Depression — Welcome to Fight Club….The 1st rule is….There are no rules!
I LOVE that film…And, if there is such a place, please let me in on the secret!
I kinda don’t want to write this, because I feel that these days I’m always full of the doom of my struggles just to survive. But I’ve never been one to dress it up, so why start now! And besides, I know I’m not alone, enough of you tell me you’re up to your eye balls too. So, sit back and listen to my shit instead, and who knows by the end of this you may feel better about your shit… And, if you don’t like ‘foul’ language, switch off now please because I’m letting rip to represent the massive hole that this is ripping in my proverbial arsehole! (Actually, this may not get past some of your naughty word filters at work!)
Apparently, I am flying this low to the ground because I’m still officially grieving, which I am not denying. And, there is some relief in that there is something “socially acceptable” to attribute this too. However, so many times in this life time have I been in this place, it now just feels I’ve adorned a familiar, uncomfortable, hair coat that smells of wet dog….. My worse nightmare! And yes, it’s not so much an oily snake these days…. Perhaps, a sign of progression?…. Or maybe I’m just channelling Winston Churchill?????
I say socially acceptable, because it feels very challenging to relay these continued morose emotions, especially when the origins are from far too many places and it takes so long to trot them all out. Besides, close friends and family tend to know what’s ailing you, nothing’s changed, it’s just taking a really long time to get off your back and upright again. Sounding like a broken record is just more ball-ache, so silence is a safer option. It’s much easier to confess the return of my malingering shingles viruses, people find a physical condition easier to acknowledge. And I do not seek pity in all this, empathy yes, sympathy no! Shingles make my hiding away is more acceptable, and yes, this is probably just how I feel in this current puddle and not actual truth. But depression is like that, you get trapped in your own mind. Which, for most of us is pure torture, and why I invest money in private therapy, it makes it a x1000 more comfortable and you get to light up the end of your own tunnel. It’s far more long term to rescue yourself….
So, if we take the grief out of the mix what else is running me into the ground? I continue to be sunk in the depths of the dreadful ‘menopause’. Which is only now, getting a modicum of societal acceptability and understanding. I’ve never really suffered from anxiety, anger yes, panic no. Now, I possess an entire wardrobe of anxieties, my mind gets blown over the smallest of fret and I feel like a misfiring C-3P0/Stepford Wife hybrid. I do wonder if it’s because I’m flying so low, with barely any fuel to clear obstacles, that anything and everything appears like a vertical mountain I need to traverse. Like a self-perpetuating circle of crap!
I’ve also recently discovered, through therapy, that my thought process is more hospital emergency department than a Buddhist temple! This not only takes a ridiculous amount of my diminished fuel supply, aka physical toll, it means I live in “over reaction ville?!” WTF…. This twisted thought process is a PSD gift from my childhood…. Less zen and more round the bend!! Makes me think of that Beano cartoon, the Numbskulls! Any why does my ailing, useless memory not fail with any of this traumatic shit? #TwistedArse
Additionally, having just had to move my kids to a new school, in which I no real choice, and no, I am not one of those parents who does this lightly. I didn’t take in to account, how I was going to feel meeting a whole bunch of strangers, whilst on my metaphorical knees…..
As I dull and shrivel with menopause, I counteract by brightening up my clothes and shaving my hair…. As my EDS gets worse and I have to wear ‘special’ shoes, I change up some of that misery by wearing funky ones. Of course, I am looking out from inside, so I don’t consider what on earth all this brightness looks like at 8.30am on the school run! I am not trying to stand out, my point is to make myself feel better, however receiving all the looks is quite hard to defend against when you’ve got such a thin aura… Having “previous” in the persecution stakes, literally — for being a witch, and drawing a fair bit this lifetime too, I’m a bit vulnerable to this. But I have to pull it out of the bag for my kids, they need me to project confidence to quell their little souls, and not look to weird so they don’t get teased. I walk a fine line in this, between being who I am and coming across as approachable and likeable.
There is a short cut out of this shit, anti-depressants, that’s the doctor’s preferred solution and they really do work. However, I’m up for ‘au natural’ these days and I can’t believe that spending my life on and off these little pills can be good for my physical and mental health. Besides, they make my totally shady memory virtually non-existent… Already, I forget too much these days, conversations, past experiences, items on the shopping list, where I put the keys, people’s names, what I’ve even previously written or said…. All significantly boosted by menopause and topped up by EDS! So, I can’t risk jump starting myself out of all this angst with those jagged little pills…. Because, along-side vanishing my memory, they give me a massive helping of “who gives a fuck”, a lethal combination socially. This always starts out very ‘freeing’, but after time, lands up being 50 shades of shit. Because, unless you’re constantly wearing a large badge highlighting this clusterfuck, everyone lands up thinking you’re an arsehole and you lose all your friends…which is totally counter-intuitive.
So, here I am… continuing to just be, writing this all down in a recycled note pad with my old school fountain pen, replenished with orange ink?! Who knew you could get rainbow coloured ink these days? So much more enjoyable to pour out my misery in bright orange. And the pleasure I get from writing in old fashioned ink, wow, try it…. It makes much more of a ceremony out of writing, and as these are in fact our own spells, it’s worth creating them in style.
And finally, no I am not really just “being”, that’s my alter-ego, I’ve got a family to cater too and a business to run…. Thank fuck for this blog and of course, my oils! If you do happen upon me, please just give me a big hug and I will give you one right back.x
Originally published at http://celticwitchmama.com on June 13, 2019.