First aid kit

My life imploded last year, despite my best efforts to hold it together.

I had a job I loved, but I was barely able to function and couldn’t go to work. I had a man I loved and who loved me and a relationship which could have been wonderful, but I was so ill that I kept fighting it and him. I simply could not allow anyone to love me because I hated myself so much. This self-loathing manifested itself as anger and made us both miserable. I had wonderful friends who offered me support but I was too low to get out of my room and too anxious to be around people. My life wasn’t working because my head wasn’t working.

I had to leave London and go back to Ireland to get well. I did this through a mixture of psychiatric support, medication and counselling. I worked through a lot of hurt I’d been carrying with me for many years and finally let it go. For me, being well means being able to function again. I’m always going to be prone to anxiety but now I’m managing it and it doesn’t control me or stop me living my life.

My biggest fear now that I am well and back in London is that I will get hit by another bout of depression and be sucked back down into that horrible spiral of mental distress. I tend to panic on a bad day and think I’m on the way to another breakdown. Life is inevitably stressful and there is no way of avoiding that.

However, it has occurred to me that there are things I can do to protect myself in preparation for these little blips, so that the feeling passes (which it invariably does). The key is to bandage up my fragile mind so that stress doesn’t damage it.

I thought about something that happened a few weeks ago. There was a weekend when I was physically really ill and had to stay in bed with a really high temperature. At one point on the Saturday, I cried my eyes out because all I wanted was some 7up (the cure to all illnesses as any Irish mammy will tell you) and there was nobody here to get me some. This was my lowest point since I’ve returned to London: I felt utterly alone. However, I genuinely think I wouldn’t have felt so bad if I’d had some “mammy medicine” on hand. So, once I’d recovered, I stocked up on emergency supplies of 7up for the next time I’m sick.

So, stocking up my mental health first aid kit is something I have been working on. Some things are tangible, like the 7up, but other remedies are about how I think and plan my life. Here are some of the most important things I’m working on:

1. Physical strength – being as strong as I can physically is the best thing I have learned to do for my mental health. Being physically ill is terrible for my mental health – too much time to think and ruminate is not good for me. So I’m trying to eat well (plenty of green smoothies), take a lot of vitamins and up the amount of exercise I do.

2. Rest – being tired is a huge trigger for me. Bad days are always a hundred times more tricky if I haven’t slept. I get tired easily and I used to beat myself up about this. However, now I’ve come to accept the fact that sometimes I need a nap to get through a bad day! It’s nothing to be ashamed of and sometimes rest and sleep is the only cure for a low mood or a massive bout of anxiety. Not feeling guilty about this is the key here.

3. Widening my world – depression can shrink your social circle. I spent months alone in my bedroom at my lowest point as I just could not be around people. My world was just me and the thoughts in my head. However, isolation is really not a good cure for a bad day! The first step in my recovery was opening up and letting people back in. Having as many people in my life as I can is hugely important to me; I am well enough now to stand on my two feet but having a support system that I know is there for back up is a huge comfort.

4. Changing my mindset – I’ll let you in a little secret: I’ve never known how to be happy. I didn’t think I deserved happiness so it terrified me – I didn’t know how to relax and allow myself not to worry. Moreover, I assumed I was broken and I would never learn how to be happy. The key word here is learn: I’m slowly figuring out to change this mindset and allow joy into my life. Finding happiness in little things is a wonderful cure for a bad day. The simple act of making myself a cup of tea and reading a good book is a great solution to anxious moments.

5. Self-acceptance – this is the most challenging remedy I have been working on and also the most important. Learning to be compassionate to myself is the kindest thing I can do on a bad day. I have had to put in a lot of hard work to let go of all the self- loathing I have held inside for many years, and accept myself the way I am. This is very difficult for me and I have to work at it every day, but self-acceptance is a big tool to fight depression with. Feeling comfortable with myself is the mental equivalent of wrapping my mind up in bubble wrap to protect it from negative thoughts.

So that’s how I’m handling my mental first aid kit. Mind you, anyone who knows me will have noticed that I am also extremely accident-prone and clumsy… so maybe I should also make a big bubble-wrap coat to protect the rest of me!

Four practical tips for managing anxiety

I have struggled with both depression and anxiety in my life, and of the two, I would say that anxiety has actually had more of an impact on my daily life. I think of depression as a huge tide that comes crashing over me periodically, like when you’re surfing, and you’re “washing-machined” by an unexpected wave. It picks you up, spins you around and throws you down disoriented on the sand. Anxiety, on the other hand, is like a lot of little waves that just keep coming. The surf never stops, and anxiety doesn’t either. That said, small waves can be managed; if you are standing tall they can’t knock you down. So, here are some ways I manage my anxiety by rising above the waves.

1. The one hour rule. My anxiety is always at its worst first thing in the morning. I wake up consumed by worry, and that makes the day seem impossible. To manage this, I use a trick where I make myself get up and tell myself its only for one hour: sixty minutes to have breakfast and take my medication. After that, I can go back to bed if I have to. This breaks the worry down into a manageable chunk and then I can cope with getting out of bed. Then, breakfast raises my blood sugar levels which improves my mood, and I rarely need to play the going-back-to-bed card.

I use the one hour rule for other things I find overwhelming – for example, I tell myself I only have to go out for an hour and then I can go home if I have to. It’s often the anticipation of something that makes me anxious, and I usually feel better once I’m out of the house and with people. The one hour rule just helps me get over that initial stumbling block. It can also be adjusted to a shorter period of time on a really bad day.

2. Turning my phone off at night. I struggle with sleep, and tend to lie awake ruminating about past mistakes and worrying about what the future holds. Here’s a shocker: it turns out that endlessly scrolling through Instagram and Twitter late at night is in no way helpful for avoiding these thoughts!

Blue light from your phone can suppress production of melatonin (the hormone we need to sleep), and the internet is no place for an anxious brain that is struggling to switch off. This is something I really find difficult, and I have a terrible habit of reaching out for my phone at night if I can’t sleep – even though being online in the middle of the night when you feel at your most vulnerable is a terrible idea. Nothing good is going to come from messaging someone at half one in the morning, trust me! So I have bought an old-fashioned alarm clock to help me beat my phone habit, and I’m going to start leaving my phone downstairs at night time. It’s for my own good. Step. Away. From. The. Phone.

3. Stop comparing myself to others. My inner voice can be cruel and I inevitably come up short when I compare myself to other people. I like the Theodore Roosevelt quote which describes comparison as “the thief of joy”. I couldn’t agree more. Anxiety for me is essentially an endless cycle of negative thoughts fizzing away at the back of my brain. I berate myself for not being good enough for anybody or anything. This can even involve being cross with myself for being anxious in the first place! I see my friends coping brilliantly with full lives, careers and children, and I wonder why I can barely leave the house. This leaves me feeling pathetic and like a failure. It’s a vicious circle and there is no way I can win the battle in my head.

The way I try to manage this is to step outside of myself and turn my focus onto these other people. I try to practise kindness every day. Little things make me feel better, like baking a cake for a friend or making dinner for my family; so it becomes a way of being kind to myself too. I’m never going to measure up to other people in my own head, so I’m better off getting out of that negative headspace by turning my focus outwards.

4. Exercise! I’m really not good at this, despite appearances from the photo accompanying this blog! That bemused face marks the one and only time I’ve completed a 5k run, so I’m not going to miss the opportunity to remind myself it can be done. I rarely feel like I have enough energy to make myself get out there, but I know it’s great for my anxiety when I do. I’ve recently been angrily reminded of this by my body – my neck literally seized up a few weeks ago from all the anxiety that has been stored up there, and I have been going for very painful sessions of acupuncture to try and relax my muscles. The acupuncturist thinks that I store tension and anxiety in my spine, and I need to get moving to try and prevent this tension from building up.

And so I have unrolled my sadly-neglected yoga mat and started stretching every day. I’m also getting out of the house for a short walk on a daily basis. Walking is the most beneficial for me as I can feel the tension seeping out of my body while I pound the footpath. I’m going to try to work back up to my glory days of running, as I also found this brilliant for getting out of my head. Loud music in my ears while watching my feet move is a brilliant form of escapism. I need those exercise endorphins…

Mind you, I did once run into a tree while training for that one famous 5k, as I was so busy watching my feet. So, yeah, don’t do that. Managing your anxiety can help you to rise above the waves, but it can’t stop a tree from bruising your forehead!

A New Relationship

“The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you that you love, well, that’s just fabulous.”

Carrie Bradshaw

Like most women of a certain age, I was obsessed with Sex and the City back in the day. I loved the clothes and the exciting lives they all led in New York… But most of all, I loved Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment. (Ah, how I wish it was possible to live like that writing one newspaper column per week!)

Anyway, the reason I quote Carrie now is that I am painfully aware that I have never managed to achieve a relationship with myself like this, and that has been a significant factor in my struggles with mental illness. And, to illustrate just how differently I view myself, let’s compare Carrie’s words to the following monologue that goes on in my head most days:


My Inner Voice

Imagine if someone said that to you. You’d be really upset, right? Well, those are the thoughts that swirl in my mind all day, every day. I’ve never liked myself, and have always compared myself unfavourably to other people. I always felt like the ugly duckling of my friend group. My self-loathing increased dramatically after being raped and it’s spiralled out of control since then. To be more specific, I’ve developed unhealthy coping mechanisms like self-harming.

That’s years and years of being my own worst enemy, of always being harsh on myself and never learning how to be comfortable in my own skin. I’ve tried to look for comfort in relationships, to find someone who could rescue me from myself. But of course, it doesn’t work like that. It is impossible to love somebody else if you don’t love yourself. You end up resenting the other person because you can’t understand why they love you, or even like you.

Loving yourself isn’t about ‘self-care’, bubble baths, or treating yourself to nice clothes. That’s all very nice and to be encouraged, but on a deeper level loving yourself comes down to silencing your inner critic, making healthy choices and looking after yourself. It involves being able to look in the mirror and pick out something good, rather than obsessing over tiny flaws.

The irony is that being kind is something that comes naturally to me, except when it comes to myself. I love looking after other people, yet I find it impossible to look after myself.

So I’ve decided I’m going to give a relationship with myself a go. To be honest, I don’t have a choice anymore. I’ve come to the end of the road this year when it comes to my mental health. I reached rock bottom at the start of the year, and I’ve found myself back at home, living with my family and unable to work or function.

The good news is that I’m doing everything I can to improve my mental health. I’m going to counselling, I take medication and I’m putting in all the hard work… yet I now realise none of it will make a difference if I can’t learn to follow Carrie Bradshaw’s advice and develop a relationship with myself. So I need to learn to at least like myself, at least a little. I might not ever learn to love myself as much as New York’s most improbably well-paid columnist, but I might be able to develop a kinder inner voice.

Running to stand still

I feel like I have spent the past year running. The problem is: I’ve been going round in circles.

It’s now the end of June, and I’ve been fighting my current bout of depression since last year. This time it has brought me to my knees and I’ve found myself back at home, living with my family in Cork, having had to give up my job and my life in London. (I say life, but in reality, life had shrunk to the point where I was confined to my room, barely able to function.) Coming home for some support was a last-ditch effort to find a way to get well.

Unfortunately, this has been the pattern of my life for the last number of years. I get well for a while, try to live my own life, and yet somehow it all comes crashing down and I have to come back home again. Here is the thing: I have been dealing with mental illness since my early twenties, and I always thought someday it would go away; that I would wake up one day and be happy. I thought moving to London would make it better: starting a new life, getting married, having a job I loved. And yet… none of it lasted. These things did help for a while, but the anxiety and depression were always lurking beneath the surface, waiting to pounce. That happiness never became the norm and here is the reason why: I hate myself.

Deep down, I blame myself for being raped, and I think I am disgusting. These are the sentiments that have defined most of my life and there is no running away from that. Everything I feel stems from this. I don’t think I deserve to be happy, I can’t accept myself the way I am, and I am consistently my own worst enemy. The inner voices in my head are always telling me I’m not good enough. I thought I had dealt with the rape and the trauma years ago but I’ve come to realise that isn’t the case. Getting divorced last year seems to have brought all the old feelings of shame and loathing to the surface.

Running home hasn’t made these feelings go away, but it has forced me to reflect on what’s going on in my head. I’m tired of running; tired of trying to escape myself. It’s not possible, of course. I have to learn how to like me as I am, and work out how to feel compassion for myself.

For now, that involves taking my medication and continuing with counselling. It doesn’t always feel like I’m getting that far, but at least I’m standing still and taking stock. That’s the only way I’ll create the space to change the conversation inside my own head.


Radio Star…

A few months ago, I had the opportunity to speak on the radio about my blog and my experience of anxiety. An old school friend of mine who works in the Irish media contacted me to ask if I was interested in talking to PJ Coogan from The Opinion Line on Cork’s 96FM  to take part in a segment on panic attacks. This all came about following a video posted online by an Irish actress called Rachel Sarah Murphy, entitled ‘ Panic attack on a Train’. The video went viral,  and the production team at the Opinion Line decided to raise awareness of the issue.

I got a message asking me if I was interested at half past two on a Tuesday afternoon, and the interview took place the following morning. I told friends and family in Cork and elsewhere to listen out for me, and as the interview approached, I sat at my kitchen table in my pyjamas, already shaking with nerves. And then, just as I was waiting to go on air, the phone line went dead! All I could think of was the humiliation of my Auntie Mary waiting to hear me at home, PJ announcing my name, and me not being there…

Of course, these people are professionals, so they called me back and soon it was all systems go. PJ immediately put me at ease and we talked about my experiences of mental illness and my methods of coping. We also touched on panic attacks, and how to help somebody who might be suffering from depression and anxiety. My favourite part of the chat was talking about the very Irish phrase of ‘cop yourself on’, and how to deal with unhelpful advice from others. I felt completely overwhelmed after the interview, and it has taken me until today to listen back to it and feel able to share it here. Speaking about mental health can be difficult, but ultimately I find it very rewarding, so I’ve decided to share the interview here in the hope that it will help others.

Click on the “play” button below to have a listen, and feel free to share your thoughts in the comments section.

I don’t need to punish myself

Summer is almost over and I’m looking forward to the leaves falling from the trees and having an excuse to buy a new pair of autumn boots. I’ve written before about how I find summer to be the most difficult part of the year. Bright sunshine tends to make me panic and gouge holes in my face. That’s an odd sentence, I know; so let me walk you through how it happens…

I was raped when I was younger, and subsequently developed an obsession with hair. I associate hair with being dirty and have a compulsive need to be hair free. If I have no hair, then I’m clean you see? And being clean means I’m ok and not dirty. Writing this down is making me feel sad: it’s pretty clear to rational-writing-me that this hair removal ritual is because deep down I still blame myself for being raped.

I’m 36 years old and I was raped when I was 21. That’s a hell of a long time to punish myself for something that wasn’t my fault, but it’s a hard habit to shake off. I didn’t tell anybody about the rape until a few months after the event, and by then I had turned all my pain and anger inward. I started self-harming and my campaign of hate against myself had begun.

This has taken many different forms over the years: the aforementioned self- harming, an inability to look after myself properly, and the compulsion to be hair free and ‘clean’. The need to free myself of ‘dirt’ has probably caused me the most distress over the years. I’m not sure I could count up the hours lost in my magnifying mirror, trying to pluck out tiny hairs; first with tweezers, and then if that doesn’t work, with a needle, to get the tiny ones out from my pores. This is obviously a battle I am destined to lose, as we all have tiny hairs all over our bodies which are not going to enjoy being ‘gone at’ with a needle. So I emerge from this daily battle covered in red marks: self-harm 1 – me 0.

I’ve tried numerous times over the years to try to curb these compulsions. I’ve thrown away countless magnifying mirrors, yet I always buy a new one. My natural instinct when I have a bad day is to blame the fact that I am ‘disgusting’. So, to combat this, I’m trying a new tactic of putting little signs up all over my room like the one at the top of this blog: mantras to help bring some positivity into my head.

I have one more tactic which I am going to try today. I am going to write a paragraph to myself, and to anyone else who might need to hear this. It doesn’t matter who raped you, what you were wearing, or whether you had been drinking. Rape is not your fault. The rapist is the only person to blame; the only person who made that choice. There is nothing you could have done to deserve that. And if you haven’t done anything wrong, then you don’t need to be punished, do you?

So with that in mind, I am going to try and set down my weapons of war, and I urge you to do the same. Of all the relationships I’ve ever had, the one with myself is the most destructive. But the good news is that we’re working hard to resolve our issues.

Colouring in and covfefe

It’s been eight weeks now since I tore my calf muscle. That’s eight weeks of crutches and immobility. I’ve had to move back in temporarily with my ex, as my new flat is up several flights of stairs, and that’s not really manageable without two working legs. But I’m lucky that I have somewhere to go and people to look after me (including my dog, who helpfully licks my foot every now and then to ease the pain). I’ve not been able to work and Netflix has become my new best friend. But one way or another, Josh, Dougal, my crutches and I have managed to get by for the past few weeks.

My mental health has suffered somewhat as a result of this enforced period of inactivity. I have wonderful friends who have called round and kept me occupied (and even painted my toenails – thank you Eleanor!) but it’s difficult to keep fighting anxiety when you are cut off from the outside world and have too much time on your hands to think. When I’m cooped up, I don’t have any of the tools that I normally use to fight anxiety, and so I’ve been reminded of how fragile my mental health really is. Over the last week especially, my world has shrunk to a tiny pinpoint, and all I can think about are the negative thoughts taking over my brain.

Without a routine and engagement with the outside world to occupy my mind, I’ve fallen into bad habits. Without strict discipline, I tend either to ruminate on the past, or worry about the future. It’s difficult to stay focused on the present when you are feeling very anxious: the thoughts are all-consuming. For example if I try to have a conversation with somebody when I’m anxious, I find it hard to look them in the eye, and it’s virtually impossible to concentrate. The thoughts act like a swarm of angry flies buzzing around my head, making it very difficult to focus on anything else.

Normally, I try to defeat my anxiety with some form of activity to get me out of my head. This can be going to work, or doing some form of exercise; anything that forces me to turn my focus outwards, helping to swat away those angry flies! This has proved difficult whilst I have been stuck inside and I’ve been struggling to calm down my racing brain. Sleep becomes harder, too. I find myself aimlessly scrolling through Twitter… if I’m not careful, I’ll start tweeting about covfefe.

This need to try something has led me to think about mindfulness. Being mindful roughly translates as trying to live in the present moment and notice what is happening around you and within you at any given time. Mindfulness is a form of meditation, and can be a useful tool to calm an anxious mind.

My own mind, predictably enough, finds mindfulness a tricky concept. One therapist I saw a few years ago tried to teach me how to be mindful using the example of eating a square of chocolate. The idea was that you focus on feeling and tasting each square, to slow down the brain whilst you eat. Yeah, so that doesn’t really work for me. I just wanted to say: “Look lady, when I’m eating chocolate I’m concentrating on getting the yummy into me as fast as I can!”

However, if ever there’s a time to give the concept another chance, it’s now. So I decided to try out some mindfulness colouring-in… and I’m happy to report that it really does work!

Mindfulness colouring books have been everywhere for the past few years, and I was sceptical at first, but I’ve come to find them a really good starting point for mindfulness. The very act of the colouring – including the all-important staying inside the lines – focuses the mind on the present task, and forces the brain to slow down. Those anxious thoughts recede when I’m concentrating on the best shade of green for those trees in the background.

The best thing is that small, hobbly steps soon lead to bigger strides. So just as I’m starting to walk without crutches again, I’m also finding that the mindfulness colouring is helping to give me the calmness and focus to write. In the past year I’ve found that maintaining this blog gives me real confidence – but I need to be in the right frame of mind to write full sentences. If only the President of the United States could spend a bit more time colouring in…

Springing forward 

The clocks went forward last weekend and spring has officially sprung. London is looking glorious with cherry blossoms in full bloom and daffodils waving merrily at me from every park. In theory, more light in the day should mean an improvement in mood for those suffering from depression. More sun and light can contribute to feelings of wellbeing and those who suffer from seasonal affective disorder should see a marked improvement in their mood.

In practise however, I usually find the spring and summer months to be my worst time of year. Sunshine and brightness are a huge trigger for my anxiety. I feel like I’m missing out on so much by dreading this time of year, so I’ve decided to try and make 2017 different. After all, there’s no Olympics or football this summer competing for my attention, so I may as well try and fix my brain instead!

With this in mind, I’ve been trying to make sense of my anxiety about the light. This is tricky and not easy to write about but I’ll give it a go.

I was raped during the summertime, and my anxieties all began around that time. The sunshine now makes me feel horribly exposed. My fears about excess hair are magnified by it. I associate hair with being dirty, so having to worry about exposed legs and underarms adds worry upon worry.

My negative thoughts have a lot of power over me and I’ve decided to try and fight back this year. There have to be better ways to use energy than pointlessly fighting against the sunlight. So I’ve started to see a counsellor for some cognitive behavioural therapy, and it’s helping me to recognise negative thoughts patterns and, more importantly, how to diffuse them.

The trick to this is unpicking the reasons behind my thoughts. Deep down I still feel ashamed and dirty because of being raped. This leads to the need to constantly torture and pick at myself in a magnifying mirror. I can’t accept myself the way I am, and I struggle against things I have no control over. I can’t control the sunlight, I can’t control the hair that grows on me and will always grow back, and I couldn’t control my rapist either. And that’s ultimately what it is all about. The way I feel about how I look on the outside is a reflection of how I feel about the uncomfortable truths of having been raped and having a mental illness. When I compare myself to other girls and think I’m ugly, it’s because I don’t feel like I am as good as everyone else.

This is a sad way to live my life though isn’t it? Always struggling and never having any power. Beating myself up and not feeling good enough. So: taking back some power from my negative thoughts is the way forward.

Talking about them can help, as can writing them down. Either way, it helps to get the thoughts out of my brain. It’s uncomfortable to face up to these facts, but it’s the only way I can take back control. Being kind to myself, looking after my health and not punishing myself anymore is the way I would like to live my life. I think I have suffered enough.

So this is the plan for the spring and summer ahead. I may even take up gardening as a productive way to enjoy the sunshine. Wish me luck!

Postscript: how Murphy’s law works

I jumped down some steps in a burst of happiness after writing this blog… and tore a calf muscle in the process! Alas, my springing forward may be considerably slowed down by the crutches I’ll be using for the  next few weeks…

Living without hope

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity of speaking on the radio about depression and coincidentally an article I wrote appeared in a newspaper the same week. I reacted to all this in a very Irish way by becoming deeply worried that people would think I was showing off by mentioning all this on social media. I also felt very exposed after it all and a few wanky comments online really got to me. My choice to put myself out there, I know; but still, I started to wonder if I was doing the right thing.

A few events since then have made me sure that writing about my depression is not only the right thing to do, but also something I am determined to persevere with, no matter how uncomfortable it may make me feel at times.

A dear friend told me of a young girl who’d committed suicide; a high-profile sports personality in Australia took his own life; and I received an email through my website from a bewildered father whose daughter died by her own hand and who was trying to make sense of it all. These are a number of ways of saying “suicide”; none of them easy, and none of them comfortable to write about. It’s very difficult even to broach this without running the risk of offending somebody… but I think it’s a risk worth taking.

When I write about feeling low or depressed or going through a bad patch, I will inevitably have been feeling suicidal most of those days. I believe the technical term for this is ‘suicidal ideation’, having suicidal thoughts quite a lot of the time. This doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of dying; I am just as afraid as anybody else. Personally, the preoccupation with suicide is less of a wish to be dead and more of a desperate wish to stop living. It sounds silly to distinguish between those things, I know: there is no in-between. Depression causes mental anguish, and the pain inside can literally be unbearable, so for me the desire to die is a desperate wish to make the pain stop. Unfortunately, this pain is most likely to hit when you are at your most vulnerable: in the middle of the night, or first thing in the morning, or when you are alone with nobody there to reach out to.

Here’s what I have learned along my way through the depths of despair, and from coming back out again. You must learn how to become your own best friend and talk yourself down from that ledge in times of crisis. I have literally walked around my flat talking to myself in floods of tears and telling myself to hold on. Holding on is all you can do when the pain overwhelms you; cling on and know that the moment will pass. Sometimes when life becomes overwhelming I need to take it minute by minute, and then hour by hour until the panic subsides. In that vulnerable moment, it is very hard to see a way out of the darkness… but I do know it will come. I take comfort from knowing I am not alone. None of us is truly alone. There is help out there.

Depression is so dangerous because it takes your hope away; it blocks out all the light and you can only see darkness ahead. This is why we need to tackle it together and make sure that all of us – and young people in particular – are educated to look after our mental health as well as our physical health. We often don’t realise there is a problem until it’s too late. That’s why we need to start talking (and keep talking) about depression and trying to prevent suicide.

For me, the key is to try to take away some of the mental anguish that causes people to become suicidal. Asking for help is nothing to be ashamed of, and I will keep repeating this because I truly believe it. Life can be tough and lonely and difficult but it’s the only option we have. Little things can bring light in the darkness. This past week, I’ve had moments of happiness brought about by a hug from a friend, a cuddle from a friend’s baby, and a joyful tail wag from a dog. They made life feel worthwhile.

If you are reading this and feel alone, please reach out for help. Though it can be scary, in my experience, friends and family want to know how you’re feeling and to be there for you. And of course, the Samaritans are there to listen at any time of day. I’ve been there, I know exactly how you feel, and I know you can make it through to the other side.

Waiting for a magical cure

It’s been a while since I have been able to write. It’s been a while since I was able to do anything, to be honest.

A horrible bout of depression hit in November and it completely knocked me for six. Life has felt quite shaky and uncertain since my marriage ended, and it turns out not having some stability makes everything harder.

Depression can cripple you. It makes the smallest tiny thing into a massive hurdle, and all these little things turn into an overwhelming wall of fear that just cannot be climbed over. That’s what the last two months have felt like. I have spent a lot of time sitting on the couch literally not able to move, and bursting into uncontrollable bouts of tears all the time. All I wanted to do was sleep and I couldn’t focus on anything.

So what to do? I tried firstly to wait it out and hoped it would pass. I was managing to get to work and somehow function (but not much else), so I thought I might be ok after a while. But it gradually became clear that wasn’t working. So I tried some new medication which helped a little, but not much.

Oh, and of course this bout coincided with the festive season, which did not help matters. Feeling low when everyone around you is out partying is horrible. Having to keep making excuses for missing social occasions adds another layer of stress to feeling miserable.

I haven’t felt this low in a few years, so I missed the early warning signs and unfortunately ended up down a big hole and unable to see a way out. I kept waiting for something to happen; something that would “fix me”. I made wild plans in my head, to go away for a while, to do this, to do that…

Nothing worked, of course, because there is no magical cure for depression. It’s the little things that help, and over time they accrue and make life manageable again. When you feel at rock bottom though, you don’t have the patience to wait for the little things. You just keep waiting for the big change, and yet wake up every morning feeling the same way.

So I’m writing this as a little thing that I hope will help. I’ve been taking my medication everyday and I hope that will help too. I’ve reached out to people and admitted that I’ve not been coping so well and asked for help. I’ve taken a little bit of time off work to try and regroup and get my energy back. And I’ve been forcing myself to leave the house, to do little nice things. I know that all these things will help to get this illness back under control again and I will find a way back out. I’m writing this all down to remind myself of that.

There may not be a magical cure for depression, but it can be managed. I’ve done it before and I hope I will be able to do so again soon.