Well, today I’ve been up, showered and dressed. Upwards progress from yesterday. Yesterday I stayed in my dressing gown until 3.30 pm when I changed into lounge pants and sweatshirt. I had breakfast at 9.30 am, chatted with hubby, played fetch-the-ball with our puppy for a bit and then slept from about 11 am until hubby woke me at 2.30 pm with a bowl of hot soup. Actually, today (Friday 27th Oct ’17) is only the second day I have been dressed all week – the other day was Tuesday because we needed to go to the supermarket. Depression. It’s a pain in the arse! I know I need to get showered, get dressed, and maybe even do something other than to sit in my chair and rot. The world is passing me by. My life is passing me by, and I’m just glazed and dreamy – when I’m awake, or I’m sleeping. I used to take the piss out of hubby because he was always sleeping. He actually had un-diagnosed sleep apnoea! Who knows I may have that too but I mainly wake up with pain from my rickety, 47-going-on-87 hips and spine. I’m going to try to NEVER mention those again as to be 100% honest I’m sick of them. Long story, not going there – unless I get a heap of emails really wanting to know 😉 Actually really don’t do that! Please! It’s a crap story. Right there that part ends.
Anyway, back to the progress of being dressed and mentally and physically ‘present’ for the second time this week! I’m in the cafe of the first picture of the ups and downs and I didn’t have to buy reasonably priced drinks and snacks there as I also managed to achieve making stew and dumplings for hubbers – it’s one of his favourites (and he did actually tell me it’s better than what his Mum used to make – she’ll be turning in her grave I’m sure!) In between being a domestic goddess and kitchen queen today I’ve been trying to catch up on all the stuff I’m subscribed to in order that I may continue working towards the ambition to become a published writer. One day. But, then I also realise that being here is working towards that, right? I mean, if we count the fact that this blog is published – after I click that lovely blue button at the top right hand of the screen – then I already am and you’re reading me. My drivel at the mid point of my Friday night, when nearly 30 years ago I’d be down the pub half cut by now! Life is so exciting at 47. Thanks for reading though. I’m grateful and I am smiling with thanks so I managed to do that more than once today too! 🙂
So, ups and downs. I’m aware from previous experiences of depression – if you read my previous post you’ll know I had a previous stint – that there are crap days, where I’d rather just be not here. Thankfully, this time I’m not having those scary thoughts of the world being better off without me (if you’re having these then please, please call someone who can help or the Samaritans, and if you’re a younger person and don’t like the idea of an older-sounding organisation like the Samaritans (apologies peeps over there) then please call Papyrus). On those deep pit days I just pull the duvet over me and pretend to not be here – adult den building is a fun analogy that sits better with me on positive days . Just ignore that there’s a world outside of the duvet – until the ageing bladder decides to remind me that if I’m not going to pee myself, like a 4 year old in a den not wanting to come out (usually they’re having fun whereas this type of den isn’t!) that I’ll need to get out of bed and face the world, hubby, pets before I lie in a big, warm puddle. Actually, let me say here that this is something I just would not do. I’m a little OCD and pissing the bed is far, far removed from the lowest, unpleasant act I’d do out of laziness, or fear of living. I admit that there have been dark days where I’ve wished I wasn’t so bloody clean so I could stay there in my own pee-pee and admitting that here on a public platform strikes fear into my heart…but I’m leaving it here.
When I’m not in adult-den mode and have achieved removing my butt from the bed I spend my time in a recliner chair, which I needed during the 47/87 unmentionable words, ongoing saga/era as I had to sleep downstairs. The 300+ year old cottage I live in has 2 staircases and neither were okayed by the physiotherapists for me to use post-operatively. It’s where I spend the majority of my life when I’m home these days, which is a lot of time. And when I’m having a bad day which isn’t as bad as an adult-den day it is where I’ll be, staring through the TV, trying to actually watch something. The amount of programmes I’ve sat through then realised I’ve missed a major part of the story or an important piece of action can no longer be counted on my hands, probably not my feet either.
So, that’s a BAD day; Adult-Den Day, a SO-SO day; reclining chair, vacant, absent, and GOOD day; achieving a shower, getting dressed and cooking a meal, oh – and writing my experience of the ups and downs, good days and bad days of depression for anyone out there to waste a few minutes of their day/evening/night with. I’m off to go nowhere as I’m in my chair but please do find someone to confide in if you’re struggling. My writing is a release for me (I write fiction and poetry when I’m not here) but other people may need to find something else. Please use one of the links I included above and know you’re not alone. Thanks for reading 🙂