A Positive Case

Yesterday I left my suitcase on a train. It doesn't have lots of valuables (doesn't rather than didn't, the recent nature of the loss means I keep it present) - it's the suitcase that my mum and dad gave me for getting a permanent job, it has clothes and a Murakami book I was in the middle of reading and shoes I bought for my friend's wedding. Little things that are important to me. 

When things like this have happened in the past - when I was in the throes of my depression I wouldn't have been able to step back. I would have stayed in that frantic moment, when you feel so electrifyingly alive it's impossible to think straight. When you can't quite believe that it happened to you and you go over your own idiotic behaviour again and again. When you say to yourself forever that it's all your own fault.

Don't get me wrong I was there for a bit. I'm up at a ridiculous hour because I can't get back to sleep. The important difference is I know if I don't get it back it won't be the end of the world. I can get myself out of those negative spaces I used to roam around, back hunched, crying in the gloom. I can breathe and understand sometimes things are beyond your control but - pretty much always - it's not the worst it can be.

The things that have helped me to do that have been having an amazing therapist - who I saw for only a few months last year - mindfulness and the support of my friends. Sometimes I think that it's amazing I managed to stop pushing people away. More on that to follow. 

In any case (ha!) I hope to continue like this, this me that can lower her heart rate when stressful things happen. 

Love and hope from a person who is still breathing. 

Miss D x 

Waking up

My eyelids crinkle
and crumple in protest.

My body is sunken - still sinking,
deeply heavy.    

Light somewhere
and a muffled alarm ringing
abrasively in my ear.

Not again.

What I Want What You Want it Kills Us

This morning, awake at 5am I read two pieces on touring as a musician and it's implications on mental and emotional wellbeing. The first, written in The Guardian  includes standpoints from many well known names, the second is an articulate piece by an creative and intelligent woman who experienced the touring lifestyle from the sidelines and had a full psychotic breakdown. It affected me personally.

Both pieces talk about the highs and lows of touring, the wins - travel and the exhilaration of performance and the lows - erratic schedules and a distorted sense of reality amongst them. I've never been on tour, never played an instrument competently in my life so that isn't my point here. What I can relate to it is my former career, working in PR. I wanted so badly to be part of the media, to work in the music industry, to write and create and learn. I did all of those things. I had big moments. I wrote press releases knowing my words would be replicated in the paper the next day. I supervised interviews. I stood at the side of the stage while bands I loved performed. I scheduled journalist meetings. And, although not to the extent that I craved, I travelled. 

I worked in the industry always thinking the next big thing was around the corner. What had begun to take it's toll with me was the insecurity of it all - working for days or weeks on a project, planning the release, hounding the media only to open the papers the next days with a heart sinking feeling as you found nothing. Some accounts were of course more reliable than others. Some I was even really good at: setting up media partnerships, running successful campaigns. After each win I'd coming crashing down - realising that clients and journalists would always want more. In a day I could be shining from getting coverage to Tatler then crying in the toilets because I knew it was not enough - and not enough was never ending. In our tiny office I'd feel like I was coming out of my skin, restless to not be sitting at desk anymore. 

When I landed a dream account working on a film festival I thought I was made.  That account broke me in so many ways - shitty press calls, demanding distributors, clients who dropped bombshells like sweeties.  What it made me realise more than anything was that it wasn't worth it. It felt like you could flog yourself to death and no-one would blink. Hyperbole of course. It wasn't what I wanted anymore. It wasn't what I needed. 

Fast forward to now. I teach English to teenagers and I love it. I laugh so many times in a day. I come home and cook watch TV and movies. I love my friends and family and spend time with them as a much happier person. I write stories. I do yoga. I want a puppy more than anything. I'm still on my medication. I actually realised that I needed medication, that I wasn't just fighting in my own head. I was only able to do that when I became more grounded and I was only able to become more grounded when I left the industry. 

When I think about my depression and how long it went undiagnosed for I used to wonder how I stuck at it PR as long as I did. It was for the highs. I'll always remember them. That's why I can understand the touring lifestyle, it makes sense to me. Just like PR people are eager to see the glamour, the privileges, the big moments. And just like PR those come at a price. 

Personally I have another investment - I am completely in love with a wonderfully talented musician who is going to spend a lot of the next year on tour. Unlike my own experience of misguidedly working in an industry that wasn't right for me I know that music is right for him. Love makes me feel like I want to hug someone all the time to make sure that they are ok. I want him to have the things that work for me. I want to cook him nice food, have a nice place to live, get proper sleep and fresh air. I also want him to play music and be happy, I just worry that those two things pull each other apart. 

I know one thing though - I'll be here. I hope that my own experiences can keep him grounded in reality. 

I also hope that some of that at least makes sense. 

Miss D xx 

Hailstones

Today I drove home in a hailstorm. Thousands of tiny frozen particles ricocheted madly off my windscreen, like they were attacking me, attacking the ground, attacking people with a glacial force. Three hours later it's a gorgeous day again, you'd never know it happened. When I started thinking I wanted to write something here it came into my mind and I started to think about how my brain can act just like the weather, and kind of attack me when I least expect it. Now I suppose I'm more able to know when it's happening, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hit me with some force. When it used to happen I supposed it was just being a fucking horrible person. It manifested itself like that, a fault of my own, and that feeling didn't leave me for years and years.

Blaming yourself for the weather? That's just crazy.

What I'm Listening to Today: Damien Jurado, Reel to Reel Demos (Where Shall You Take Me) on vinyl, a really beautiful record by a genius who shows all of us struggle.

How it feels: An Average Day

I wrote this when I was very low. I hope it might help to explain how depression feels, at least to me. 

I sat by the pond today. I say pond where others might say lake; to me the pool of grey water, dappled with long grasses and framed by ragged green, only had the stature of a pond. Ducks traversed in the water, sending out smooth circles of movement. Their slick feathers were dark grey, tinged with black tips. In the air there was ripples of chatter. Stones poked up through the pond, although in parts there was only water. I imagined putting my hand down into the murky water, diving down into the thick mud - stones and weeds underneath. On the surface it reflected a fiercely blue sky, no clouds to break up the colour.

A free day. I had nothing to do. I sat by the pond alone, without direction. A pretty day; the sun warm on my ankles, a fresh breeze colouring my cheeks. Emptiness rattled around inside me, a pinball bouncing off my sides. I thought about all the things I could be doing, better things, more normal things, things that would make me whole. I thought about reading again, filling myself up with something. I thought about writing again, pouring myself out. I only sat. I watched a small, scruffy duck turn on its side, flipping its head beneath the water. I looked up at the sky. I looked at the time. I dug my fingers into the grass beneath me. I think, I think, I thought, I am, I am not, I think, I think, I thought, I wish I was, I wasn’t, I can, I can’t, I think, I think, I thought, I try, I’m trying. I think, I think, I thought, I feel hopeless - I hope. There is nothing here.  I am doing nothing. I am less than nothing, a negative force. It pulls inward, it tugs at me and I struggle.

This is it: the way I treat myself. Treat. It happens all the time now and I’m not sure why, or I am, or I could be, or I’m not. It’s just how I am. How I have always been.

I let that nothingness coil carefully around me. I block myself in, thought on top of thought balanced like heavy bricks. I don’t have the energy to push them.  

Today I sat by the pond and watched the ducks. How about you?

I hope

Today has gone quickly. 

I hope you have experienced some glimmers of joy this Christmas 

I hope they continue

I hope that you feel a little positive about the world 

I hope that you enjoy listening to this song as much as I do

Merry Christmas 

Miss D x