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Another stop on the spiral
Oct. 21st, 2014 08:16 pmDepression is being rubbish at the moment. It’s a combination of lack of daylight, fatigue, and running up against a succession of brick walls.
Yesterday I rode my bike into town. I went to a café and bought myself a jacket potato with prawn mayonnaise, a piece of lemon and chocolate shortbread, and a cup of coffee.
It was difficult. I walked past several other places on the way there, passed them by because they were too expensive. Or I would have to find somewhere to sit. Or I would have to talk to people. And I don’t belong here. Cambridge pushes all my not for the likes of us buttons if I’m not careful, and that goes all the way down to places where you can eat things. Possibly ‘eating out’ is a not for the likes of us.
Had I been with someone else, I could have – probably would have – kept walking until I was so hungry and tired that I would have just folded up and let the other person drag me into the nearest fast food outlet and feed me chips. But I was alone, and I had to do the dragging myself.
And I managed it, and I ate something reasonably nutritious, something that was tasty and not just the cheapest thing on the menu, and I got to sit down somewhere warm, and read a little bit, and begin writing this post in my head.
Once I can start writing I know I’m on the way out of it. Once I can get some words around the thing it stops being an overwhelming mass of lead jelly, and I can begin to see past it.
I forget what it’s like, being in the place where buying lunch is a massive achievement. Reminding myself that I’m allowed to spend a tenner on lunch is an achievement. Knowing that I will feel better once I’ve eaten, and acting upon the knowledge, is an achievement. After lunch I bought some trousers, and that was an achievement, too. I even tried them on in the shop. I get better and better at dealing with this, but it never becomes less horrible.
It does ridiculous things to my logic and to my self-esteem. I jump to conclusions – stupid conclusions. On Saturday I met somebody I knew just as the TUC march was about to set off. She said, ‘Keep in touch, and we’ll go for a pint.’ Half an hour after the end of the march I was convinced that the reason that she hadn’t replied to my text was that she’d (uncharacteristically and unprecedentedly) changed her mind and was hoping I’d get the hint – rather than the far more likely, and true, explanation: my texts hadn’t got through to her.
I am having to approach all sorts of social situations with logic and relentless self-questioning. Quite apart from the whole rigmarole of buying a jacket potato (it is highly unlikely that a perfectly ordinary café will be reluctant to sell me a jacket potato, but you try telling my brain that) I am having problems with questions like, should I go to this thing or that? Do people want me there? What constitutes an invitation? And is it even a good idea for me to go?
I am looking for the spaces in between depression, the chances to stop and remember that it isn’t the truth. There are cracks in it. I keep writing. I keep thinking. I bought a daylight lamp. I have given myself permission to not work on anything I think I should be working on. And a practice that I have found phenomenally useful is the #100happydays meme. I am on day 17 of my second round, and it really does help. It makes me look out for things that are good. It makes me notice things that are good. It is an expression of trust that tomorrow there will be something worth getting up for, however tiny it might be. Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that – well. It’s a long way until day 100. It’ll take me into the new year.
And, to my delight and surprise, my friends are enjoying my doing it. I’d thought my daily happy post would be neutral at best and probably mildly irritating. Two or three people, however, have said to me that they look out for it, that it cheers them up too, that they were happy when I started it up again. I am more touched by this than I can say, that I can share joy with this little discipline that is getting me through the winter one day at a time.
Yesterday I rode my bike into town. I went to a café and bought myself a jacket potato with prawn mayonnaise, a piece of lemon and chocolate shortbread, and a cup of coffee.
It was difficult. I walked past several other places on the way there, passed them by because they were too expensive. Or I would have to find somewhere to sit. Or I would have to talk to people. And I don’t belong here. Cambridge pushes all my not for the likes of us buttons if I’m not careful, and that goes all the way down to places where you can eat things. Possibly ‘eating out’ is a not for the likes of us.
Had I been with someone else, I could have – probably would have – kept walking until I was so hungry and tired that I would have just folded up and let the other person drag me into the nearest fast food outlet and feed me chips. But I was alone, and I had to do the dragging myself.
And I managed it, and I ate something reasonably nutritious, something that was tasty and not just the cheapest thing on the menu, and I got to sit down somewhere warm, and read a little bit, and begin writing this post in my head.
Once I can start writing I know I’m on the way out of it. Once I can get some words around the thing it stops being an overwhelming mass of lead jelly, and I can begin to see past it.
I forget what it’s like, being in the place where buying lunch is a massive achievement. Reminding myself that I’m allowed to spend a tenner on lunch is an achievement. Knowing that I will feel better once I’ve eaten, and acting upon the knowledge, is an achievement. After lunch I bought some trousers, and that was an achievement, too. I even tried them on in the shop. I get better and better at dealing with this, but it never becomes less horrible.
It does ridiculous things to my logic and to my self-esteem. I jump to conclusions – stupid conclusions. On Saturday I met somebody I knew just as the TUC march was about to set off. She said, ‘Keep in touch, and we’ll go for a pint.’ Half an hour after the end of the march I was convinced that the reason that she hadn’t replied to my text was that she’d (uncharacteristically and unprecedentedly) changed her mind and was hoping I’d get the hint – rather than the far more likely, and true, explanation: my texts hadn’t got through to her.
I am having to approach all sorts of social situations with logic and relentless self-questioning. Quite apart from the whole rigmarole of buying a jacket potato (it is highly unlikely that a perfectly ordinary café will be reluctant to sell me a jacket potato, but you try telling my brain that) I am having problems with questions like, should I go to this thing or that? Do people want me there? What constitutes an invitation? And is it even a good idea for me to go?
I am looking for the spaces in between depression, the chances to stop and remember that it isn’t the truth. There are cracks in it. I keep writing. I keep thinking. I bought a daylight lamp. I have given myself permission to not work on anything I think I should be working on. And a practice that I have found phenomenally useful is the #100happydays meme. I am on day 17 of my second round, and it really does help. It makes me look out for things that are good. It makes me notice things that are good. It is an expression of trust that tomorrow there will be something worth getting up for, however tiny it might be. Tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that – well. It’s a long way until day 100. It’ll take me into the new year.
And, to my delight and surprise, my friends are enjoying my doing it. I’d thought my daily happy post would be neutral at best and probably mildly irritating. Two or three people, however, have said to me that they look out for it, that it cheers them up too, that they were happy when I started it up again. I am more touched by this than I can say, that I can share joy with this little discipline that is getting me through the winter one day at a time.
