How are you?

How are you?

Three words repeated over and over again, a platitude - learned behaviour. I’ll tell you what I do. I put my smile on and I say

            FINE THANKS

            and keep moving if I can.

            OR I sigh lightly and laugh a little and say surviving. I’m surviving. Like I’m some kind of creature whose out in the woods and getting by although it’s dirty and mucky and sometimes cold.

            Then I always say “How bout yourself?” and they say something similar although maybe there’s too much work or something going on with their Mother-in-Law and they’ll fall in to telling me.

I tend to keep the things that I actually want to talk about until I actually want to talk about them.

            This greeting isn’t meaningless, not quite. Sometimes it can have huge power. When my close friend came round to see me, after her husband had been diagnosed with a chronic illness I asked her how she was and she wept, saying no-one had really asked her. I thought maybe they had but you wouldn’t want to open up about that to just anyone. 

            The thing is, actually, probably the most important thing you can do is ask your very own self - “How are you?” and if you’re good then great - if you aren’t then you should give yourself a hug and ask why not and is there anything you can do to help.

            Deciding to be a friend to myself could be the best thing I have ever done.

            I encourage to do the same and remember that at the very crux of it - YOU ARE NOT YOUR EMOTIONS. YOU ARE ONLY EXPERIENCING THEM.

Write Now (Part 2)

Hello friends,

A little while ago I wrote about the barriers to writing that I believe my depression - and to some extent my personality - cultivated. Now I am setting myself a challenge - a week long writing course where I have nothing to do but write. Of course I am excited, exhilarated, wondering where this great adventure will take me. Who, out of the fourteen other people might become my friends. What my week will hold - and what I can create. The place I am in is stunning, rolling mountains - peace and quiet enveloping the overawing grounds.

It seems a bit luxurious doesn't it? So many other people, other writers, just got on with things - writing at their coffee tables, on trains, in every free moment. I don't have that kind of personal motivation. I get stuck in the uselessness of how it feels to be me. This for me is an opportunity to push myself beyond the what ifs and how comes and why don't yous. I am grateful and lucky to have it.

Writing is the way that I express myself and I believe that whatever medium you are naturally drawn to is important to nurture. I have wanted to do this for a really long time. Now what's stopping me? Aside from the fact that I am currently writing on my blog instead of continuing a short story?

As ever only myself.

Miss D xx

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 

Coping: Joy Lists

Hello my friends,

The sun is shining here and it's a beautiful day. I wanted to share with you something that I find helps me when I'm not as smiley and when things are more difficult. I make lists of all the things that make me happy. Sometimes I write them down, sometimes I don't. What I have learnt through yoga is to think about the mind/body connection - how doing something with your body can have a positive impact on your brain. So now, when I'm down - and if I remember, I am only human - I try and do one of the things from my lists.

Currently, here are some of my joyous things:

• Feeling the sunshine on your back as summer begins 
• Laughing
• Singing to Banarama with my friend as we drive around 
• Drinking Tea 
• Falling out of yoga poses and getting back into them 
• NPR All Songs Considered Podcasts 
• Beer 
• Reading (specifically 'The Bean Trees' by Barbara Kingsolver) 
• Looking at pictures  

Make your own list. Little things help.

Peace, happiness and smiles

Miss D 

The Best Advice I Can Give You

I was talking to someone a couple of days ago about mental health and anxiety. He was struggling with their current situation, which wasn't at all unhappy. The only thing I could say to him was this:

IT'S OK NOT TO BE OK

More than that, for the majority of the time it's just how we (those millions of people who live with mental health issues) are. The pressure to be happy in the life that you have - when nothing is technically wrong - can be crushing. 

I lived with the question for more than a decade: "Why aren't I just happy?" I'd cry over it frequently, feeling like a failure because everything I had in live wasn't enough for me; feeling ungrateful because I had so much; feeling horribly confused because at times I could be so very happy, then the emptiness would come. As much as I wish I known my diagnosis and understood my symptoms sooner I suppose it's a part of me that made me stronger. I did fight through it. I still got up every day. I had an incredible job and incredible friends. In a way that almost made things harder: my symptoms weren't severe enough to really be noticed. 

I suppose it might possible to fight your own way through depression alone, without acknowledgement or support, but it's a hell of a lot better not to. 

It's ok to not be ok. Most of us aren't. 

Rain or Shine?

Hello there

I feel like I haven't written here in a long time, longer than it actually is. Perception is puzzling. That's what we deal with I suppose, working out if what we think is an actual truth. And if not then why do we think it. Or at least that's how it is for me. It's like this bunch of daffodils.

This is how they actually look; a sunny yellow burst of happiness.

Play around with them on a photo app and this is how you can make them look:

Rainy, troubled and withering. 

I think it's the same with my brain. Things happen and I change them. It feels unconscious but I have to question myself, or at least that's what I hope I have started to do. 

Right now I am going through a time in my life where I am trying to change bad habits. I know what they are, why I do them and why they are bad for me. The problem it's learnt behaviour - imbedded deep down in me as a false way to cope. So that makes it hard to change. My perception is that I do these things, that they are part of me. I don't know how to be without them - and I'm worried that a storm will come. Just writing that makes me think about it more. It's the truth, they are like my crutch, my solid support even though they also hurt me. Weird huh? 

I think you have to accept that there is no magic wand. What I try to do now it take a step back from myself - recognise how I am feeling and ask myself if it's really true. Question your brain and why you are seeing rain. Maybe, just acknowledging that you create it internally is some kind of help. 

Dating and Depression

If there is one thing that I know it's this - dating and depression don't go. First of all, when you are in the midst of low time, it feels like nothing is hopeful. The thought of meeting a random person and chatting about yourself is inconceivable. Secondly, when you are in a better place it's just the thing to tip you up or down. Somehow I've found myself still doing it.

It used to be the 'thing' that I didn't have - a boyfriend who loved me and would make everything meaningful. I waited for a glance across the room that would change my life, the moment that you see in the movies. I'm old enough now to know that's pretty unlikely - more importantly I know fixating on someone else is never going to solve anything. You can only have someone in your life if they are enhancing what you already have - for me that's a great job, amazing friends and family, real loves (books, music, travel) and a sense of adventure.

I'm dating and yes it can be fun - but sometimes I walk away thinking 'Is this what love feels like?'. A great emptiness swells in my belly.

But still, I continue.