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".