walked and explored. I climbed a hill, looked at gorgeous views and enjoyed the sunshine on my own. That's something the old me would've done, and something I've not enjoyed doing alone since the kids arrived.

I ended the whole weekend with a long drive home, singing along to music in my car, laughing at myself and feeling recharged and re-energised.

I feel guilty for enjoying the weekend so much, but I remind myself of a quote I've seen before and often repeat to my mummy friends:

'It's not selfish to refill your own cup so that you can pour into others. It's not just a luxury, it's essential'

I'm back to normal life now, and have suffered a bit with anxiety and hyperness the last few days probably as a result of the weekends travelling taking it's toll on me. It's ok though. Because no matter how much I get dragged back into tired mummy mode, I've had a reminder of the fact that it's just for now. The rest of me is still there, it's just buried deep for a bit, waiting to come out whenever it gets the chance, and that's good to know. I'm still me.

And if I ever need reminding again? Well I'd sure love to see some more of the gorgeous Yorkshire countryside, and Steph :-)

Behind closed doors

The older I get the more I realise how deceptive people and relationships are. Almost everyone, without exception, has more going on in their life than you can ever tell from the outside.

If you are sitting at home reading this, with a husband or wife that feels more like a friend who happens to live with you than the passionate romance of your life, believe me, so, so many people feel like that.
If you had a secret little thing with, or a crush on someone other than your other half during a relationship that you've never confessed to anyone, I tell you now, nearly everyone I know has confessed to something similar.
Are you happy? or just comfortable?

There are no perfect couples or perfect relationships. Life isn't a Disney film.

Even the families that we look at with envy, believing they have so much under control, with perfect, angelic children, will be facing their own battles behind closed doors. Those that appear to have everything, could be up to their eyeballs in debt.

No one is living the perfect, happy life that we imagine, and perhaps the most important thing to take from that, is that no one is doing any better at this life than you are. We have to stop comparing ourselves and thinking everyone else is doing a better job than us.

Without wishing to sound overly dramatic, I have grown up being constantly told that I am over sensitive and over emotional. My family did not and do not discuss feelings or emotions of any kind, it's just not done, and as a result I've always felt like the abnormal one. The one that didn't fit in.

I over think every little thing, I analyse and worry and more than anything I express. My emotions are worn on my sleeve like a badge for all to see, I've never been able to hide my highs or lows from people around me, I express them in everything I do.

As I get older and more importantly, as I share more of my personal battles with people, I realise that the old cliche really is true. I am not alone in the way I am. It's not that everyone else can deal with things better than I can, it's not that I am weak, over sensitive or that I fail at things, it's just that people hide it until they feel they can tell you, until they realise you feel the same or will not judge them.

People pretend and people fake it - because we're scared of what people will think, because we don't want to ruin the illusion of perfection we've created, and because, and I suspect this is the one we're all most guilty of, we're in denial.

Admitting all our faults and fears, our feelings of inadequacy, acknowledging our troubled relationships and yearnings for attention and romance, we take them all to mean we've failed in some way. Because we think everyone else is getting it right.

They're not. They feel the same as you. Seriously, take some homework from this weeks entry and confess to a friend something about your life that's not entirely and completely perfect.I don't care if it's something as stupid as not washing your hands after going to the loo -  I am willing to bet that they confess something to you in return no matter how small, and you both feel a little bit of comfort and more secure in yourselves as a result.

The importance of knowing how far you've come

Depression doesn't exactly encourage self confidence, positivity, or optimism, so it's not unusual for me to need to make a conscious effort to work on those areas, or to be reminded by other people to notice the good things my mind has brushed over or missed.
At hypnosis this week, my fantastic and very lovely GP commented on how nice it was to see me getting better. Up until he said that I'd not really thought about how visible it might be to other people. I've still not really focused on how far I have come.

It's silly because focusing on that is such a positive step towards recovery, and such a mood builder. As my life, my ability to deal with emotions and my day to day mood is still not exactly where I want it to be, I am very focused on all the challenges that remain and obstacles I still have to overcome. I have never sat and thought about where I was a month ago, let alone 3 months ago. Not in detail.

Some of it is hard to think about, granted, but I think its important. I have to be as willing to congratulate myself and pat myself on the back as I am to berate and be hard on myself. 
Of course, just that thought process itself never would have occurred to me in the past few months and hat's probably one of the most noticeable changes, the addition of the more encouraging, positive voice in my brain.  Its not the strongest of my two voices, but it's there and it's putting up a good fight.

I still look in the mirror and see dark circles under my eyes, a flat and empty chest and a saggy belly. It still makes me cringe and feel sad BUT there is a voice in my head now that says; 'You have tired eyes and a saggy belly, because you have a new born baby. You eat healthily and you're already running and training, the weight will go, don't be too hard on yourself. Yep you have small boobs that have seen better days but no one can tell through a pretty bra and clothes. Learn to love it'
What a god send that voice is. It doesn't work miracles, I don't suddenly feel amazing about myself, but oh it does make me feel more in control, like how I look isn't the end of the world.

I still stress and over think things massively. Particularly when it comes to my ability as a mother. I worry about Sophie being in front of the TV too much, of not picking up Joe for a cuddle often enough. I worry about going out too much, I worry about staying in and not stimulating the kids. I worry about what they eat and don't eat and I put that all down to bad decisions on my part. When Sophie acts up I instantly think it's down to something I did or did not do. I feel like every other parent is constantly assessing me and judging me. But you know what? The voice kicks in again. It pipes up with 'the fact you even worry about this stuff means your a good mum' or a 'just look at your kids you can see they are contented and happy'. I don't always believe the voice, but it's bloody there and that's progress.

Physical symptoms of my depression are subsiding too, I think. At the peak I cried everyday. I used to keep a toilet roll in my car just so I could pull over and sob. Now I barely cry once a week.
I have energy again, I want to DO things.

Previously, I've not wanted to talk to, message or acknowledge the existence of anyone other than my children. I wouldn't let anyone come to see me in hospital, my sisters and parents were turned away. It was a crazy level of antisocialness. Now I'm still uncomfortable with new people and strangers (unless I'm drunk, eh Zoe?) but with my existing network of supportive, understanding and amazing friends and family I am very contented. I can socialise with them just as before, and I love to do so. Nothing pleases me more than a full and busy diary.

I care about things again. Silly, small, insignificant things, but things that show how much more I am living instead of just being alive. I went out and bought all my normal beauty products this month. Just some stuff from Boots and Body Shop that I used to use all the time, but ran out of a while back and never bothered replacing. That felt like a hugely positive thing, that I care enough about myself to start taking care of myself again. I've put full blown make up on twice this month, I can't remember the last time I bothered with much other than mascara and BB Cream before that.

Three or so months ago I walked out of my old office at very short notice and haven't been back since.  Even discussing work has been a no no for me for months because of my anxiety and completely destroyed confidence in that area. Now, well, now I believe in myself enough to have started setting up my own business. I have the confidence in what I am good at to be willing to give it a go.

If this bout of depression had never happened I wouldn't even be in the position to try going self employed and I find that the most positive thing of all - something I've always wanted to achieve could actually happen, because of journey I've been through. How amazing if I can drag something positive out of it all.

Guys, it's ok if we make mistakes, if we have bad days. It's ok to cry or  have an anxiety attack. We just have to remind ourselves of how far we have come. We have to believe in ourselves and keep on taking steps forward, no matter how small.
Even my worst days now are no where near as bad as my good days three months ago.

The best thing, the thing that makes me most likely to cry with joy whilst writing this, is that I've stopped thinking about self harm. I don't know when it happened or how, but right now I have no interest, not only in cutting, but in any suicidal thoughts. I am way too interested in where this story is going.

I love you guys, you've all helped me more than you'll ever know and I'd never have got this far without you!

Please keep up your fights, I promise it is worth it xxxxxxxxx

Is my depression sabotaging my relationship?

This post has been incredibly hard for me to write.

I don't open up about this topic to many people, through fear of being misunderstood or judged and maybe because writing some of it down makes it feel a bit too real. I'd rather ignore some of these feelings because life is just easier that way.

I'm writing it though, because I think to continue down the recovery path I need to get it out. I'm hoping that some of you, even one of you, may have the same problem, that it may be connected to my depression and isn't just my own personal bit of crazy.

Through my entire life, including but not limited to bouts of depression, I find that my emotions can sometimes switch off and on like a light switch.

Without explanation I can go from being so happy it borders on hyper, to so sad I am, literally, daydreaming about suicide. From the nicest, kindest person, to an angry bitch, saying cruel and spiteful things at the drop of a hat.
Or from feeling immense love, to feeling complete indifference.

It's that last one that I want to talk about. How I feel about my husband has and continues to change constantly. I'm not just talking about normal mood swings, or days when he gets on my nerves more than usual, I'm talking about being utterly convinced I am in love and happy with him one minute, to not wanting him anywhere near me and daydreaming about being on my own the next.

It works the other way too, I can go through months of feeling like we're just not right together, desperate to avoid him touching me, wishing I could escape etc etc, to suddenly, with the flick of some internal switch, back to feeling loving and affectionate towards him. Safe and happy in the knowledge that we're together, and feeling immensely guilty for how I treated him during other periods.

I can't stop the down periods from happening, I've tried everything other the years. And it's happened in previous relationships too - my first love I broke up with during a down period then massively regretted it and could never get him back.

The constant changes over the years have, understandably, taken their toll on our marriage, and on me.
Because one emotion never stays, I can't identify what I need to do to make myself happy. If I left during a down period and then the feelings bounced back like they always do, I will be left with a broken marriage, kids who don't live with their dad and lets face it a spiral of severe depression.
But staying. Staying, puts him and me through these constant up and downs. Months without intimacy or affection, two people just living together, raising there kids and getting along perfectly well, but with no warmth between them. I'm worried it's going to eventually push him away. That he will get fed up with the down periods, and leave.

How do I identify which feeling is the real one?

Part of me is scared to know in case it means my future will be different to what I'd always planned, in case it means that my kids won't have the family life I so dearly wanted for them. But another part of me is hopeful that good periods could win, if only my mind would let them. 

Is my depression sabotaging my relationship?

Depression can be such a negative drain on everything good in life, and I wonder if, in the down periods, the depression is there, pointing out anything and everything negative, making me feel lethargic and uninterested, and encouraging me to seek solitude?

Please know, my husband is kind, caring and supportive. He is more involved with the kids than most parents I know. He's an amazing, loving, dad and extremely selfless. None of this should be read as a reflection on him, I can't emphasise that enough.
I'm sorry this post is rather disjointed and seems to have little point to it. I guess what I'm really trying to do, is face up to things I keep burying and ignoring because I don't know how to explain or deal with them.

It's part of my journey, I suppose, to work on the route cause of my constant battles with depression and anxiety. If only I knew what to do next.....

Peaks and Troughs

I'm getting so fed up with myself. Why can't I kick this depression to touch?

One minute I see glimmers of feeling like myself, like when I wrote last week's entry. The next I am having the worst day in ages, having to go out for a walk to my spot in the woods so I can have a good cry.

My medication is double what it ever used to be. I'm running regularly, having hypnosis to help with the anxiety and I am off work on maternity leave until next May if that's what I want. So why the hell am I still having such dramatic peaks and troughs? Why is my mood fluctuating so much still?

It's the medication thing that bothers me the most. I spent two years in between having Sophie and getting pregnant with Joe on 20mg of Citalopram without any bouts of depression. I felt in a really good place, possibly the best place I'd been in in my life in those two years. So why, now I'm back on the medication, does it not have the same effect. Surely on 40mg, twice as much, I should be laughing, not still having episodes of uncontrollable sorrow?

Here's a scary thought that keeps popping into my mind too - how bad would things be now if it wasn't for the citalopram? Or if the GP hadn't doubled the dose? Doesn't bare thinking about I know, but I can't help it. It only takes one episode of getting my medication wrong in my life to make things get really bad for me, I've learnt that more than anything in the past months.

I spent so long, especially when things were really bad, just waiting to be in the situation I am in now. For Joe to be here, to be back on my medication and to be able to exercise again. I think that now I am here I'm probably expecting too much, too soon.

Thinking about it, I am almost certainly losing sight of all the progress I have made. I have to keep reminding myself that yeah, I went out and had a cry on Sunday but that was the first time in ages I've felt that bad and I didn't give any thought to self harm which I would've done before. Everything is less severe than it was before, my anxiety attacks are shorter and more manageable and I am still arguing with the negative thoughts in my mind, attacking them with more positive ones. Hell isn't that what I'm doing now, writing this?!

I want to be better. I want my life back and I don't want to be feeling some of the things I still feel, but I have to accept that that won't happen over night.

One thing I want to share before I leave you this week - when I was at my pond, sitting where I always sit, letting myself have a good cry and just enjoying being alone, I noticed a few screwed up tissues on the ground not far from me. It strikes me that I may not be the only person who uses that spot to come and have a good cry.
To think that there could be someone else out there, feeling how I feel and coming there to be alone and cry pains me so much. I wish I could reach out to them and let them know I exist. let them know that someone knows how they feel and that they are not alone.
But maybe it's enough that sometimes we sit in the same spot,under the same sky, finding our few moments of peace.



Dare I say the R Word?

Something strange is happening. I don't really know how it happened, or what caused it, but I'm almost convinced it is happening.
I think, perhaps, maybe, I am heading towards... recovery.

Over the last week I've found myself feeling more positive and upbeat. A few simple little things have happened have made me feel like I am taking back control.

One of the most noticeable things happened last Friday. I'd been paid by work and it was a larger amount than I was expecting to receive. I had to email them about it and that instantly made me feel panicky and anxious. Familiar old feelings; increased heart rate, faster breathing, and inability to focus on anything else. I fully expected to sit and cry until I got a reply, but instead I found some of the phrases from my hypnotherapy sessions popping into my head. The key one that I remember was 'It's just feelings'.

If someone said that to me about my anxiety or depression just in conversation I'd be massively offended but, in the context of the hypnotherapy it is intended to calm.
It seems to work. Just thinking that sentence seemed to take away the power of the emotions and the feelings I was experiencing. What would normally have become a massive panic attack and resulted in me sobbing my heart out and feeling useless, passed, not unnoticeably, but quite quickly, with a few deep breaths and a shake of the head.

Another thing the hypnotherapy focuses on - my confidence and fear of judgement - has been tested this week. On Monday morning a friend and I ended up getting ridiculously drunk at a wine tasting and spending the rest of the day in the pub. I scrounged a cigarette or two off of random strangers (I stopped smoking before I had Sophie) and got pretty annoyingly talkative, as I tend to when I'm drunk.

Normally I'd wake up after a night like that and feel massively embarrassed. I'd be annoyed with myself for getting so drunk, tell myself I was an embarrassment, and decide that I'd completely humiliated myself. I started to go down that road this time, but I stopped myself.

I haven't been out with a girly friend for drinks in 10 months! I've had horrible morning sickness, struggled through months of severe depression, have a new born baby and a toddler that I devote every waking moment to and I am begrudging myself one day off having fun? Hell no!
I went out, I got drunk, and laughed. A lot. I remember sitting in the pub thinking how much more like ME I felt. That's a good thing and it's not selfish. Most people around me were probably too drunk themselves to notice and if they did then who cares? They know nothing about my life or my struggles, and I'm hardly likely to see them again.

I'm not going to let my mind over think and beat me up for a sorely needed day letting my hair down.

It seems that these changes in the way I'm thinking can mostly be credited to the Hypnotherapy as I know we're focusing on these areas. I can hear some of the specific phrases used in our sessions recurring in my head in times of crisis. In every session I'm sure that there's a sentence along the lines of 'You are going to feel calmer and more in control as every day passes. You will feel more and more positive'.

I'll be damned if that isn't exactly what appears to be happening?!

I also went for my first run since I was 6 weeks pregnant yesterday.

I have been waiting to go for that run for so long. Running makes me feel amazing. When I'm out pounding the streets on my own I clear my head and I feel in control. I am in love with the feeling of power and satisfaction that comes from defeating a steep hill or beating a personal best time. Running is a fantastic mood manager and ego boost for me and I am so delighted to have it back in my life.
I managed two and half miles, not in a great time, but non stop and with a mean hill thrown in so I'm happy with that. My biggest difficulty is going to be pacing myself to get fit again and not just going out every other day running straight away!

It's inexplicable how much more optimistic things feel right now. How a future that looked so different a week ago can suddenly feel a bit more positive and exciting. I'm planning things that I'll enjoy, being assertive about me time, and not beating myself up as much. I'm challenging some of my negative thoughts. I've even started planning some new career opportunities!

Of course, all this positivity comes with a great deal of trepidation. I know this disease well enough not to be naive. A few good days does not mean I am miraculously cured. But what's key from all of this for me, is the change in my thinking. Being able to manage the negativity and replace it with more positive thoughts - that's something I struggle with daily. If I can learn to manage that, even a little bit, it will have a massive impact on my life for the better.

I know I'm in for more bad days, I know this is not the end of the battle, but bloody hell I think I may see some light at the end of the tunnel. I feel like the ice is melting and I can glimpse the real me underneath.

I'll finish this Blog entry the way I finished my run yesterday - shouting. 'Yeah baby, I'm BACK'

Does Hypnotherapy help anxiety?

I've now started the hypnotherapy sessions recommended by my GP, to hopefully help ease my anxiety.

Having had absolutely no experience of hypnosis, I haven't had a clue what to expect and was really nervous the first time round.
It's nothing like what you'd expect from watching TV. There is no finger clicking to wake you up, and you remember everything that has been said to you. As far as I know I won't start clucking like a chicken any time soon!!
It seems to be more about relaxing your mind as much as possible, then making positive suggestions to your subconsciousness that will hopefully improve your day to day life.

At my first appointment, the Doctor talked me through my issues and concerns so that we could agree on what areas we wanted him to cover during the hypnosis. It's nothing like a therapy or counselling session, we didn't talk about anything in great detail and he wasn't there to offer me advice or an opinion on what he thought we should cover. For this reason, it would only really be useful to people who already have a good understanding of their issues and their triggers, I wouldn't recommend it otherwise.

It's funny but because I am trying not to get too emotional on a daily basis, as part of my coping mechanism so I can function and look after the kids, I don't ever stop to think about my problems and really analyse them very much.
When I do start to think about them and discuss them it inevitably makes me emotional, but then, I'm so sensitive I sometimes think I could get emotional about a sandwich.

I know my main areas to work on are:

• Low self esteem
• Lack of confidence
• Fear of judgement
• Overthinking
• Anxiety about work

I guess the low self esteem is really the root cause of all of the others, and indeed in previous therapy and counselling sessions it has been identified as one of the causes of my depression. I've known this for some time but I've found that knowing it, and being able to change it are two different things.

I think I tweeted a few weeks back - how do you train your mind to be gentle to you when all it's every known is critique, judgement and negativity?

As the Doctor and I discussed my issues he explained that one of the good things about hypnosis is that it doesn't involve you having to try to do anything yourself, that you don't have to retrain your mind to think differently because it focuses on your subconscious. As it is naturally a very calming and pleasant experience it's meant to be particularly good for anxiety and when we'd concluded the list above he seemed really confident that he was going to be able to help me.

The hypnosis sessions firstly focuses on getting you to a relaxed state of mind. I wouldn't call it a trance at all, just very calm and peaceful. I automatically close my eyes everytime but the Doctor has never asked me to. I lie down too, but again this was personal preference. 
It then falls in to two parts. He focuses in the first half on my fear of judgement, overthinking things and lack of confidence, going through each one and telling me that it's not going to bother me anymore, emphasising positive statements and phrases. The second half is spent focusing on my work anxiety using visualisation to imagining it just falling away and not bothering me anymore. He talks me through a scenario where I open a gate to a beautiful garden, find a pond and drop a large stone that represents my issues to the bottom of it, watching it sink. Then I leave the garden and shut the gate firmly behind me.

I love the beautiful garden. I am so relaxed by that point I can picture it so vividly, I can hear the sounds, smell the flowers and see the water rippling on the pond. It's extremely clever and very satisfying, particularly walking away and shutting the gate everytime.

Does it work though? Well I still think it's too early to really tell.
I've had two sessions so far, both very similar although I relaxed a little more quickly today, I guess because I know what to expect now.
Last weeks session left me feeling extremely calm and relaxed all day. The usual anxiety provoking thoughts plagued me but interestingly I found it much easier to shrug them off, and to let them go without them bothering me. It only lasted a day though, the next day I cried through an entire visit from my Health Visitor, as mentioned in my previous post.
Today's session has had a similar effect in respect of being able to dismiss all my usual negative and emotional thoughts more easily, and I've found that I've been really chatty and talkative with people that I don't even know so perhaps I'm feeling more confident too?
I would say though that the I've not been remotely calm and relaxed today, as a result of Sophie being full of tantrums and bad behaviour, but as that's not one of the things we're specifically working on I guess that doesn't necessarily mean anything?

The Doctor has advised me that it takes a few weeks to build up and the effects should last longer each time. It's a good sign, apparently, that I'm seeing effects at all as this means it has a good chance of really helping me.

I do sometimes think, maybe it's not having any effect at all and it's all just in my mind - but then, that's exactly where it's meant to be! And who cares how it works as long as it does?!

I'll keep you posted! :-)

War plans

Yesterday was my worst day since Joe was born.

On Wednesday night I spent the second night in a row dreaming about returning to work, my mind torturing me with all the things I'm trying not to think about. Such vivid and realistic dreams that my mood from them continued into my waking life - I woke up anxious, upset and as tired as if I hadn't slept at all.

My Health Visitor came to see me at 10am and I don't know where it came from, maybe it was the result of the feelings from the night overlapping into my reality but I started crying almost the minute she arrived and I couldn't stop. The floodgates opened.

My health visitor, as I've mentioned before, is fantastically warm and very easy to talk to and fortunately has a very good understanding of mental health issues. I spent more than an hour sobbing, sniffing and outpouring random thoughts and anxieties to her. Things I'd not mentioned before, things she'd never asked about and things I don't normally like talking about. It just came out. Maybe I've been holding it all in too long, perhaps the tiredness and emotional stress of having a newborn baby got to me, perhaps I am hormonal. Maybe all of these things.

Don't ask me if I feel better for it because I honestly don't know.

If nothing else it's always good to have a cry I guess. But I hate the feeling after I out pour my emotions like that. The feeling of embarrassment. The knowledge that I would have seemed totally crazy and the shame at all the things I talked about, it makes me cringe.

When I discuss my childhood issues, my previous episodes of depression and things raised in my previous counselling and therapy sessions, there's something about it that feels pretentious. I don't really know how to explain it, but I feel like whenever I talk to anyone about my issues with my upbringing and my incredibly low self esteem, they are internally rolling their eyes. That they're thinking things like 'we all have issues, get over it' or 'what a drama queen' or that I just want to label myself with something because I like the attention. In my mind, no one feels sympathy, everyone is just pretending to care. They can't wait for me to stop talking about myself and my problems.

I don't analyse myself and my past because I want a label, it's not that I want attention or sympathy - in fact more often than not I want the opposite. When I out pour everything like I did yesterday I think some of it is my way of thinking it through yet again, asking someones opinion. I want them to tell me whether I'm understanding myself and the situation correctly, I'm after validation of my thought process.

I mentioned in my last post how depression, for me, isn't just about winning the battle but winning a whole war. I think perhaps yesterday's outburst, and maybe even writing this now, is all part of the process to build my 'War Plan'.

Over the years I have tried all sorts; counselling, medication, therapy, and exercise, and currently I am in the process of trying out some hypnotherapy, my verdict on which it is too early to say. The rest have had varying degrees of success at the time I undertook them, but alas, none of them have prevented the Depression from returning, nipping at my heels until I trip up and fall into it's arms yet again.

That's my war, and I have to analyse, to over think and read into all my past problems and issues because I think it's the only way I can find out what started the war in the first place.  And subsequently the only way I can end it. For Good.

The Health Visitor wants me to ring the NHS Primary Care Psychological Therapies Service and arrange for some counselling. She believes just talking things through will benefit me but I'm not sure how I feel about this. I would be very keen to hear from any readers that have had any experiences of the service, either positive or negative?

It does feel like just another stranger to meet, another person to start from the beginning with again, to build up the courage to talk, to open up and not feel judged. It's so tiring.

Since this all started when I was 19, I have been encouraged to open up to more GPs than I can remember, several midwives, a mental health Nurse, a Mental Illness in Mums Specialist, a Psychiatrist, a counsellor, a private therapist, not to mention many well meaning friends. All with good intentions, all wanting to help me. But very few of them still involved in my life or my mental care now and the information provided to each one is rarely relayed to the one I see next, leaving me to re-explain, and them to re-analyse my state of mind.
Personally, I don't find recapping my life events and the things that have depressed me and cause me anxiety a very calming experience, so I think I am beginning to reject all the offers of help like this, not because I don't want to get better, but because as well meaning as they are, I'm not sure they are actually helping.

There are a lot of strong thoughts and comments on Social Media currently surrounding the topic of depression, and particularly suicide after Robin Williams' passing. A lot of them refer to the selfishness of suicide, the need to just 'ask for help' and some even go as far as to say people with depression 'want to die'.

Let me make this clear now dear reader, I do not want to die. Sometimes I want the way I feel to stop and sometimes it feels like death is the only way to make that happen, but I DO NOT WANT TO DIE. I am openly asking for help, support and friendship everyday via Twitter and this blog and I readily accept the advice and suggestions from my GP and other health professionals. But this help isn't a fix, asking for it hasn't made my depression disappear over night.
Have no doubt I want to win this war and perhaps the help I have asked for will assist me in doing so in time.
I am not weak and I am not giving up TODAY. But, if I did, it wouldn't be right of anyone to assume it was without trying, without asking for help and without consideration to others. What right does anyone have to assume that about Robin or anyone else who commits suicide?  Everyone's story is made up by a whole book, not just the last few pages.

I will think about the counselling this weekend and yeah maybe I'll give it a go because it certainly can't make things any worse, but it's not going to form my entire War plan. I don't know what that's going to look like yet...

Winning the battle but losing the War?

It's been a strange couple of days.

The news of the utterly fabulous Robin Williams death has been a stark reminder of what depression can do. To anyone.

It destroyed a little bit of my hope I think, knowing that someone like him, who spent his life entertaining millions, still felt his life wasn't worth living. That with all his money and access, I assume, to the best mental health care he could buy, he still could not win the battle against depression. And if he can't beat it, what hope is there for the rest of us?

During the worst days of darkness; the crying in the corner, the difficulty getting out of bed, the panic about socialising, feeling judged by everyone and the constant self hate - the thing I cling to, the thing I try to focus on, is being strong.
I want to win my battle, I want to beat depression.

I beat it when I was 19, again when I was 26 and hopefully I will beat it now.

But how many times do I do this? How many battles do I have to square up to and fight hard before I win the actual war? Can I win the war, or is this all just time filling until depression eventually beats me?

Robin Williams death has left me wondering how many battles he fought just to get to 61 years old and how bad must that last battle have been for him to surrender to it. It scares me and makes me wonder what my future holds.

I'm a fighter, but I don't know if I can keep being a soldier indefinitely - one day I'd quite like to become a civilian.

Taking back control

Time is rolling by as time inevitably does. My days merge into one big mass of bottle feeding and toddler entertaining. Keeping busy and filling my days so I don't think too much and closing my mind and shutting the doors to my demons in the process. Nothing gets worse, but nothing gets better either.

I don't begrudge this time, I know I should treasure it, that Joe will be small for such a brief period and I will miss it when it's gone. But it does feel like 'empty' time to me at the moment. It feels like I'm going through the motions, existing, but not really living. Getting by but not getting better.

I've been signed off by my midwife now, and am in the hands of my health visitor & GP. I was meant to hear back from the mental health specialists after Joe was born but nothing so far. I cannot say I'm surprised or disappointed.

My health visitor is very nice, although a little chatty. The irony of the 'listening visits' that have been allocated to me is that sometimes I can't get a word in edge ways. She has an excellent understanding of mental illness though, having previously trained as a counsellor, and is a warm, friendly person. I saw her last week after my last blog entry and was as honest as I could be about how I was feeling. It gets exhausting trying to explain it to people when I barely understand it myself. Half of me wishes I could walk around with paper copies of this blog and just hand them to people when they ask how I'm doing.
As I've said in previous posts, I'm hoping that the current dip in mood is down to post birth hormones, but the health visitor & I agreed that we'd give it until today and if it was no better I'd go to the a Doctor to review my medication. The deadline was a good idea, without one I think I'd just have kept leaving it a few more days, especially after my last GP visit (see the entry: Depression? Call the Midwife), and I didn't want to end up leaving it so long it got critical like last time.

So, I went to see the Doctor today and apart from bumping into the GP from last time and having an anxiety attack (because I was convinced he remembered me and knew I'd moaned about him) the whole experience was much more pleasant.

I saw my usual GP, an older guy who is gentle, kind and knowledgeable. He listened, he asked questions and never rushed me. He offered my tissues with a gentle hand squeeze. He's the kind of guy you want to adopt as a grandparent.
He knows my history which of course makes things easier. He felt that it's likely to be hormones that are making things feel like they're getting worse at the moment, and said these could carry on for another month, so has recommended I double my dose of Citalopram in the meantime. He emphasised that this wouldn't be permanent - just a temporary measure to help right now, and we'd go back down to my normal dose later on. I'm a bit nervous about reducing the dose back down again later but he assured me that wouldn't have severe side effects and to be honest I've reached the point now where I'm happy to go with whatever he says, because I just don't want things to get as bad as they did before.

My GP also suggested, as a more permanent aid, that I try some hypnosis. He said that it's particularly good for anxiety and he thinks it could really help me. He's managed to get me three NHS sessions starting from next week! If it hadn't have completely inappropriate I'd have hugged him on my way out, I was so grateful for his compassion, advice and mostly his proactivity in thinking of other ways he could help me. Oh I'll be a wreck next week before I go to the hypnosis, and I've no idea what to expect or whether it will help me. But the point is I feel like he cares, like he's trying. And in turn it feels like I'm trying, that I'm taking steps to control my illness instead of it controlling me.

A longer term solution that's not medication really appeals to me. All I wanted before was to get back to feeling like my old self, but now I find myself wondering if that's enough. I think I want more.

I feel like I've come so bloody far, fought tooth and nail just to survive and keep going and I shouldn't waste that on going back to 'normal'. I want, no, I deserve, a life less ordinary. I'm not talking Nobel peace prizes or world changing scientific discoveries here, but I would like to make a difference. I'd like to follow my dreams, and help other people and leave some sort of mark on this world that I can be proud of, that shows I am more than just depression & anxiety.

It's not just about recovery anymore, it's about becoming the person I should've been all along.

Self Care or Self Pity?

I got a text from a work colleague this morning and instantly cried.

I cried through the entire text conversation, and carried on for half hour afterwards with Sophie asking me what was wrong and bringing me tissues. I tried not to do it in front of her but I just couldn't help it, once the crying started it wouldn't stop.

I cried for the kindness from the lady that texted, cried when she said they needed me back for things to run smoothly, and cried when I told her my baby was born on the 17th (I'd not yet bought myself to tell anyone at work because I didn't want to open a dialogue of conversation like this one that I knew I'd get extremely anxious about)

But most of all I cried for the old me, the one a year ago that happily and confidently went to work in a job that was set for life, with people I adored. I cried for everything that's changed, for the fact that I can't unchange it and for the fear I have of the future.

I'm crying writing this.

I feel so low again.

My husband came home from work at lunchtime and I asked him to take the kids out without me. He has kindly obliged and I'm now in bed, writing this because otherwise I think I'll just curl up in a ball and sob. I'll just go back over all the bad things again and make myself hurt.

That's what leads me to the title of this particular entry. I thought maybe I was doing the right thing, asking him to take the kids out so I can vent/cry/sleep off whatever is happening in my brain, that I was giving my self a break and a bit of self care, but what if I'm actually doing the opposite and I am just letting myself mope? Am I just indulging the depression or hormones and letting them win by giving in to my lethargy and disinterest in anything else? Would better self care have been to make myself go out and attempt social interaction to keep my mind busy and distracted?

To be honest I fear maybe it would've been, because since hubby left with the kids I've found myself thinking self harming thoughts for the first time in ages. And what's worse is that before, being pregnant was always my buffer, my thing that meant I never let anything but my mind go there. But I'm not pregnant anymore and I keep having those stupid thoughts of 'they'd all be better off without me'.

I'm pinning everything now on these emotions being triggered by hormones and passing in the next few days because I just don't know how much more fight I've got left in me.

Hello baby Joe

He is here :-)

Born at 9.33am on the 17th July weighing 6lb 2oz. He is diddy!

After a long and difficult pregnancy and the worst bout of depression I've ever suffered I can honestly say it was utterly and absolutely worth it. He is gorgeous and I adore him.

It's taken me numerous attempts to write this blog entry. Partially because I'm struggling to do anything other than slump on a sofa asleep & drooling, with a new born baby throwing up on my dressing gown and a toddler tugging at my arm. But also, because of my mood. I'm finding my mood difficult to describe at the moment.

The lead up to Joes birth was incredibly anxious, I drove to the hospital with my husband in silence, my heart thundering in my chest. It wasn't just the prospect of the surgery, but the inevitable things that would follow.

I worried that I'd resent the baby after such a difficult pregnancy, that I wouldn't bond with him. I worried about Sophie's reaction, about my ability to cope during the first few weeks, and as I've said before, I dread the prospect of post natel depression. I got myself in such a state.

My midwife, yet again, was amazing. I couldn't have asked for a better one. From the outset it was obvious she'd read all the notes about my medical history and mental health and she made a conscious effort to take this into consideration, not only with everything she did or said, but also in influencing others actions around me. I love her a little bit for that.

When we first arrived we were told that I was second on the list to go down for the op, which would've meant around a three hour wait. However, for some reason that was never explained, I was bumped up to first on the list and taken straight down to theatre.

I suspect my midwife may have influenced this, because of my anxiety, and that perhaps the surgeon etc had picked up on it too. If that was the case then I can't tell you how much I appreciate their observations and the action they took - the longer I'd have waited the more anxious I'd have got.

I won't bore you all with the details of the surgery, I found it very difficult and sobbed until Joseph was born. But this time, unlike with Sophie, they gave me him to hold (with help from my angelic midwife) and once I had him I was a lot calmer. It distracted me from what was happening and gave me something to focus on instead of the washing up feeling going on in my stomach. I was relieved; relieved he was ok, relieved that I instantly loved him, and relieved that this whole experience was one step closer to finally being over.

I found a couple of members of the staff in theatre frustrating - one kept commenting that I had nothing to cry about as it was a joyous occasion, and another that tried to chat to me about work (my ultimate anxiety trigger at the moment). Neither of them were to know though, they were just trying to be friendly and pleasant. I'm pretty sure I felt the midwife give one of them a glare at one point and they never said a word after that!

The first week since Joseph's birth, whilst challenging to say the least, has been quite positive. He's quite a contented baby but eats very often. Soph seems to adore him, but the change has obviously made her feel a bit anxious as she's really pushing her boundaries at the moment. Her most common act of rebellion at the moment is deliberately peeing on the floor. It's great fun....

Things are starting to get a bit harder now though. Over the last three days I keep getting completely overwhelmed by a sense of panic, feeling trapped and bored and worried about the future. The feelings aren't dissimilar to what I remember feeling during the baby blues with Sophie, and I keep telling myself that's all it is and it will pass.

It's scary for me. The way my mind jumps to negative conclusions and the constant need to cry is so similar to where I was a month ago, it feels like I'm going backwards.

Being stuck indoors doesn't help. Having had a C section I'm not allowed to drive for 6 weeks, and it's so hot everyday I'm a bit nervous of taking Joe out in the pram. He goes so red faced and he's so tiny, it makes me anxious.

I'm not sure if this is part of the blues, or a normal mum thing, but I'm also feeling guilty about every decision I make, questioning whether I'm doing the right thing and doubting myself and my parenting skills constantly. I started using a dummy with Joe just to help out when he's trying to feed every hour, and to buy me time when he and soph kick off at the same time. It made sense as a decision to make my life a little calmer and easier, but I can't tell you how much I've beaten myself up about it everyday since. I don't even know why! I think it's knowing how much some people look down on dummies, it frustrates me that the opinions of others bothers me so much.

All in all, despite the emotional up and downs, I guess the important thing is that I AM coping. I'm getting through each day, perhaps not with a skip and a smile but I am getting through them. And that's all I think I can ask for at this stage, to get past this hormonal bit and look after my children. Further down the line I know I need to spend some time on me and getting myself better, but right now just getting by will be enough.

Macaroni and C-Sections

Two days to go!

Everyone keeps asking me if I am excited and saying how much they're looking forward to meeting the baby. Don't get me wrong, I am excited too, I'll be meeting my little boy for the first time - seeing what he looks like, holding him next to me... not even my depression can dull that sparkle.

But I am also utterly terrified -

1. Of going through the surgery again
2. Of coping afterwards

Anyone who thinks that opting for a C-section is an easy way out of child birth would be wrong. I've never had a 'normal' labour (Sophie was born by emergency C-section) so I've no direct comparison, but I can tell you that having a C-section is no walk in the park.

All I keep remembering is the half an hour after the baby is out, laying there feeling something like a 'washing up' sensation in your stomach whilst you're being stitched up. It's uncomfortable, unpleasant and not anywhere near the bonding experience with your child that I understand natural labour to be. When Sophie was born I didn't get to hold her until after the surgery was over, all I could do was look at her out of the corner of my eye as her Dad held her.

The recovery afterwards can be painful and long winded too, in comparison to natural labour. I was lucky last time and had little problem getting up and about quickly, but I suspect that may have been down to all the exercise I did throughout the 9 months prior. I've not been so good this time round....

As much as I am dreading going through all of that again, it's quite easy to dismiss it in my mind as just something I'm going to have to do, and I know it will be over before I know it. The harder thing for me to not get anxious about is my ability to cope after the baby is here.

The first few weeks with a new born are hell on earth. Little to no routine, little to no sleep, hormones all over the place, and physically and emotionally wrung out. I remember how hard it was last time round, how trapped I felt and how out of control I was. I am a creature of habit and routine and an absolute control freak. I remember wondering what on earth possessed me to think I could cope with a baby after Soph was born.

But cope I did. That phase passes, you find a routine and things settle down. I've the good fortune to know that's the case this time round and I will try to keep reminding myself of it. However, this time round I also have a 2.5 year old and severe depression and anxiety to contend with and that's what scares me.

Just the thought of being so out of control again, of Sophie being unhappy and disrupted, a constantly crying baby and no sleep... argghhh it all makes me start palpating a little. How am I going to cope? What if I can't cope?

I want to be a good mum, I don't want to let everyone down and collapse into another pit of misery for weeks. I can't get like I was a few weeks ago and just leave my husband and family to cope, I have to be able to take care of my children. To let depression get the better of me now, when they will need me the most, is one failure too far. I HAVE to be able to do this.

Hopefully that determination will be what sees me through.

My health visitor and midwife are both planning to give me extra visits wherever possible. The Health visitors now do something called 'listening visits' where they come out purely to chat and see how you are and mine made a point of coming to see me last week, as she quite sensible and rightly pointed out that it would be easier for her to spot when I'm not coping, if she gets to know me when I am.

I am reassured by this, although I do sincerely hope neither she, or my midwife, will ever have to do anything more than just keep an eye on me.

Other than worrying about everything above, which mostly happens at night when I can't sleep, I am actually doing ok. My days are so full and busy with Sophie that I don't really get a chance to think too much, and that's how I like it. My hardest times are always when I'm on my own, or in the middle of the night when insomnia takes hold.

Today was another 'Make Something Monday' so we busied ourselves with  more jewellery making, this time it was Macaroni necklaces.

We tried some new paints with the brushes built in today, to attempt to get some separate colours. Soph has not yet mastered washing a brush between colours so with normal painting everything (and I mean everything!) ends up the same dirty brown colour of all the paints mixed together!

Some of the macaroni stuck to the paper and couldn't be used,  not sure how to avoid that next time?

Soph was very happy with the end result, although she did find putting the macaroni on the string too fiddly and time consuming. After several tantrums, that part became a mummy job!

Next week's 'Make something Monday' may be interesting, with a new baby in tow! Perhaps I'll give myself a slightly easier week and get the playdoh out.... :-)