How I hate the Beast!

Every year, at this time, I fall into a slough of despond. In truth I feel it starts much earlier, with the changing of the season, but it is skilfully disguised by me throwing myself into Christmas ridiculousness. There’s a reason my family get so many presents - apart, of course, from the fact that I love them dearly, I am also distracting myself with the purchase of Christmas pants!

So many presents - ridiculous!

By the end of January, however, seasonal excitement is forgotten and I am truly downhearted.

If I’m honest, it seems worse since I retired. Not because it is, but because I have more time to notice my feelings. I was sufficiently professional to carry on despite my feelings and, provided there were no major crises, turned up and did my job every day. Now I have much more time to navel gaze and over analyse how I am feeling, and how I am feeling is not great.

Experience has taught me that it will pass, and the coming of the Spring will also see the return of some equilibrium in my mood. 

Roll on Spring!

Strangely that doesn’t help for now…and neither does self awareness. I am fully aware that I am thoroughly difficult to live with, snarling, growling and, mostly, sighing. I know that if I got off my, not inconsiderable, backside and spent some time in the garden, baking or going for a walk I would feel so much better but, well, I can’t be bothered! 

Just go for a walk...

I can also acknowledge that I have nothing whatsoever to be miserable about - I have a caring husband, wonderful children, no financial worries and am reasonably fit and healthy. 

Nothing to be down about

But that’s the thing about depression - it doesn’t just choose to inflict itself upon people who have something to be depressed about. It’s a little trick it has to make sufferers feel guilty about feeling that way. It is a cunning beast - there’s a reason it’s been described as a ‘black dog’ - and sometimes it does feel like a living entity.

Honest!

I refuse to be scared of the beast, however, and writing about my feelings is one way of facing it down until normal service is resumed in the Spring! Now excuse me while I go and stare into space, and sigh…

Sometimes it’s okay to be sad

It's okay - really...

There has been a lot in the press over the past week about Mental Health. Princes William and Harry gave their support to Heads Together - a MIND campaign, and the chosen charity of this year’s London Marathon. Much has been made of Harry’s revealing his difficulties with dealing with his mother’s death, and there is no doubt that the British ‘stiff upper lip’ did not help him at all. The fact is, sometimes it is okay to be sad. If somebody close to you dies, in whatever circumstances, of course you are going to be upset and grieve. It is our response to this grief that is crucial in how we then come out of the other side.

Always someone missing...

I’ve told you before about my sister dying at the age of ten(My Lifelong Relationship with Guilt). I wasn't born until two years later but her loss has continued to affect my family, especially my other sister, to this day.

My parents’ response to her death was to refuse to allow any other family member to go to the funeral and, other than visiting her grave every Sunday, we never talked about her. My husband asked the other day whether my older brother remembers her and I have no idea, because it was never talked about. 

Still someone missing

Nowadays the whole family would have had counselling from Nelson's Journey, or a  similar bereavement charity, but sixty years ago they didn't exist. My parents clearly found it too difficult to discuss, but sometimes as parents, you need to put your feelings to one side. That is not a criticism of them - their grief knew no bounds, and they did the best that they could. I didn’t learn from this. When my lovely Dad died, I told my six year old son that Grandad wouldn't want him to be sad and cry. I thought I was protecting him. How wrong I was. So much did he love his Grandad, and so determined was he to fulfil his wish, he didn't allow himself to cry, so his hair started to fall out. That trite, throwaway ‘don’t be sad’ comment caused him weeks of misery that he couldn't talk about. 

Oh how he loved his Grandad!

He only started to recover when a seemingly trivial incident of a small toy getting washed down the plughole provided a catalyst for the flood gates to open. He cried about that plastic spoon for about eight hours! (And I’m crying about it now - idiot!)

I’ve written before about my struggles with depression (Depression Sucks!), and it continues to impact on my life. Who knows why - I always think that it is past experiences, stress, guilt - but in reality, given that it is as real as a physical illness, it could have just randomly happened to me, in the same way as my knackered thyroid and my arthritic fingers. Certainly the way I have responded to past experiences have not always helped - internalising things and constantly revisiting them is not healthy - but I have been lucky enough to have gained support through counselling, hypnotherapy, my lovely family and, I have to say, access to appropriate medication. At the weekend I was practically catatonic, worrying my husband to death, and with no motivation to do anything - I spent Monday morning on the sofa, under a blanket, eating a tub of Haagen-Daas and watching a DVD - but I have my family to talk to and to care about me enough to leave me alone until I come to them, and that really helps.

Home comforts always help

Slowly I am emerging from the other side of this ‘episode’ but it has made me wonder about those people who can’t afford ice-cream, and don't have a comfy sofa and a family for support. Who helps them?

On Friday, on the way to a football match (another post, another time!) I was given a flyer about a march protesting about the cuts to funding for mental health support in the local area. I was talking to the woman who gave me the leaflet who is terrified that a close family member will come to real harm because the professional support network has been and is being eroded by lack of funds. For every depressive like me - able to blog about my feelings, loved and supported in a comfortable home - there are many who have been forced to move away from their families, whose conditions are catastrophic without the right medication / counselling / therapy. 

Potential catastrophe

Nearly every week there are reports of cases of tragedies related to mental health issues happening because of mistakes or shortfalls in the service provided. How can young men who are clearly mentally ill be allowed to electrocute themselves in prison(link here), or die following restraint, having been left in limbo without their medication(link here)? Neither of those events got the press coverage that Harry talking about his feelings did, but if it goes some way to raising the profile of charities like MIND, then so be it. But some people, for example those with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder,are beyond the reach of campaigns - they need fundamental, effective and professional support from the Health Service. 

I’m not a campaigner, but this is my way of raising awareness of this issue. If someone knocks on your door in the next few weeks, asking for your vote, maybe ask where they stand on funding for the mental health service. 

And remember, sometimes it’s okay to be sad…