Right. Here she goes again. Talking about things she knows very little about in round about ways and probably ending with a question.
It’s what she does. Although she doesn’t usually talk about herself in the third person. So that’s something different at least.
Here are my muddled musings for the day.
I’ve been thinking a bit lately about the whole “chin up and get on with it” notion as opposed to the “I’m sad and need help” idea.
Surely they’re both a little bit right.
One of my most bestest friends said to me when I had just been diagnosed (and hospitalised) with depression last year that “at least you’ve showered”. As if having a shower was a huge achievement. And for some people I guess it is. The getting out of bed and being in control enough to shower could be the hardest part of the day.
But not for me. I’ve said it before but I’ve never been cleaner. Very hot baths at night, long showers in the morning and maybe another shower in the afternoon.
So for me it’s not the shower part. My depression didn’t leave me helpless, just a bit hopeless. Or without hope.
I could shower, cook a healthy breakfast, get dressed and go to work. I could sing, dance, play, laugh and care for 25 children and be a friend to my colleagues as well.
I could organise the lives of my children, my husband and make some time to ensure that my mum knew that I loved her too.
But then I’d have nothing left. Maybe my depression was like a mining exploration. It kept drilling down trying to find a little bit more happy to put on my face and a little bit more time for others but then it ran out.
Maybe the louder and sillier you pretend to be the harder you fall? Or maybe shy and quiet people hide it better because they can slip their sadness under the radar?
Either way I hope that you are finding some joy and little moments of contentment and that you don’t let your responsibilities always over shadow you.
Has it always been this way or do we just think we’re entitled to a little bit of sunshine in our day too?
In the past men went to work and women stayed home. If things were hard you didn’t talk about it. You didn’t acknowledge it.
But now we do. Now we acknowledge everything and everything has a label and a cure.
There’s a fine line in there somewhere between talking about it too much *ahem talking to myself here* and pretending nothing’s wrong.
My fine line is my friends.
Friends that ask how I’m going and listen. Friends that share their lives with me because when things happen they want to tell me. Friends that don’t judge. Friends that talk about me behind my back in a good way.
Friends that love me.
How lucky am I?