Mental health rants

I found myself throwing the chair back, frantically heading to the fridge.

Desperate for something to put in my mouth. If I was chewing, the words that were threatening to spill would stay where they were. 

And I wouldn't get sacked. 

'So you think you can put a plaster on mental health when it's a bit poorly?

Bollocks to that' 

Too late. 

I was off. 

'You've got mental health, I've got it, he's got it, she's got it. All our kids have it. 

Sometimes it's good. Sometimes it's a bit tired. Sometimes it's properly poorly and needs a full chemical makeover. 

What the fuck is 2 days sat in a classroom going to teach me?' I spat at her. 

I sat back down. 

My other mother kicked me. 

In fact she kicked me so hard she nearly fell off her chair. 

'Well, you could learn about depression and how to get rid of it'

Ouch. 

My other mother kicked me again. 

Harder than the first time.

'I'm sorry. What?' I asked. 

'You could learn about depression and self harm' came the response. 

'Oh. Ok. Cos living with it isn't knowledge enough? Silly me'

Kicked again. 

I needed to stop. 

My legs would be bruised at this rate.

But my 'self diagnosed Tourette's' kept the words falling from my gob. 

'So tell me what I'll learn'

Let's save the council 2 days wage n me 2 days of my life that I'll never get back. 

'Well, you'll learn what it's like for those who self harm. Why they do it. 

They'll explain what it's like to live with depression and how we can make it better' 

Oh. 

Ok. 

What the actual fuck?

I think I said 'what the actual fuck' out loud but I couldn't be certain.

Nice to know that any previous discussions I've had with the management team who support me have been acknowledged. 

Nothing quite says 'screw you' other than dismissing someone's personal experience and diagnosed mental health issues. 

I suffer from depression. 

So what?

People I love suffer from it. 

So what?

'And how did they suggest we make depression better for our kids?'

I was livid.

I couldn't hide it. 

I also realised I was now pacing round the kitchen, opening cupboards in a further attempt to distract myself. 

Well, if you go on the training you'll find out won't you' she smiled patronisingly.

'Er. No. 

No I won't.

Am I meant to jolly them along n tell them to pull themselves together?'

'Well, if we keep them busy, it will help. We can't let them wallow in their bedrooms or carry on self harming. It's not normal behaviour'

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO FUNCTION WITH DEPRESSION. 

SELF HARM IS A FORM OF EMOTIONAL REGULATION.

AND SINCE WHEN HAS IT NOT BEEN NORMAL FOR TEENAGERS TO WALLOW?

So not only do our kids have to be separated from their parents, live with people who they wouldn't ever associate with normally, have 20 different people looking after them (some of whom, they really don't like), they have raging teenage hormones, have experienced trauma, neglect n abuse, now we have to jolly them along n tell them they don't really feel how they say they do. 

OVER MY DEAD BODY.

There was no point arguing.

I may as well save my breath.

Bearing in mind this is someone who has previously told me that I didn't feel a certain way. 

The same person who has said that one of my boys didn't really feel anxious. 

I left the meeting. 

If I still smoked, I would have been in the garden, chain smoking.

I was so cross that after my open water swim, I still hadn't shaken it off. 

I can feel it in my shoulders.

When I am calmer, I will work out how to fight this. 

What to do with it. 

What to do with and about my colleague.

I know that I will carry on loving the kids, acknowledging their feelings and experiences. Discussing coping mechanisms with them, taking about mental health. Talking about feelings and how all things are ok. How we all have mental health, just like we have sexual health n physical health. 

I will talk about how it needs looking after and good self care. In the same way we clean our teeth, we can make sure our metal health doesn't get bits stuck that will cause decay. 

But sometimes, it's chemical and the chemical shift can't be helped and that's not anyone's fault. 

It just 'is'.

The behaviours that follow aren't the person making choices. No amount of being cross, shouting or rationalising will prevent a behaviour taking place. Neither will dismissing someone or they way they feel. 

Mental health is what it is. 

It's hard watching someone you love struggling. 

It's hard being the person to struggle.

But it's fucking horrific to be told to pull yourself together or that you don't feel a certain way. I've had it. 

It doesn't help. 

I assure you, if, in my darkest times, I could've jollied myself along, I really really would've. 

My leg is currently bruised. 

You can see that it's sore. You can see there has been trauma to my leg.... But you can't see inside my head. 

Mountains and moral compasses

Have you ever visited a space in the world and it instantly feels like home?
A place that calms your inner noise, silences the chatter and gives you peace like you've not experienced before? A space and permission to be exactly who and what you are.

I have been there this weekend.

My energy levels are through the roof.
I have been in the outside... a very large lot.
My serotonin level is HIGH

And while I haven't slept much (I was watching bunnies bounding round a field at 4am on Saturday - especially after listening to the rain all night), I haven't felt this rejuvenated in a long time.

Castle Rigg has always been special to me - Derwent has many happy memories.
Swimmings, friends, special times.

This weekend was no different.

Very special.
Very magical.
Very welcomed.
Very lovely.
Very perfect,

A celebration of all things wonderful about being in the outside.
HELL. YES.

Sporting.
Doing.
Enabling.
Cheering
Encouraging.
Coaching.
Being.
Sitting.
Challenging.
Marshalling.
Ice-creaming
Shopping
Camping.
Loving.
Coffeeing
Talking.
Friending.
Puddling.
Raining.
Sunshining.
Asking.
Listening.
Seeing.
Magicking
Hilling.

You get the idea.
I've had a bloody nice time.

I have watched friends pushing themselves outside of their comfort zone.
I have listened when they have been nervous.
Offered words of encouragement.
Cheered when they have succeeded.
I may have even had eye leak.

My moral compass has also had an unexpected adventure.
I very innocently visited the Hoka stand - they very generously loaned me a pair of shoes to try for the weekend.

Now, there was a try before you buy offer which was too good to pass up.

I wanted to keep the comfy, spongy, clown shoes I was bouncing around Keswick in.
I didn't want to take them back on Sunday.
My Noosa's, my lovely, lovely Noosa's would feel like bricks.
My lovely Noosa's were half the price of the 'free' shoes on my feet.


'keep them' screamed my feet.
'It will be part of their business model to allow for loss' said one voice.
'It's theft' said another
'ah but you've left your shoes so its a swap, not theft'
'The karma police will make me fall and break my leg'
'It adds whole new meaning to run like you stole it' was the counter argument.

And so it went on.
All weekend.
Obviously the right thing to do is to take them back.

But..... they're so comfy.... and I didn't even leave my name..... or my number.....

Naturally, I am now the proud owner of a pair of Hoka's

I bought them in the sale when I got home.
They are multi-terrain clown-slippers for bouncing in.
And they are GAWDY.

They will make me very happy.
I will also run like I stole them.... But I wont have to run from the karma police.


I am going back to Keswick in a few short weeks.
This time with different friends.
Some will be the same friends from this weekend.
Some less, some extra.


I know now that it will be as magical, if not more so.
I know that there will be weather.
It could be all the weathers in one day.

I know there will be a whole range of feelings.
Joy, nerves, passion, excitement, fear, love, pain, determination, pride.
We will drive each other on.


I cannot wait to be in that field in Keswick and be full of those feelings.
It feels like home.

Running on empty

For the previous couple of weeks, I've started the weekend exhausted.

I've had to admit to myself that I was running extremely low reserves and my stores were depleted.

I have been training hard (yet feel like I should be doing more)
It stands to reason that something had to give.

I spoke to someone at work about this, telling him I couldn't afford to be ill (while he was coughing all over me), that it was likely my immune system was on its arse.

Little did I know that actually, I was referring to my emotional immune system.

That week, I had come face to face with a 13 year old girl, who, while I hadn't forgotten her, I had allowed her to slip quietly into the shadows for a while.
A familiar place for her. Somewhere she was unseen and unheard.

Work has been TOUGH.
Anyone who works with children knows that they are hard work.
Anyone who works with teenagers, know that the hard work can be quadrupled.
Add vulnerability in with that, separation from family, exam stress, historical abuse, violent families, living with a bunch of other teenagers who have suffered similar........ you get the idea.
And that's before you add individual crisis to the mix.

So, I'm knackered.

The kids have taken every shred of energy and positivity I own and have scurried away it for themselves.
Cos that's what teenagers do.
That's what humans do.
And the universe is based on energy exchange.

In place of all my bouncy stuff, they transferred all their crap and rubbish and negativity.
Then they ran away before I could give it back.
Plus, I didn't have that much to bat it off.... so it stuck... and got heavier.

(I wouldn't give it back.
They know that.
Lucky me.
Luckier them)

I have spent all of my professional life absorbing from kids - taking it and disposing of it makes it easier for them.
They don't even know they are doing it.
There are adults who don't know they're transferring, so why the hell should the kids?

But you know when you meet someone who makes your skin stand on end? Or gives you goosebumps?
Or their presence drains you? Or you fancy the pants off each other?
That's transference.

When you're with someone who loves you and you feed from their mood?
That's transference too.
Happiness is contagious n all that jazz.

Its one of the reasons I smile so much.
Or try to.
Its really hard not to smile back at someone who is smiling at you.
....and if you can raise a smile, however briefly, the brain responds and there is a little flurry of feel-good.
Lifting the lips in an upward direction makes chemicals in the brain dance.

In a past life, I used to be a pessimist.
But that was when I knew the 13 year old girl.
She became a 16 year old girl.
Both of these girls have tales to tell.
But not today.

I have come face to face with other past lives.

These have been unexpected visits, which have been stuff full of big feelings.
Mahoosive feelings in fact.

Fleeting visits filled with hope and adventure, vulnerability, forgiveness and more love than a heart can hold.

And suddenly, there was a shift.
This past weekend filled me with all the good stuff.
A swing of gargantuan proportion and my soul is shiny once more.

There is sufficient energy and joy - so much that I haven't been sleeping.

Me.
Not sleeping.
Yeah, I know.

But I feel ok - I feel good.
I feel fizzy on the inside without the cold water immersion.

I'd like to say its a throw back from the doom and gloom and energy sapping past few weeks, but I suspect it is more than that.
Time will tell.

For now, I am back to my giddy kipper-ish bouncy self.
There is no inner noise.
Only peace.

Happy, content silence.

Long may it continue.

Welcome to my conflict

Maybe I was a little bit adventurous with my 4.30 goal when I toed the start line of Paris marathon on Sunday.

It wasn't as adventurous as my 4hr wave I had on my bib. (Haha I KNOW! Who do I think I am! 4 hours! Me!! Hahaha. It wasn't even a typo!)

I'd clearly been properly delirious when I entered the race 12 months ago. I hadn't even run a marathon at that point. 

Aim high right?! 

I have now 'run' 26.2 miles, 3 times. 

I need to be kinder to myself. 

26.2 miles is a bloody long way n a HUGE achievement. 

Specially for me. 

Rachel Stead. The non runner. 

Imagine.... The words Rachel Stead, marathon and PB in the same sentence. 

It's not a lie folks. 

It's true. 

A 25 minute PB no less. 

Today I am proud. 

Sunday I wasn't. 

My demons were shouty and loud on Sunday. 

The problem I am having is this - in my head, I can do amazing things. I can make my body run fast(er).

The reality is that my body can't actually run that fast. 

It just can't. 

But it CAN do amazing things. 

It really can. 

Just not run a marathon time that starts with a 4. 

Not yet. 

Maybe not ever.
And while I would REALLY like it to, if it doesn't, that's ok.
Cos 26.2 miles is a bloody long way. 

I need to stop comparing it.... and if I am gonna compare, I need to remember to compare it to a fatter, more sedentary, non moving, smokier, less healthy n non competitive version of myself. 

Not other people. 

And not what I (or others) think I *should* be able to do. 

That is the voice of my dad. Not me. 

In my case, thinking I can sometimes causes conflict. 

I go into battle mode between my parents voice of me 'being a bit crap and how I should be able to run faster' and my own voice of 'screw you this is amazing' .... Then massive internal conflict ensues. Cos actually, I believe my own hype of aiming high and then I fail.
This then leads to the voice of 'aren't you a bit crap?' being reinforced.

And the conflict spiral continues.

And then I get cross with myself and begin to believe that I am a fraud....

That I have no right to be doing the things I am aiming to do.

They are simply too big. That I am not good enough. 

I KNOW I am good enough. 

I have a medal to prove it. 

In fact, I have more than one medal actually.
So screw you.

I need to remember the time i wrote this blog post

Don't get me wrong, I am stupidly proud of what I achieved on Sunday. 

I ran my second stand alone marathon in what was rumored to be 23* heat AND ran a 25 minute PB. 

I hadn't trained to run Paris - my race calendar changed somewhat with the Norseman ballot. 

My training for Paris consisted of a couple (literally x2) 13.1 runs a few 10 miles runs (x4) n LOTS of bike training. 

Paris became endurance training. 

It became a very long run at the wrong point in my training plan. And by God did my hip flexors tell me about the bike training. 

My pacing for the first half was fairly solid. I had planned to set off out a pace that would see me in good stead for a 4.30

6.10 min/km or 10 min/miles for 15/18 miles would be grand. The wheels could fall off a bit then. 

John asked me to pace him n hold him steady due to the weather and heat. For 9 miles I reined him back... But I knew early on that I couldn't sustain the pace. 

Me and John looking fresh.... 

(John went on to run 4.28 in his first marathon *PROUD FACE*)

solid pacing for first 15km

My head n body weren't working together n I couldn't get them in synch. 

The dark thoughts started early n while I could shake them, I couldn't maintain a happy place. 

There was too much energy being zapped by other things. 

Happy required energy. 

Or it did for me on race day.

Usually race happy is something I excel at. The fact it alluded me made my day so much harder. 

It also confused me. 

It confused me a very large lot. 

I tried robbing energy from the beautiful surroundings, from the river, the sun, the trees, the other runners. 

But as soon as I had snaffled it, it evaded me again and was lost.

Probably as I had none to give in return. I wasn't using it effectively. I was trying to hoard it - n that's not how energy works. 

Certain songs lifted my spirits. 

There were moments of dancing, beaming and singing. 

Moments of pure unadulterated joy. 

And then, all too fleetingly, they were gone. 

My hip flexors hurt from about 5km.

I have recently been running on my toes a lot more. I've put this down to running more hills of late. 

I know my gait has changed.

I couldn't find a rhythm that suited.

From 22km to about 29km I was in bits. I kept moving forward, but I was walking. 

It all fell apart between 22 and 29km

I cried.
I cried hot salty tears.

I put a plea out on social media. 

Help me. 

Help came.

(Thank you, thank you, thank you)

News came that Dave had PB'd. 

(I did little first pump at this) 

I was on my arse.
 Nothing more, nothing less. 

Everything hurt and I wanted to stop. 

For the first time in my life I wanted to DNF. 

I had no intention of not finishing but I wanted to stop. I wanted to stop so very badly. 

It would be so easy to just not move. To get on the metro. 

I knew that in order to make it stop I had to keep moving forward, but it was so goddam HARD. 

Looks a little bit pained, but smiling non the less

I took a picture of myself by the Eiffel Tower vowing that no matter how much it hurt, there was no way I wasn't not smiling. 

And then something magical happened. I went through the wall.

about to go through the wall

Then I *actually* went through the wall. 

Charlie Puth sang Left Foot, Right Foot at me. Katie Perry told me I was a Firework. Emeli Sande told me I was a Wonder. 

I beamed.

And while it still hurt, I was spurred on by the time on my watch, by the noise in my ears drowning the noise in my head.

I was going to finish my second marathon. And I was going to PB.

Ok, I would have to run a 10km at the same pace I went out in, but a sub 5 hour marathon was *just* achievable. 

So long as I kept moving. 

Run, walk. 

Repeat. 

Keep taking fuel. 

Keep cool. 

Keep hydrated.

Keep pouring water on pulse points, on the back of my neck. 

Keep on keeping on. 

Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Then I hit the park. 

In a previous lifetime, I have run many miles round the lakes and through the trees. 

My head went again. 

I saw Svetlana, Alexey n Feydor and my heart soared. 

Sweaty hugs were exchanged and I was on my way. 

I needed a Parkrun PB.

In all the heat. 

At the end of a marathon. 

Hahahahahahaha. 

I sped up as best I could.

If I had this much in me, I could've tried harder earlier. 

My head went again.
I knew I couldn't have tried harder.
I had given everything.

Bear appeared with a flag at 41km ish as the 5 hour pacer sauntered past effortlessly, just as my watch ticked to 5.00.00

I applauded the last band and sped up some more.

42.195km

Done. 

5 hours and 10 minutes. 

Hard earned bling

When I think about the girl who, 3 years ago, couldn't run round the block without feeling like she might vom a lung, I am proud. 

I am very proud, in fact. 

I am proud that I have carved my body into a vaguely athletic shape. 

I am proud of my internal metronome. 

I am proud of my clever legs. 

(When did my clever legs start to look like this please!?)

These clever legs are mine, yes?

I have learned some very valuable lessons. 

I need more salt when it's hot. 

I need to use all of the energy systems wisely. And properly.
You cannot cheat them.
They know.

I need to train specifically for a marathon when I next do one. 

I need to run more than 13 miles. Twice.  

I need to be kinder to myself. 

I am not other people. 

They are not me.

While I have never been as fit as I am right now, I need to remember that I am still 'new' to this sporting lark. 

I relearned to swim at 30, introduced triathlon at 32. This is my second year of 'long' at the ripe old age of 35. Running began in December 2012. 

Norseman is coming. 

It is 5 short months away. 

As I publish this, Norseman is 17 weeks away.
123 days (not that anyone is counting)

After crossing the line on Sunday, I was never going long again. 

By Monday, I was planning my marathon rematch. 

The reality is, I can't think about marathon running for a while.
(Although I do know the date for Chester n I'm in a trio at Equinox *cough*) 

I need to take the lessons from Paris and apply them to Norseman. 

It doesn't matter that I'm not a fast marathon runner. 

What matters is the fact I kept going. 

What matters is that I dug deep n didn't give in. 

I did what I promised John I would do.... I would pace him perfectly to 9 or 10 miles. 

Paris was a valuable lesson in endurance, in pushing beyond the pain. 

It was necessary and the timing within the year (and my life) was spot on.

And as hard and as awful it was in parts..... it was perfect and I loved it. 

PB ice cream.... as big as the medal.

What a difference a day makes

So yesterdays run saw me doing 10km surges - which invariably mean that i run faster than my 10km pace as it is just for little bursts before falling back to recovery pace.... except recovery pace is invariably faster too as you feel so ace.

Needless to say, I had the numbers 4.55 on my watch yesterday*.
Not for very long.
But they were there.
And it was long enough for me to see it when it was happening - mid run.
It made me do BIG smiles.

(*min/km not miles.... I only dream of being *that* speedy)

I remember striving for 6.30's not that long ago.
It may not be speedy to some, but I seem to have hit a point where I was making good running progress....

Today, of course, was the exception.

I debated my sock shoe combo this morning.
First error..... sorry..... first lesson.

I had toast instead of porridge.
Second lesson.
I never have toast.... unless it is covered by beans or poached eggs.
These 2 slices had neither topping.

I had a discussion midweek with a friend about how hard training in a morning is.
I bounced out the door within 30 minutes of waking up.
Lesson number 3.
I know I'm shit in a morning.

The first step I took was hard, my legs were heavy from yesterday - I kidded myself that I would warm up soon and my legs would spring to life.
I lied.

Deep down I knew they wouldn't - or I just didn't believe it enough.
Whichever. I didn't happen and they still feel like lumps of lead,

Elle King isn't the right music when you're having a bad run.
Taylor was required - I opted for the Foo's instead, but it was too late then.
There was no coming back.
Pick N Mix might have saved me.
Maybe.

Anyway - its done and I've learned.

I need to manage my energy systems.
Simples.

The energy I allow to seep into my ears, the energy I put in my belly and the positive energy I let rattle round my head.

......What with the head bone being connected to the toe bone and all that......

This chapter so far.....

It is almost the end of February.
Since I last posted on 9th November, its fair to say I have been a little bit busy.

I am 4 months into the biggest challenge of my life (to date)

So far, I have trained myself over a distance of 1496km (929 miles in other monies)
This has taken in the region of 137 hours ish.

I daren't think about how many hours have been spent procrastinating, getting changed, packing kit bags, doing maths about what time I need to set the alarm, preparing food, eating the food.... then of course there are the technology fails..... And the washing up of cooking implements, kit and my sweaty self.

Those hours aren't included in the 137 hours so far.

One Sunday bike session which should have taken 3 hours to complete, took a whole day.
Literally.
A whole Sunday.

I got up, with the intention of riding outside.
Winter kit on, Josephine ready for her maiden voyage, all new and sorted, we set off, turned the corner and were met with a crippling head wind.
I hadn't ridden outside since September and my road confidence was still on the floor after the accident.
10 minutes of negative voice and headwind and I was back home setting up the turbo and changing from winter outside riding kit to as little as possible to keep cool - but enough to protect the bits that mattered.
Then I had a technology fail where I couldn't log my data.
So i sat and sulked... then cooked.
It took all day to get the session done.

The harder the sessions get, the longer they become, the more focused I am finding myself.
I had a really tough couple of weeks in January - just after new year, the time when the money is at its lowest post Christmas and the darkness has been too dark for too long.

Every session was a battle.
Every time I trained, it felt like hard work - and not in the usual sense of challenging and pushing yourself
It was a huge effort to make my body move at all, let alone move at pace, uphill, or over distance.
Every discipline was hard and enjoyment was limited.
In fact, during this time, there was no enjoyment.

But I knew it would pass.... and it did.
I just had to be consistent.

These tough sessions were ticked off a minute at a time.
I knew if I could do 60 seconds, I would be able to repeat it.
If I could repeat it 5 times, I would then be able to repeat it another 5 times.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Left foot.
Right foot.
60 seconds.
Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I don't know how long it took for the difficult patch to pass.
It felt like it would never shift.
It did though... and now I am loving training again.

Its hard and I am knackered.
And I am oh so hungry.
I would be lying if I said otherwise.
But I AM loving it.
(mainly)

I am giddy about the progress I am making and I can feel myself getting stronger.

The scales were kind at the beginning of February - they said I had dropped overall weight, my body fat % had gone down and my lean muscle mass had gone up.
I will see what the beginning of March says when I next jump on them.
I'm not obsessing about what I weight - I am more concerned with what my body can do right now.

I seem to be eating A LOT, but, *most* of the time, I am eating well/
I can't expect my body to work if I fuel it on the wrong things.

When I am tired, I tend to reach for the sugar n junk.
This is the bit I need to be mindful of, monitor and modify.
I would like to be lighter - I will climb better if I weigh less.
Simple science.

I haven't been swimming as much as I would like to - but I'm not worried about it.
Cycling and running are the area's I will make most gains.
When warmer waters come, I will be able to combine riding to venues with long swims in the open.
I am also looking to try out a SwimBeam soon for personal use as well as coaching.

You don't need to know about my sores from cycling.
No. Really.
You don't.


Norseman is creeping ever nearer.
There are in the region of 162 days until the 6th August, which is about 3888 hours (depending when you're reading this)..... and for now, I am feeling positive about it.

Birthdays, bridges and blurgh

This blog isn't for pity, or for poor me, or there, there.
It isn't even for you.
Feel free to read it if you wish though - it may help you or someone you know or love who is going through something similar.

I wrote this in June - 2 days after my birthday but never published it.
So now I am.

This is what I wrote......

I have a very familiar overwhelming sadness.

It is sitting somewhere between my stomach and my chest and fluctuates between making me feel full (but only of sadness, never joy or contentment) or it makes me feel as though I have a huge void in my soul that will never be filled.

Never.

I use the word with poetic licence.
I know this too shall pass.
It just feels like never.
And feelings are real.
Especially when you can't rationalise very well.

Full or empty.
Neither are pleasant.

But it is familiar.
I know this feeling.
It is not new to me.

I know the lies that it tells.
I know that it isn't real.
I know that I am happy, that my life is full, I am blessed, yada yada yada.

I just can't feel it.
Not right now.

This is bigger and sucking all the energy out of everything.

My memory is currently AWOL.
I'd like to find it again, but i cant even remember when I last had it.
I cannot retain information.
I am doing my own head in asking the same questions OVER and OVER again.
I keep getting the answers - and forgetting the answers immediately.
There is no space in my head for 'stuff'.
It is full of noise and darkness.


Not that long ago, I had, what can only be described as, a heated debate with someone who I used to call a good friend. Our friendship ended during my last 'proper' depressive episode when I let her down 'too many times'
I should add, I did make plans, I did let her down.  Depression does that to you.  It traps you in the house sometimes. I tried explaining that to her and she failed to understand.  I was told I was making excuses.

The recent debate made it very clear to me why the friendship was over, with no hope of a reprieve.

Just prior to the debate, I had retweeted Stan Colimore who had written something along the lines of 'depression is a cancer of the soul'
I couldn't agree more with him.
At the time I was in the middle of having biopsies on a breast lump, historically I have had cancerous cervical cells removed, I have nursed my gran through cancer and i have suffered depression.
I felt OK in having my opinion.
It wasn't based on nothing.

My friend disagreed.
Her dad had been suffering from a cancer.
In her words 'they had sorted it now though', but she was very clear I was wrong in my opinion.

Nobody asks for cancer
Nobody asks for depression

They can both eat away the real essence of who you are
They both place pressures on relationships
They both often go unnoticed or unspoken/ignored.

Cancer and depression aint that different.
Not really.
Especially when you consider that they can both kill you - or, you're one of the 'lucky ones and get to live alongside them and/or the risk of them returning for all of your life.
The major difference is, you can cut cancer out and kill the cells to contain it.

Needless to say, my 'friend' asked me why I couldn't just jolly myself along and stop being so selfish.
So that was nice.
Cos obviously that's how depression works.


Anyway, its back and has been for a while.
And that's ok.
We have been getting to know each other.
Again.

There is the daily battle to come out on top.
Sometimes I can't be arsed to battle and sometimes it wins.
Sometimes, I fix my mask in place and my face says I am the most happiest person that has ever walked the planet.
Most of the time I am either numb, or in pain.

Frequently, I feel, what can only be described as, stabby.
Not towards other people.
It is always aimed at me.
Generally I would like to gouge my legs repeatedly from my knee upwards towards my hips.
Its a very vivid visual I get.

Occasionally I try make the stabby something positive and make it turn on itself and stab the negative thoughts.

I can be all things in the space of 10 minutes.
And that's exhausting and confusing.

Night terrors are new though.
I have always had slightly bonkers dreams, occasionally disturbing, but nothing I would class as traumatic.
Until recently - there have been dreams of being sexually assaulted, hunted, being made to watch the prolonged torture of those I love.
I am helpless.
Literally helpless.
I cant even wake myself up from the dreams.

Depressed sleep used to consume me for days - now, it is unwanted.
(anyone who knows me well, knows that generally I can sleep soundly for extended periods of time and love nothing more than a snoozle)

I'm not scared to go to sleep - I'm not quite at that point yet.
I just wish I could find some rest from the noise.

I'm not daft enough to blame my feeling on a particular event or set of circumstances.
Currently, there are people I could say are to blame for my feelings.

But that wouldn't be fair.
They are chemicals that aren't working as they should.
That's all.

Are my brain chemicals responsible for some of the things that have happened lately?
Probably.
That's how I see it anyway.

And that makes me more sad.
More sad than you could know.
Because I can't help it.
I promise, if I could, I really really would.
So I go back into a cycle of self loathing.

All very complicated huh?
Or maybe not.
Maybe it just feels it.

I have almost finished reading Reasons to Stay Alive by Matt Haigh.
Its an excellent book.
I am scared to finish it.

Some of the things he said, completely resonate with me.
I am not suicidal - yet I don't want to live.
And its not that I don't want to live, its that I didn't ask for this.
I didn't make the choice to exist.
But I would occasionally like to make the choice not to exist - just so the noise stops.
And that's the suicidal stabby feeling - its the urge to make it stop.
Somehow.
By whatever means possible.


I also discovered that is why I'm not overly keen on celebrating birthdays.
Why would someone who suffers from depression want to celebrate being born (especially mid episode)?

Its nice that I can now understand it rather than just feeling even more of a freak than I do sometimes.

I imagine some of you will read this and be pulling faces.
She's nuts.
Don't listen to anything she says from now on.
Clearly cuckoo.

Yeah well, we all have mental health in the same way we have emotional, sexual and physical health.
I'm just brave enough to talk about mine and run the risk of freaking you all out.
I hope you are never tormented by poor mental health.
I hope you never love someone who suffers from depression as you watch, hopeless to make it better.


I hope you never have to say to someone, 'I've thought about jumping off bridges a lot today' and hope they respond appropriately.
'To go for a swim or to kill yourself?'
'I don't know'

I think the actual answer was to feel - cold water does that to me.
It makes my skin fizz.
It contains me.
I am safe in water. (emotionally safe)
It is my happy place.
I can make the noise stop when I swim.

Trouble is, I can't swim all day.
And it starts again when I step away from the water.
Stupid noise.