Tis The Season To Be Jolly

Seriously though, don't say that to someone with depression...it's unlikely that we'll throw a punch but the thought will occur to us. It's a hard time to be feeling low. Some people might think the festive season would be just the thing to pep us up. In a way it does and can alleviate depression for a time, not forever though. Having the people that love us around can help, it lets us know that there really are people in our corner. Can't it always be that way? Why do we wait so long to have big family gatherings or much needed group catch ups. We all need a support system, and we tend to need that all year round not just once a year.

The glowing lights, warming fires, season of generosity and love should be enough to see us through, right? Unfortunately that's not aways the case. It can also be an incredibly stressful time. Having a sudden increase in the number of people in the household, more voices, more action can leave people feeling flustered and under pressure to be 'on' at all times. I've had relatives ask me why I don't have a smile pinned to my face at all times, where is the merriment and all that. At that particular time I was a few days away from having an operation and I was also desperately trying to hide that I had a serious mental illness. Last year I was adamant that I wasn't 'doing' Christmas, recall that Christmas song "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, but I think I'll miss this one this year". I didn't feel the way I was 'supposed' to feel. We're presented with an image of how things are supposed to look at Christmas thanks to being constantly bombarded with adverts around the clock. I just didn't want to ruin it for everyone else.

I later realised that everyone struggles with the festive period in some way, and it's often the case that they hide those feelings too. What's really required is that we're simply there for one another. The other aspects, the 'magic' of Christmas are bonuses. It's also definitely not about the presents. Try not to get caught up in ideas of how much you ought to spend on someone. The best presents are always the ones with more thought behind them. It's pretty common for depressives to get into debt, especially if they find themselves being too ill to work. The trouble become all the more difficult at this time of year. Loved ones certainly won't want you to get into further difficulty for the sake of buying them something you can't afford. In this age of technology, Facebook and Instagram people have got into the habit of sharing every aspect of their lives, including products they're using and buying. It can create a false impression of wealth and followers or friends that see those posts can feel jealous or a need to meet those standards. What we don't see is how they've achieved that wealth, whether it's genuine or the result of exorbitant pay day loans, temporary fixes that usually generate more problems.

This year I have been more thoughtful that usual, it might seem more generous to some people. I've put a lot of thought into every gift. I'd recommend that's what we all attempt to do. And for those of you struggling with depression, I also advise getting artsy and crafty with your wrapping this year. Set yourself up in front of a Christmas film, or in my case the highly tense bloody drama of 'Grey's Anatomy', and create some bespoke decorations for your gifts. You don't even have to be particularly artistic to do it! I've got the brown paper out, some ink pads and stamps. Standing away monotonously works well for me, the consistency of it calms me down and allows me to focus purely on that for an hour or so. The stamping motion also works well if you're feeling frustrated stamp stamp stamp it out! Oh and that song I mentioned earlier, the final verse adapts into "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, couldn't miss this one this year".

I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New year. I know there is one more Wednesday before Christmas, but once again I'm taking myself off on a jolly working holiday. Here's hoping for a fantastic 2016 for all of us.

Breast Intentions

During my recent working vacation I had some breakthroughs. Most notably with my GP, if you follow this blog you may remember me referring to a particularly brutal doctor in the past. After inducing a breakdown, being too anxious to attend appointments and generally feeling beaten down by their words, I decided enough was enough. I either had to cease treatment with this doctor and find another one, something which I was reluctant to do, or address this doctor's shortcomings and failures in dealing with me. Despite talking about my mental health more than ever before, it's still very difficult for me to discuss my problems with GPs. I've been through a few doctors now, I understand that some people struggle to talk about mental health and that they might not understand it or may even dismiss depression as an illness all together. Is it so wrong to expect that your GP would be sympathetic and understanding of mental illness? I don't think so. Perhaps it's an area that's skimmed over but covered enough so they have a general understanding of mental illnesses. Either explanation is still unacceptable. 

I decided to face the problem head on, albeit through a letter. I'm not especially eloquent in person, I stumble over my words, stutter and rarely get my point across in face to face conversations. It's not as if I don't know what I want to say, I can go into a conversation having rehearsed every potential scenario in my head, stressing over the details, ifs and maybes are my forte after-all! To compensate for this I decided to write a letter to my GP explaining my thoughts on their treatment towards me. Essentially, several comments were made on my personal life and how I choose to address and treat my mental health conditions. If I couldn't proceed with any further appointments with them I at least hoped to highlight ways they could alter their behaviour for any other patients they might have with depression. Fortunately they responded well, and we've agreed to continue our doctor-patient relationship. I could have easily rolled over on these issues, I could have allowed them to believe that I'm a particularly sensitive individual and that they need to treat me accordingly. This doctor does have a fairly forceful nature in the hopes that they can push patients towards getting better. I know that they have made a real effort to understand every aspect of my life, they've accepted that for now I do not wish to seek the help of a counsellor.

I wasn't sure how they'd react to my letter, before I received their response I was convinced that I was going to have to search for another doctor. Fortunately bridges hadn't been burned. At the end of the letter I decided to address something I'd been too nervous to discuss in an appointment. The addition of which turned the one page letter into a three page essay! It's something that I have previously discussed with other doctors only to be shot down with their personal opinions. During the height of the bullying I experienced, I turned to food for comfort and up until that point I'd never really understood the term 'comfort eating'. I suppose I just felt some immediate satisfaction and happiness after each forkful of cake, cheesecake or whatever else I was sneakily shovelling in after school. This routine soon took it's toll on my body, and without realising I had become 2 stone heavier and had gone from a B cup to probably around an F cup. I was mortified, I didn't want to have my breasts measured properly to reveal the true extent of how big I was. I received even more attention and scrutiny. I was called out on by my P.E. teacher in the changing room because my sports top was now "inappropriately tight", cheers for that. I avoided P.E. lessons when our group of girls was suddenly mixed with the boys because of bad weather. At that time I favoured getting a 'no kit' mark against my name rather than bouncing on a trampoline in front of the boys and giving myself black eyes.

Six years on and not much has changed. I still avoid getting measured properly as they are still growing. I've had breakdowns in changing rooms because of them and would rather avoid crying in front of a lady with a measuring tape and enormous bras. I managed to lose most of the weight I had gained, but I never regained the confidence I once had nor the pleasure of buying and wearing clothes that made me feel good, and I certainly haven't lost the other two things I gained *ahem*. Since I was 16 years old I've wanted a breast reduction, for many many reasons. I've been told that I should be grateful for what I have, that I should flaunt it and that they really "aren't that big". I've also been told that due to being severely depressed I was "a suicide risk and it would be a waste of NHS funding", and yes that comment was made by a Doctor! GPs haven't exactly been my biggest cheerleaders on the matter. I understand that it's a slightly controversial thing to get funding for, but it's not for cosmetic purposes. My quality of life isn't what it ought to be because of how much I am limited by having a big chest. I am going to be turning 23 in January. I feel like I haven't even had a chance to feel like a young person, a young woman. During these years I haven't developed a personal style, I don't experiment with clothes or have fun with them. I simply hide my large chest and feel quite frumpy.

If you want an extensive list of all the reasons behind me wanting and needing a reduction I will happily provide it for you. I'm prepared to fight my case for this. Usually I wouldn't think I was worthy of anything, I'd think that there must be people worse off than I am. For once I'm saying "sod it, why not me?"and finally I have the support of the doctor I thought would sack me in as a patient. They are in my corner and ready to do battle with the NHS board of referrals, it might be a long battle but for me it's worth it.

Memoirs Of Depression

It might seem counter productive to read about other people's experiences of depression, particularly if they are in depth and auto-biographical. There can be triggers within the contexts which poses a threat to the recovering and well-being of readers that are depressed. However, I find them to be highly informative. I recently started browsing for books on mental health, in particular those surrounding the conditions of social anxiety and depression. I had previously been given a book of this nature before. Initially I was reluctant as I've been bombarded with studies, theories and books with contradictory claims and it just puts my head into a faster spin cycle. Sometimes it can be hard to accept help from others. Of course support is welcomed, but in most cases it is likely that the person experiencing depression has done a fair amount of research into the illness themselves.

The books I've come across vary in their approaches to the condition. Some have been written from the perspective of the psychiatrists sharing how they feel seeing patients with similar issues day after day and how that affects them. Something which could be an interesting read as a high proportion of psychiatrists have gone into their profession due to a personal experience of mental illness.

I prefer to avoid being bogged down by the science of depression. Instead I have a few books that are memoirs, in depth books providing an insight into the author's experience of depression, what worked for them and what didn't, how bad things got for them and in some cases how they escaped the dark depths of depression. I love seeing people's reactions to the cover of the book I have my nose in, the titles aren't exactly cheery so it's funny to see them recoil with wide eyes. I think it's worthwhile for anyone to read these sorts of books, you may well find yourself in a similar position one day or come across someone in your life experiencing depression. If anything, the discussion of symptoms will help you to recognise them in yourself or others. Of course certain parts of the book can be quite distressing to read, yet I find comfort in knowing that someone else knows how badly depression can pollute the mind. And I'm glad that these authors have managed to express themselves for their own benefit as well as getting their stories seen by thousands of other people.

In the coming weeks I am going to be posting short book reviews on the titles I've been reading recently. Hopefully this will act as a guide to anyone interested in reading about depression in this way. The reviews will also highlight whether sensitive issues and potential triggers such as self harm are mentioned.

Out In The World

 I'm always anxious when attending any kind of doctor, dentist or optician's appointment. However, I used to find it a lot easier to get through them when they started asking their seemingly endless list of personal questions. They used to be able to look at my age and assume that I was a student, which for many years was correct. I can no longer give myself that label without being a fraud, and lets not get started on how uncomfortable and flustered I feel when they ask if I'm a graduate! Nowadays I seem to choose one of a few responses. What I say usually depends upon the kind of mood I'm in and is based on how confident I'm feeling that day. I might say that I'm a writer which tends to prompt the follow up question of what do you write about? Or who do you write for? Someone once assumed that I wrote manuscripts! Sorry pal I'm not all that showbiz.

I usually feel fairly comfortable saying that I write about mental health. More often than not the conversation will end there, a lot of people clam up and find it awkward to talk about. On some occasions I'm not quite confident enough to say that I'm a 'writer', it sounds strange to me. Yes I write, but can I call myself a 'writer'? It's not my occupation, it's more of a hobby and self-help method for dealing with my past problems, current feelings and experiences with mental illness. Even being honest and saying "I'm a blogger" can cause some people to recoil, as if they think "oh here's another wannabe writer trying to earn a quick buck" or "anyone can create a blog these days, no biggy". You'd be right to think that those are just assumptions I've made, but bloggers do receive that kind of feedback regularly. Journalists and writers often see bloggers as a modern form of competition. I just think it's a fantastic platform to share opinions, help people and potentially launch careers from. On the days I'm really feeling down and feeling particularly useless in the world I'll say I'm un-employed at this time. It's easier and provides an immediate end to that topic of conversation. Companies must love me messing up their records as it's likely that over the years I will chop and change my answer depending upon how I'm feeling. Perhaps one day I'll be able to confidently say that I'm a writer. I'm definitely not saying that bloggers aren't 'writers', if you believe in yourself and are happy to declare yourself as such, good for you! Personally I don't think it matters if your answer varies. So long as you aren't pretending to be a Doctor, attempting fraud or meddling with your taxes...simply answer in the way that makes you feel most comfortable. Afterall, those dentist check-ups are only once a year- don't sweat it!

Bitten In the Butt

It's scary how quickly things can turn around with depression. Despite having to take care of things by myself for a week, I'd been doing pretty well. Ever since we've had Toby (our pup) I've been getting out of the house more than ever before. However, I find it really challenging to take him for a walk by myself. I like to have a route in mind, somewhere with lots of space where I can see if other dog walkers are coming up ahead so I can try to avoid them. I did a few practise runs with Robbie before my solo walks. They went fairly well, one major challenge was driving as I hadn't done any for a while, since my operation at the beginning of October actually.

Surprisingly I didn't have too many blunders during that week. The unexpected trip up came when everyone returned home and we had a full house again. I know that I get anxious during transitions from being alone after being surrounded by people, and also when returning to a full house again. I finally get used to enjoying the space rather than fearing it, then it all returns to a busy chaotic minefield again.

I'd been printing off all of my old blog posts, which turned out to be quite the stack of paper! I'm currently working through them for something I'm working on at the moment. For me it's a strange process, blogging has always been fairly strange for me. I'll write about things that have happened recently and events that happened a long time ago but I've only just processed them. Some posts might have been written weeks ago, others perhaps the day of publishing them. I always check through them one last time before making them 'live'. However, even if I've just read through them all of 30 minutes ago, I couldn't tell you what they say. My short term memory has been shot to pieces by this illness. During some of my lowest times I can recall watching an entire season of a TV programme, but I have no recollection of what happened. I can remember rough plot lines of books I read, but I have no idea who the characters were, what the book cover looked like or even what the title was. I think this is the process of my brain trying to protect itself (bare with me). There are so many 'stressors' (traumatic events, memories, people etc.) that can build up to cause a breakdown or a period of depression. I believe that those 'stressors' take up so much space in my head, so there is little or no room for trivial information to be stored during those times. Even if one of those trivial things is something I have written, something I really ought to be able to remember but I just can't.

As I said, I was reading through old posts I'd written. I felt sad for the person that had been through these things. And I realised it was me! People often tell me that they find it difficult to read some of my posts, that they make them teary eyed at times. For me, I've lived through those moments already, they were hell to experience when they happened and in some cases it has taken me years to be able to even recall all the details of those events. In my mind I've already experienced that trauma, patched myself up and moved on. Imagine my shock when I sunk into a depressed mood over reading about something I've actually experienced, yet the words made me so sad and suddenly re-live it. My movements became very slow, I lost my appetite after being ravenous moments before, all I wanted to do was sleep. I trudged upstairs ready to fall into bed, but I'd misplaced my phone. And somehow I was suddenly losing my breath, feeling flustered, leaning into the door frame of our bathroom clutching at my chest that felt like it was on fire. I was having a HUGE panic attack, over a bloody phone! I know now that it wasn't just over a phone, it was a number of factors. It was not being prepared to feel this saddened and low over something I've already lived through, written about and moved on from. I was being attacked by my past. I was crying on the floor curled up into a ball clutching at my chest. It was all too familiar to the breakdown of February 2014. It felt like nothing had changed, I had fallen to my knees sobbing, howling and not caring about how it must have looked or sounded to other people in the house.

I don't want anyone to run to my aid now. I'm OK now. Over time I have learnt to recover quicker from panic attacks and low periods. A sign of progress! Of course it's alarming to me and anyone else in my life when this happens. It's unexpected for all of us, and yet it shouldn't be. Yes, I've made progress in many areas and some days it may seem like I'm well again. But, I still have an illness,  I am still very, very unwell and need to bare in mind that I can't run a marathon without training for it first! My project (very secret I'm afraid) will not stop because of this incident. I just need to take things slowly and remember that even my own words can hurt me.

Withdrawal

A few weeks ago I was left on my on for the first time in a while. I had a feeling that this week was going to be fairly challenging, but thanks to me miscalculating how much medication I had left it became a whole lot more difficult! As I have established a fairly good understanding with my doctor on how I prefer to treat my depression they are happy for me to have a few months supply of my anti-depressants at a time. This will vary with every patient experiencing depression as it can be risky to leave longer periods in between appointments with your GP depending upon the severity of your depression at various times. When I was feeling particularly bad I had to see my GP every two weeks to check in, but now they and I don't feel as if I'm a risk to my own safety, there is a bit more flexibility with how frequently I have check up appointments.

I'm usually pretty good at keeping an eye on how much medication I have left and ensuring I can either go in for a chat or put in a request for a repeat prescription if supplies are getting low. Unfortunately sometimes life gets in the way and my already confused mind gets turned upside down with things like big events and trips away. When my mind is preoccupied with other concerns things can slip and I end up in a sticky situation! As a result of this I ended up being on about half of the dose of anti-depressants I normally take. Not good. Obviously this can happen to the best of people with any type of medical condition that requires medication. However, you should never decrease your dose of anti-depressants on your own, and you certainly shouldn't quit cold turkey. Ceasing taking medication for depression unassisted can be very similar to quitting hardcore drugs alone, not that I've ever experienced this myself but from what I have experienced I know it's incredibly unpleasant. Even being on a lower dose of medication without being slowly weaned off can cause withdrawal symptoms and side effects.

I often experience what I refer to as 'brain zaps' when I've had a particularly low period and have slept late into the day meaning that I haven't taken my medication at the time I usually would. Even this small discrepancy in when I take medication can cause withdrawal effects. Brain zaps feel like an electric current running over the brain producing a fuzzy sensation, as if you're getting a static shock over and over again inside your skull. Not pleasant. This feeling will continue for a while after taking medication and can often last for an entire day. I can be walking around or sitting still and slightly move my eyes or turn my head and be hit with a wave of fuzzy feelings running over my brain and I'll hear a high pitched noise. If anyone has seen the Hunger Games film when Katniss has been stung by a Trackerjacker and it looks like she's trying to move but gets stuck in one movement and the noise that accompanies it, that's fairly similar to what I experience. Or think of the static noise on a radio when you flick to a frequency that isn't in tune, it puts you on edge and you want to get off that station as fast as possible. I'm stuck on that station for hours.

Other withdrawal side effects can include feeling like you have the flu, nausea and generally feeling very run down and tired. Of course feeling incredibly low accompanies all of this which can be very unsettling if you had previously been doing well. Even if you know that you'll be able to get your prescription in a few days, it can be of little comfort. You still have to go through all of this and those low feelings aren't easily forgotten even if you know they've most likely been induced by a lack of medication or a lower dose than usual.

It does scare me that I've become so dependent upon anti-depressants. It's concerning to know that even though I'm taking something to help me, it can cause harm. I know that some people are against taking medication for depression and prefer to seek alternative treatment. Much like how every experience of depression is different, an individual's treatment and recovery is unique too. I'll never take anti-depressants for the sake of it or use them as a crutch. If I do feel significantly better at some point I will talk to my doctor about decreasing the dose I'm taking. For now it provides a feeling of relief. Taking medication makes me feel like it is a real illness. It's all very well saying depression is a real illness with mental and physical effects, but the dark voices of depression can easily convince a person otherwise.

In Peak Health

Somehow a year has passed since I started my 'year off' from everything. This might sound like a lazy lifestyle, but for me it was well needed and for the most part well deserved. Since I was 16 years old I put an enormous strain on my life by attempting to function normally with every day life and the stresses of education. I was doing this whilst attempting to hide that I was incredibly depressed and anxious on a daily basis. I hid my conditions from my family and friends, not due to fear of rejection or stigma, but instead due to my internal instinct to protect everyone in my life even if that's at my own expense.

Some pressure was lifted when I finally started being honest about how unwell I had become. I thought that I could still cope with the pressures of university, but the reality was that I had become reclusive, scared to leave the house and to interact with others. Despite disengaging with the social aspects of university I was still trying to keep up with my workload and attempting to teach myself an entire statistics module without the assistance of lecturers. All of those factors coupled with my declining physical health lead to a colossal breakdown and finally needing to put my hand up and ask for help.

I left university in April/June of 2014, the whole time was a bit of a mess for me so I can't recall the exact time that I left. I learnt to refer to my time out as a 'gap year'. I certainly wasn't gallivanting around the world and marvelling at new sights and experiences. Instead, I took time for myself attempting to enjoy the smaller things in life again and trying to regain some control over my mental health.

Nowadays my depression is kept at bay for the most part. I still have down days as that's part of the progress of moving towards getting better, it isn't a clean straight line to being on the up. If there was a line graph to show my progress it would show a zig zag darting up and down all over the place. The down points are often influenced by my physical health. For years now I have been plagued with physical illness in various forms. In 2013 I had an operation to remove an ovarian cyst that had grown to the size of a grapefruit, it was incredibly painful and caused me to walk along like an old woman and post-op was even more of a nightmare. Since that operation I have had IBS which is a daily inconvenience and sometimes limits how far I am willing to stray away from the house. During particularly bad flare ups it's unlikely that I will leave the house for around a week or two. I've also been prone to sinus infections since I was 15 years old. They certainly aren't your average cold, sinusitis causes an unbearable amount of pain which is barely touched by painkillers. I've spent many years attempting to convince doctors that something isn't quite right with me, my immune system, something! I get sinusitis at least five times a year, and I lose two weeks or more due to feeling so unwell. The pain is debilitating and has an enormous impact upon my mental health. I am very happy to announce that a doctor finally listened to me. After a few inspections of my nose, blood tests and a CT scan it has become apparent that I have a deviated septum which has been causing a LOT of trouble over the years.

Since I first started writing this blog post things progressed very quickly. In a very quick turn around of a couple of months, thanks to a cancellation I had the operation at the beginning of October. With the exception of a fair bit of pain, things seem to have gone well. I had my post-op check up at the weekend and the surgeon was very happ with his work. I had a lot of queries as I did get a sinus infection immediately after the surgery, unfortunately the surgeon I had doesn't have the best bedside manner and was shaking my hand and ushering me out of the door before I could ask most of my questions. I easily get overwhelmed by dominant personalities, especially those in the medical profession. Hopefully that sinus infection was the last hurrah, so fingers crossed some luck will be thrown my way and I will never get a sinus infection again. So far this year I have tackled my mental health and a few physical illnesses that have been affecting my quality of life for many years. This could be me on the up.

SAD

Take the time to appreciate the Autumnal colours. The trees are ablaze and the sunlight is hazy, it won't be around for long though!

I've known for quite some time now that I have depression. I hadn't realised that things were about to get a whole lot worse in the Autumn. This time last year I started feeling more down than usual, my sleeping pattern completely changed and I barely ventured outside. Despite sleeping late into the day I would be exhausted all day, only to go on to have insomnia at night. It soon became clear that I was experiencing the 'winter depression', otherwise known as Seasonal Affective Disorder or 'SAD'. This was something that I briefly heard about at school, something which some students would try to claim they had when they started resting their heads on the school desks, much to the annoyance of teachers.

I'd assumed that it was something that just affected the elderly, being restricted by other health concerns and poor weather conditions can dampen anyone's mood. SAD actually affects 1 in 10 people in the UK. People are affected when the days become shorter as the clocks go back an hour and the Autumn/Winter days close in quickly. This disorder effects people in the Northern and Southern hemispheres, it is VERY unlikely to affect those near the Equator. However, it has been known to happen in reverse i.e. people experience SAD during the Spring and Summer months, but have more energy during the months of September to February. The symptoms over-lap with those of General Depression and include the following:

• a persistent low mood
• feeling irritable 
• loss of pleasure and lack of interest in the things you used to enjoy
• lack of interested in everyday activities
• feelings of despair, worthlessness and guilt
• lack of energy 
• sleeping longer/later into the day 
• more prone to illness due to weakened immune system 
• not interested in social activities
• craving foods from the carbohydrates group, which may be reflected in weight gain 

 I was badly affected by the constant presence of darkness. It would be dark when I woke up and would become darker earlier in the afternoon. It felt like the darkness from my mind had escaped and was trying to swallow the world outside of my head. There simply weren't enough light hours in the day, and even when there were I wasn't in the mood to go outside. In attempts to pep me up a bit we purchased a light box. I believe we got one recommended by the SAD association which should be fairly easy to find if you search online. The light box is used for light therapy, you simply sit in front of the box during the day to compensate for the lack of light outside. It is incredibly bright and takes a bit of getting used to. You simply use the box whilst going about your normal activities: watching TV, working on the computer at home or whilst doing a spot of ironing! Just ensure that you don't use a light box within 6 hours of going to sleep. If you experience SAD whilst you are in the workplace I'm sure that after a short conversation with your boss/manager you'll be able to use your light box in the workplace, so long as you have access to a plug in your line of work! It also helps to get outside as much as possible during the day. Gentle exercise such as walking outside kills two birds with one stone! With the assistance of your GP you can also discuss the options of talking therapies and medications to assist you with your treatment of SAD during these months as well. You may find that you only need to be on medication during the Autumn/Winter months as your mood might be elevated during the lighter months. This year I've popped my head above the stormy clouds in my head to admire the beautiful colours nature brings during the Autumn. Try to head out somewhere to walk amongst them or even go for a short drive and stare at the beautiful colours whizzing past (from the passenger's seat please, I will not be responsible for any accidents due to gawking from the driver's seat!).

Happy Birthday

The official date of my blog birthday is the 14th of October, so this would have been an ideal post for last week as it fell on a Wednesday (my normal blogging day). As I previously mentioned on the Cheerful Chelsea Facebook page, I recently had an operation on my nose (not a nose job thanks) and I decided to extend my blogging vacation. Fear not! I have not abandoned the blog, I just felt like I was beginning to repeat myself. Even though I'm often sharing my personal history and experiences with you, it can take me a while when writing about certain events and topics. This is usually due to me suppressing things over the years so I'm slowly uncovering details and rediscovering memories. Fortunately for others out there, I am in a better place to deal with things now so hopefully my words will provide some relief if you've been through similar experiences.

Anyway, it's been one year since I started the blog! I just wanted to take the time to say thank you to everyone that has supported me this year and has read any of my blog posts. Due to the nature of this blog I understand that most readers might not be in the position where they feel comfortable to comment. I felt the same a few years ago, I was worried about certain people seeing me 'like' and comment on things to do with mental health. Despite not getting many comments, I am still in awe of how many views I receive! So thank you very much for listening (?) to me all year long.

It may not come as a surprise that I have been worrying about how long I will be able to continue writing in this way. Will it only last for as a long as I have depression? Will my readership start to fall as it begins to look like I've covered everything? Of course there is SO much to cover on mental health, and I only cover a small percentage of that as I can only write about what I've experienced. Writing has been so beneficial to my recovery as it has allowed me to fill the void left from not seeing a counsellor anymore. I didn't have the best experience with counsellors, I went through six different counsellors and decided that was enough. I'm not saying that anyone should forgo seeing a counsellor, it is definitely something that should be tried. All illnesses have a variety of treatments to alleviate the symptoms, one size does not fit all when it comes to the treatment of depression, and the same applies to so many other medical conditions. I may return to counselling one day, but for now being able to write allows me to work through my problems and process them in a way I never did in the past.

As for the future of the blog. Who knows. I definitely want to and WILL continue to write here. Perhaps Cheerful Chelsea will become a less ironic blog name over time! In the way that life evolves I'm sure the blog will develop too and it will be a way to document the time-line of my life. There might (probably will) be happier times to come, such as Robbie and I choosing to get married some day in the future. Hopefully posts on those kinds of developments in my life will encourage others to hope and believe that there will be an end to their depression. After-all, storms can't last forever.

Working Vacation

 Something I'd like to do a bit more of (inspire).

I've been writing this blog for almost a year now. I am so thankful for all of the kind words and praise I've received in response to what I have written. I never thought I'd get even 100 views on this blog never mind over 11,000. Some days can be a real struggle for me, I'm sure others struggle too. There can be days where nothing goes to plan which can be really frustrating. Having a rough day can be amplified by having depression or anxiety. I feel so disappointed in myself, and I beat myself up over things in a way that I'd never do to another person. Why is it so hard to take care of yourself but often so easy to care for others? I am my worst critic, even if I am pretty chuffed with the outcome of something I'll be incredibly modest and often bashful if others praise me. Although I may not have the largest following for this blog, I feel incredibly guilty about posting content I'm not entirely happy with or  when I really can't post something. Of course there comes a time when it becomes hard to talk about a subject you discuss every week. I've recently felt like I've been repeating myself in blog posts and almost feel like I've exhausted the topic of mental health and depression in particular. In reality I know that these issues are incredibly complex, and I know that I can pull some words out from somewhere to create a post. I never want this to feel like a hard slog or something I don't look forward to doing each week. Finally discussing my past and sharing my experiences and opinions on mental health has really helped me to process what I feel and has helped me empathise with others experiencing similar problems and feelings.

 I feel as if I owe it to my readers, and myself, to take a step back from the blog for a few weeks. I will return. This certainly will not be a break for me, I will be thinking about new content every day. I just want to get back to the feeling of being content with every blog post I produce. I also would love to feel organised by having a store of shiny new photos to accompany blog posts. I've been feeling like I've neglected this blog, my baby, recently as my mind has been wandering towards my plan to launch another blog. Not a 'new' replacement blog as I know some readers might not want to see two different types of content being thrown together on one space of the Internet. I've always loved reading and following beauty bloggers. You will have seen some of my face art projects on this blog, something which I'd like to be doing more of on this new blog as well as product reviews and beauty tutorials. The idea of just setting up beautiful shots for photographs really excites me too. I will never endorse the idea that things make a person happy, I believe that clutter can overwhelm a person physically and mentally. However, I do condone colourful things in life. I seem to surround myself with pencils, pens, lipsticks and eye shadows in every hue.

My mind has been occupied by the thoughts of launching a beauty blog, but I've started straying away from it because I feel guilty for almost cheating on 'Cheerful Chelsea', before I've even started anything! So my aim is to take a working holiday so I can produce the best content I can, but also so I can look after myself before I crack. If you would like to be kept up to date on my progress, thoughts and to see when I will return please follow me on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. All links can be found in the top right corner of the blog. Thank you so much for your support and readership.

The Reality Of It All

Recently I've fallen down the rabbit hole. It looks like I've been making progress, but inside I feel worse than ever. Other people have such busy lives and yet I feel exhausted at the thought of my minor commitment to writing one blog post a week. Although I know people read the blog I don't get much feedback from people. I can understand why, especially if readers are experiencing similar problems to my own, it can be scary and hard to speak up, even online. I have thousands of page views, yet I feel like no one is out there. I hear no reply when I call out, but I never want to skip a week of posting. I don't care about how many followers I have on various social media platforms, I'm not the type of person or blogger that is driven by gaining hundreds of followers. Of course each page view and follower I do have I am very grateful for. The thing that keeps me going and motivates me is the idea and hope that at least one person benefits from reading these posts, that makes it all worthwhile to me. 

My apologies if these ramblings don't make sense, my waking hours are few in number these days. You'd think I'd be bright eyed and alert, but I'm more tired than ever and it only takes me being up for an hour before I'm crawling back upstairs to bed. 

Of course it can be motivating, inspiring and uplifting to read the words of someone who is recovering from a mental illness. It provides hope and confidence that you too will succeed in defeating the dark monster. I used to find it equally helpful and reassuring to read about other people's worst times too. Sounds terrible to most people, but just knowing that you aren't alone in what you're feeling can also be helpful.

My cheery thoughts this week are on some of the (simple) truths of depression. I'm overwhelmed by everything, yet I have nothing going on in my life. I frequently feel very lonely, but I'm terrified of leaving the house and meeting new people. I want to be up and about getting on with tasks, but I'm confined to my bed. I want to watch a funny film, but even the lighthearted moments make me sad. My mind is racing, but I can't fixate on a single thought. I don't want to waste time, yet I sleep the day away. I feel disgusting, but I don't have the strength to stand in the shower. I have lots of ideas but no self belief. My life isn't bad, but I'm so unhappy.

Sadness

I've been itching to do this face art for SO long! A few weeks ago I went to see the new Pixar film 'Inside Out'. Even before I watched it I knew that I was going to do a face art inspired by the character 'Sadness'. I hadn't seen much in the way of trailers for the film. Usually if I'm waiting to see a film I will scope out every trailer, promo and TV spot to take in as much as I can. This time I decided not to spoil it for myself!

I had no idea how amazing it was going to be. I loved the concept of there being a control centre inside our brains with different emotions huddled around watching our every move and giving us a nudge in the right direction throughout life. Of course it is a children's film, but as always some jokes go over the heads of little ones and hit the adults with a barrel of laughs. I love the explanation of how we lose memories, as if it's as simple as someone pushing over a shelf and letting memories scatter all over the place. Some get lost forever, whilst others roll under some other shelves to gather dust, they become hazy but we can vaguely recall aspects of the memory.

'Sadness' as a character was me summed up perfectly. Quite frequently you can find me splayed out across the bed laying face down with my arms hanging over the edge, just so I can feel even heavier. I'll sigh loudly without realising, and 'no' will become my most frequently used word. Unlike 'Sadness' I am lacking a dark cloud to float around on though, I think I've earned one from all of the tears I've cried. We can't live with one aspect of our personalities dominating our lives. Nor can we be controlled by one emotion, something which the characters learn in the film. Although my life might often be in the shade, there has to be a light somewhere to cast that shadow. It might sound strange, but I'm grateful that I have experienced so much sadness in my life. Living with depression allows you to truly cherish the happy moments in life. Sometimes a sad memory can transform into something good. Initially we might only remember the joy of that moment, but I can often recall times when something sad enabled me to have a good moment. Sadness brings people together, it creates a calling for comfort, for safety and familiarity. If I suddenly descend into a low mood I usually need to sleep it off or have a good cry. Others might encourage me to try to hang on, to hold off on that nap or to stick around and see that the situation can get better. If I were to follow that advice it's more likely that I would lose the entire day to feeling low. Whereas if I embrace the sadness for a while, cry it out or sleep for a few hours I can bounce back later and enjoy what's left of the day. Don't shrug off the sadness, don't run away from it. Embrace it so the good in life feels oh so much sweeter.

One Of The Greats

When I was younger I never quite understood members of the public grieving over celebrities. I suppose if they were an idol, did incredible charity work, or were great role models it would cause some heartbreak. I experienced my share of heartbreak this time last year. It was totally unexpected in every way, a sudden death and a reaction I hadn't anticipated.

This person was an actor, a true comedian and devastatingly, of a similar mental state to my own. When I was younger, in the days of VHS, I used to have a very small collection of films. The ones I had I cherished. I'd watch them all the way through, rewind the tape to the beginning and watch it over and over again. One of those films was 'Flubber'. Perhaps my childhood obsession over the film was responsible for my reaction to the death of Robin Williams last year. He was incredibly talented. Sadly as often is the case with creative minds, he descended into a deep depression. I recall being so angry hearing and seeing comments about how "selfish he was for taking his life". Getting to that point, falling that far downhill is hard to recover from. Thankfully I was pulled out of those crushing depths. Others aren't so fortunate. Suicide isn't the easy option, and sometimes it isn't pre-meditated, it's being caught in a horrendous moment and feeling nothing but despair. I definitely think that loved ones are constantly on the mind of those contemplating suicide. It's tough. Suicide isn't an easy way out and shouldn't be seen as selfish. We don't say that those dying from Cancer are selfish, even if it's the result of years of smoking or drinking. Depression is an illness, and sometimes it is a killer.

I spent a week obsessing over the details of his death. I read through the Twitter feed of tributes to him. The leather sofa became my second skin as I lied down watching all of my favourite films that he was in. It's hard to know that there will never be any new films with him in, although he will be forever immortalised in the ones we all know and love today.

I Wish To Register A Complaint

Monty Python reference, anyone?

This week I am faced with a 'very British problem'. Some of us are lucky enough to escape symptoms of Britishness which include: wanting to avoid a fuss despite being inconvenienced, having someone 'accidentally' join what they thought was the end of the line and inwardly feeling frustrated by this but not expressing said frustrations, and embarking upon a lift sharing scheme which only leaves you wondering why you're still paying just as much for petrol. As most of you will know I have had my fair share of doctors throughout my mental health care. Unfortunately I've had a few that have either left me feeling baffled by their 'advice' or have caused full on breakdowns due to their incompetence or inability to treat me with sensitivity. Since moving to Surrey I have been seeing one doctor, I have referred to them in previous posts. As doctor-patient relationships go, this one has been about as turbulent as my mood swings. They have been incredibly patient with my slow progress and understanding about my need to avoid counselling and CBT for now due to very bad experiences in the past. When speaking of my living situation and approach to treating depression they call it a very "unique approach", one which could easily be disturbed and all come toppling down on me at any moment. Of course what a depressed person needs to hear is their worst fears confirmed (seriously not true), that I could be left without a fiance and his mother whom I've confided in and become friends with, and the progress I've made would cease.

Patients of any kind shouldn't have to fear going to see their GP, the process is worrying enough if you are going to talk about serious conditions and queries. Unfortunately we can't always pick and choose who we get to see. I am fortunate to be registered with a surgery that always have appointments available to see someone quite quickly. However, the last thing I need is to be getting anxious over is seeing someone about my social anxiety and depression! I'm faced with the problem of getting so anxious about seeing this doctor because in the past their behaviour towards me has left me crying for hours and spending days in bed recovering from an appointment with them. It would be very easy for me to write a letter to the surgery to state my reasons for needing to be allocated a different doctor. They have caused a lot of upset and have behaved inappropriately towards me. This includes a recent appointment in which we  spoke of us moving house and the doctor saying I am "a piece of old furniture they are taking along with them, but who knows whether it will suit the new house or be kicked to the curb". Delightful, uplifting chat.

My 'very British problem', is that this doctor happens to be head of the surgery, and so will see any letter I write if I wish to change doctors. Despite all of the inappropriate and upsetting comments, I believe that I have made a certain amount of progress this year and that it is still very hard for me to go over the details of my illness and past experiences with anyone new, whether that be a doctor, counsellor or psychiatrist. Although I know that there are some great doctors out there I'm not sure that I want to find a new one only to realise that once again they aren't the one for me. I think that it would benefit me, and potentially others more if I write a letter directly to this docroe to state what I believe they have done wrong so far, that I feel discomfort whenever I have to go see them and that my anxiety over going to the doctors often escalates to a point whereby I have to cancel appointments and go without treatment for months. If I address the problems directly perhaps they will adjust their approach, perhaps they have been treating all of their mental health patients in this way and my letter could improve care for others too. It would be very easy and oh so very British of me to simply give them one more chance because they may have been having a bad day when they saw me last... and every time they have seen me for the past year. I say that something needs to change. Perhaps next time I have an appointment I will have something to be truly anxious about, facing them after they have received my letter!

Love Letter

A phrase about love is thrown around a lot, that being "we accept the love we think we deserve". In my case I'm frequently rejecting the love I (possibly) deserve. I'm often trying to convince Robbie that he needs to find the receipt and get an exchange due to receiving faulty goods. When I'm in a really bad place I'll consistently do a few things: I'll eventually reach out to Robbie, usually with some kind of cryptic message rather than saying "I'm balling my eyes out, come help". I'll sob uncontrollably and almost choke on the amount of liquid pouring out of my face and saturating my pillow. I'll somehow choke out the words "I can't do this anymore", "it hurts so bad", and "just let me die". None of which are pleasant phrases to hear from the person you love.

There have been many times when I have pushed Robbie away. I say hurtful things because I want to protect him. Twisted logic. I want to protect him from me, from 'it'. When I'm in that state I decide that hurting him is the only way to convince him to leave me. Regrettably on a couple of occasions in the past I have physically pushed him away. Something which ended up causing me more pain. All of this is to no avail. What actually hurts him the most is finding out that I've been suffering and haven't told him. He only ever wants to help, finding out too late is what truly wounds him.

To all those suffering and still have loved ones that remain by your side, do not push them away. Their love should be accepted. As resilient as they may seem, if you (we) continue to push them they may just let you defeat them one day. Learn to accept the love that is present in your life, the love you obviously deserve.

Party Pooper

When I'm taking a tumble over the bell curve of my depression progress it can be hard to distinguish the progress I've made. If I'm asked about the things I've accomplished recently I'll shake my head because I can't think of anything besides forcing myself to breathe through my loud sobs. The higher you climb, the harder the fall feels. Give me a few moments to recover and I might be able to tell you about that wedding I went to as a plus one, I might say that I'm feeling fairly good about decorating my office on my own- but of course I'm not quite satisfied with it yet- or I might talk about that HUGE party I attended the other week.

The party was something that I hadn't given a second thought about ever since we received the invitation. It seemed like an impossible task, so why would I allow myself to stress over it for a month or so? It was going to be full of people that I had never met, scary. There would be some people that knew far too much about me despite having never met me. Also scary. And yet I found myself turning my ear towards the talk of how amazing it would be because they throw 'legendary parties', and to be honest if a photo booth is involved it's likely that I'll be won over. A week before the big event I'd agreed to go. Of course I went back and forth in my mind about actually going. There was a certain dress code implied so I went shopping with the 'future mother-in-law' (Callie). Unfortunately as we wandered around the shops I found myself slipping into an old routine. My mum can probably remember some unbearable shopping trips with me. I just didn't want to be there, the bright lights and loud music were getting to me and in my mind I was convinced that anything I tried on would look horrendous. So why would I even bother taking something into the changing room when a public meltdown was likely. Unfortunately at the time mum was unaware of what was going on with me, I'd hidden it like a pro. I wasn't 'in a mood' and I certainly wasn't hating spending time with her. I was just incredibly uncomfortable, I was paranoid that everyone was looking at me, I was anxious and had NO self confidence. That little scenario came into play once again last week. I'd reach out and touch a dress or a top here and there, Callie would look hopeful as I had shown some interest, only for me to brush it off and say "let's just look for something for you". Once again I was having a crisis of confidence, hating the way I looked and felt in clothes. I'd decided to send a message to Robbie to say that he should just go without me and enjoy himself with our friend that was staying with us.

Typically I ended up face down in bed until an hour before everyone was leaving for the party. I had been crying most of the day, sleeping for the rest and in my waking moments kicking myself for what I was about to miss out on. Apparently I just love forcing myself into these situations where I have to shovel some food down my throat whilst finding something to wear and slapping on some make-up to hide the dark circles, all in a flash of the time I'd usually take to prepare myself for just going outside! Fortunately I had talked myself into the mindset of "it's a celebration of three people's birthdays. The attention is on them, and everyone else is just looking to have a good time". Yes, I had to meet a lot of people. Yes, it was uncomfortable at times. My clumsy self came out to play as I missed my mouth and poured half a cocktail over my lap. But oh well! I was wearing all black, we were outside in near-darkness and most people were so drunk or pre-occupied that they wouldn't have noticed. I really wish that I didn't have to depend upon having a drink or two to make myself comfortable in those situations. It definitely isn't something that should become a habit of anyone who struggles in social situations. It shouldn't be used as an alternative to getting proper help for these kinds of issues. I don't tend to drink an excessive amount as it's not fun for anyone involved, but on the rare occasions when I'm surrounded by people and feeling quite nervous, a drink can help calm my jitters and allows my shoulders to sink back down to where they are supposed to be.

Surprisingly I actually enjoyed myself, the night went by fairly quickly. The worst part of it was a conversation I had with two girls that are family friends of my fiance. I was waiting with someone at the bar and they were introduced to me. They knew that Robbie and I met at university, they knew we went to Durham. Obviously, as it turned out, they didn't know about me dropping out. I was asked how my final year went and whether I'd received my final mark before or after graduating. A party didn't seem like an appropriate place to say "I didn't finish uni, I fell into a deep depression and almost had myself committed", instead I replied with a cleverly phrased, yet honest answer which was that I left university with a 2:1. I left my second year having achieved that grade from the work I did on my own, the work that I had to attend meetings about to ensure that I could produce some work in an alternative way to everyone else on the course. I taught myself, albeit poorly, to produce social statistics and use some software which I would happily never look at or utter the name of ever again. I didn't graduate with a 2:1, I didn't receive a diploma. However, Durham awarded me with a certificate for the everything I did manage to achieve, something which will eventually take pride of place in my office to remind me of how much I gained whilst I was there and how much it almost cost me. It very nearly cost me my own life, it took away some of my sanity and it took a substantial amount of money. Despite all of that I gained a best friend who will remain my partner in crime even if we don't get to see each other much. I gained some incredible memories, some lovely and loyal friends and of course best of all, I found the person I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.

The Author Of My Life

I usually remain quiet about social movements that pop up in the media as I don't want to push my views down people's throats. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and we are fortunate enough to live in a society where we can air out our opinions without the risk of capital punishments. I am so glad that I'm part of a generation that IS the change we've wanted to see for some time. Our actions and our voices can be used for the greater good. I was incredibly happy, albeit quietly so, about the US passing the bill for gay marriage across all of the American states. In my eyes, love is love, and no-one should get in the way of that. As you will know I also believe that illness is illness, in whatever form it comes in it deserves compassion, sensitivity and sympathy.

Over the past few weeks I've noticed the emergence of the 'semi-colon movment'. A social movement surrounding grammar? Not so much. The semicolon ';' is used in a sentence when the writer could have ended something but instead chose to continue; a time to pause but not the end. This is a definition that is poignant to myself and so many others. The semicolon movement is based around this definition and the idea that people mark themselves with the symbol. This permanent or semi-permanent marking shows others that they have either experienced depression, know someone who has/had depression or even as a dedication to those who were killed by this illness. I've seen a variety of coverage on the movement from news articles to comments posted on social media. Some people believe that it's nonsensical, that these tattoos will become this generation's equivalent to the tramp stamp. I can understand how some people would think it's a bit much to permanently mark yourself with a grammatical tool. However, when they've been informed of the strong meaning behind it I wish they'd keep quiet. Others had mistakenly believed that it was simply a hype or fashion trend, only to realise it's true meaning and hop aboard the support wagon. I'd like to believe that even if I hadn't got a tattoo, I wouldn't be so quick to judge someone by their physical appearance, even by the type of body art they choose for themselves. We don't always know what others have been through, or what they may currently be experiencing. We all need to give and receive more kindness in this world.

I don't believe that this movement is just a phase. I certainly hope that those taking part have really understood it's intention and that they haven't gone out and got a tattoo on a whim. PLEASE do not go out and recklessly get a tattoo, think about it seriously, mull it over for a long period of time, if it's something you really want it won't hurt to wait a few more weeks to be 100% sure. Do your research about the tattoo artists around you, or even look at those further afield to make sure you have a good experience with the right artist for you. Ensure that all the equipment is new for each customer and that the environment is sterile. I could do an entire post on my experiences of being tattooed, there is A LOT to cover, so please let me know if you'd like to see a post on that subject.

Some people have been slamming the movement because they saw it pop up a few years back. Why criticise it for re-emerging? I for one am glad it's come up again, it's a sign of progress. It's a sign of understanding the effects and devastation that mental illness can cause. I'm delighted to see Instagram, Pinterest and Facebook being bombarded with photos of people with the semicolon tattoo, either as a standalone symbol or it being incorporated into a more personal design. It's not a fad, it's not about hopping aboard a popular craze. If someone in a bad way notices someone with this tattoo it could help them, albeit in a small way. Just seeing that on the streets, next to you in the uni library, passing you your cup of coffee, it can assure you that you are not alone. Others have been and will be affected by this illness at some point in their lives, either you directly or a loved one could experience depression in your lifetime. It doesn't have to spark a conversation, it would be fantastic if it did, but just seeing it could provide some much needed comfort during a low point. I'm certainly not instructing anyone to go out and get inked. Perhaps donate to a local or national mental health charity, show your support by inking yourself with a Sharpie pen and sharing it on social media and wear it out to see if anyone notices. After much consideration I've decided to get my own permanent sign of support (sorry mum and dad!). For me it's also a reminder that my story could have ended, it very nearly did; I'm still here and I'm not finished yet.

Bad Blood

The world of celebrity can often make us think that we ought to have our own 'squad' of friends. For instance look at Taylor Swift and her gang of leggy lady friends, they all joined forces in her 'Bad Blood' music video. The phrase 'friends in the right places' springs to mind, she capitalised on the idea of featuring famous women from a variety of industries; fashion, music, acting and even sporting as Serena Williams joined her on stage. She combined forces with these women whom she is often papped with to create a music video. This video attracted the attention of her fans, and also would have been of interest to the fans of the other women featured, even if they had no interest in Taylor Swift! As a slightly introverted person, it can be hard to see others living their lives with masses of friends and showcasing their activities on social media. I'm not a particularly jealous person, I know that there may be factors going on that aren't presented in their social media posts. Perhaps life can be fantastic with a big crowd of friends, sharing a holiday home for the summer and racing across the beach. I used to be part of a fairly big group of friends in secondary school. The group changed over the years, people joined the group and others drifted into different groups as they became more popular or developed different interests to the rest of us. I was happy for a time, until I realised how catty some girls can be. I hated witnessing how some girls made it their mission to actively exclude certain members of the group. I hate that I didn't speak up about it sooner. Most of you know what happened when I did speak up. Their catty nature and their gaze turned towards me and made me the target, but it became so much more than what I had witnessed before. It was pure, psychological bullying and harassment.

I was incredibly fortunate to have other friends at school, ones who I actually felt like myself with. I no longer had to act a certain way, ensure that I laughed at a particular person's jokes or agree with their vicious put downs of other people. I finally felt safe and secure. I'm still lucky to be in contact with most of those friends that were such a big support to me during that time. At the time they didn't know how bad it had been for me or how bad things were about to become. I hope that they're aware of how much they mean to me. We may have periods when we don't see each other much or when we've forgotten about that Skype call we intended to have. Life intervenes sometimes. University, jobs, relationships and geographical distance can make it hard to stay in contact. The truest friends will always understand that this is a part of growing up and that we'll all be there for each other whenever a crisis comes calling.

Despite all of that, I often find myself thinking about how few friends I have. I may know a lot of people, I might have a 'decent' number of friends on Facebook. However, I'm not in contact with almost 90% of those people and I can't say that we truly know each other. I can convince myself that I have a handful of really great friends that really understand me, which is fantastic. Unfortunately the demon inside my head will get the better of me and will have me in tears because I feel SO lonely. I can distract my mind to an extent with 'busy-work', but every now and then I will be sobbing hysterically, feeling like I have no-one to stick around for and no-one to hold me up. Have I mentioned how cruel depression is?! I don't understand why I appeal to people, what qualities I have that make someone want me as a friend. I've been told that some of my fiance's school friends read the blog and that they'd want to meet me. For which I want to say that I'm flattered, but I'm scared that perhaps they perceive me in a certain way through what I write. What if I'm a let down in person? Perhaps one day I'll be back here reporting on how a meet up went.

Stopping To Smell The Roses

It can be hard to realise that you've made progress during recovery from a mental illness. I'm definitely the last to acknowledge and admit that I've gained some ground after all of my baby steps. When you are so consumed by depression and anxiety it can be hard to see outside it. Last year was the real start to my recovery, and even the start of acknowledging that I was really unwell. I've lived the majority of my life feeling nervous and shy, I never had much confidence in my abilities at school or when socialising with people. I'd be the last person to join in and would be terrified that the party music would stop on me holding the package in pass the parcel. There seems to come a time when being shy isn't 'cute' or acceptable anymore. Eventually the word 'anxious' gets pinned onto people. In my case this is 100% accurate. During a conversation with anyone, even family members, I need something to fiddle with, usually jewellery. All of my anxiety is projected onto an object, I'll play with my necklace and bring it up to my face to cover my mouth during conversations. I'm not sure if people understand when I say this, but whenever I'm out with my puppy and he's acting a bit loopy, taking all the new scents in with his nose, twirling around on the lead and bouncing around I say "he's exposing my anxiety'. What I mean is that he is showing how I feel externally for everyone to see, it makes me panic even more because I feel so exposed AND I have to attempt to calm him down.

A sign of the progress I've made is that I've realised that I can be comfortable around people after spending time with them in small groups. Even those I used to genuinely believe hated me. I projected negative feelings onto myself, assuming that everyone hated my awkwardness as much as I did. I'm not completely comfortable yet, I still need something to keep my hands busy with. The progress also seems to come crashing down when someone else comes into the group. It suddenly feels like a massive imbalance to me, I don't know how to act around them and I dread the questions they might ask me if they don't know anything about my situation. The worst question for me is "so, what do you do?" cue a hammering heart in my chest, a sweaty brow and upper lip, and crossing and un-crossing my legs frantically. I'm doing pretty well right now, the house is full to the brim with people. I'm OK if I know that I have a space carved out for me when I need to retreat. We're currently in the process of moving house right now (a first for me!) it's pretty chaotic and there are strangers about as they're helping us pack everything up. So far I haven't dived headfirst into my bed because it's become too much for me, yet.

The biggest difference I've noticed this year is that I actually notice things! Last summer I didn't take in my surroundings at all. I remember having a conversation about this with my psychiatrist (when I saw one), he asked me what colour the flowers were at the front of the building. I stared blankly at him and just said "there were flowers outside?", the front of the building was covered in them. Oops. I just had no enthusiasm for life. I wasn't living, I was just existing. Nowadays I'm the first to notice the new blossoms coming out, I see that the tadpoles have become teeny tiny frogs crawling through the grass. I was even happy to go to Hampton Court flower show last week, it was heaving with people and we were fighting against a crowd the entire time. The HUGE tent was boiling hot so I had double the amount of sheen across my face what with the heat and the anxious sweats. Surprisingly I enjoyed myself. I used my camera as a barrier, I almost saw everything through the lens but I did remember to look up and enjoy what was going on around me. I didn't think twice about squatting down and getting right up close to the flowers and cacti (eeee!) to get the shot I wanted. I also discovered that apparently I've come of an age where I squeal over cactus plants and a beautiful piece of wood, just regular wood in an interesting naturally formed shape!

It takes time to see the changes and the progress. This can be disheartening, but I prefer to see it as the opportunity to see everything again with fresh eyes.

Presentation Of Self

I had intended to create a half natural/naked face and a half 'made up' creation for you. However, fate and bad omens intervened and packed me off to A&E in the early hours of this morning with a very painful eye infection. But hopefully you'll soon understand why this is applicable to this week's post. 

Social media and the Internet have allowed us to both restrict how much online friends see of our lives and has allowed us to over-share aspects of our lives with the masses. I've been following various bloggers for years now, their picture perfect posts can often make a full time career of blogging seem idyllic. However, that's not always the reality. In a world of Instagram, Youtube and Facebook we are constantly updating people with what's occurring in our lives, or are we? Our friends and followers don't know how long it took to take that 'perfect' selfie or how many times it took to get the perfect group shot without someone looking bored as hell in it. These posts are snapshots in time depicting what seems to be the time of our lives. Perhaps it was, but the reality is we have no idea what's going on with a person behind all of the layers of social media.

We've become a generation that's obsessed with taking a peak into other people's lives. What we eat, wear, apply to our faces and what we do at the weekends has become important content for our online profiles. We shouldn't be worried about what those Facebook 'friends' (the ones we haven't spoken to in years) think should they decide we're worthy of a good profile stalking session. The truth is that we modify how we present ourselves online. We edit out any existence of awful photos, we ensure we don't publicly share something embarrassing and we probably make it look like we're healthier than we actually are! This is not healthy for the young, impressionable followers and even friends that see our online activity. There ought to be a balance of content posted to prove that we all have that awkward teenager stage in life, that there were times when we were victims of fashion, roll on glitter and blue eyeshadow, and there should be evidence of a healthy lifestyle which includes salads, exercise AND a nice big portion of chips every now and then!

I'm guilty of censoring my online activity and attempting to present the best version of myself online. I'm quite proud of the content I produce for this blog. I spend a great deal of time thinking of the perfect photo to go with a post. What you don't see is that I'm probably wearing pyjama bottoms, the lighting used makes it seem like the photos were taken in the morning when I definitely didn't emerge from bed until 3pm, and you certainly don't see the mini meltdown I have over realising that I have a post scheduled for 8pm and I'm running around the house like a mad woman trying to take photos, edit and upload them. I restrict how much information I share on this blog as well. It might not seem like it as I've discussed some very personal and distressing things that have occurred in my life, but I skim over the truly intimate details that could harm others and most likely send me back over the edge from reliving them. My point is that you shouldn't talk yourself down if you've seen someone looking 'perfect' online. They may seem to have it all sussed, but you never know what's really going on with someone. Be kind to yourself and to others as you never know who's walking around battling the demon inside.

On a more lighthearted note, do you realise that you've never seen my torso or legs featured on this blog?! OK maybe once if you want to go digging for it. The truth is that I'm extremely uncomfortable having full body photos taken of me, I always think the worst of myself when I see them. Plus I'm probably wearing pyjamas, jogging bottoms or literally anything with an elasticated waistband because I'm having an IBS flare up. I face this problem fairly regularly, the scenario of me sitting on the floor surrounded by various sizes of jeans, last week's favourite pair have become my most loathed pair due to a bloated belly. My inner demon will say "you've got fat, it's all gone to your arse and even those 'boyfriend jeans' look like skinny jeans now". This usually sends me straight back to bed to sob for a few hours. No. Not today. Kindly sod off inner demon, they will fit again one day. Now go forth and be that sassy emoticon!