Community search for neighbour

You hear about it, see things on the TV, but this morning I saw it face to face – a community facing a crisis together.

One of the villages I serve has been turned upside down by the disappearance of one of the villagers.  Not having been listening to local news, and the chapel folk guarding me on sick leave so not telling me – today was the first I knew of it.

I had arrived at the village hall to hand over the library file to the volunteers at coffee morning – and found the place heaving with walkers dressed for muddy fields complete with walking staffs, a couple of police vehicles and a sign announcing search times. The woman concerned has been missing since last Thursday and good numbers of villagers, and folk from further afield have been making up daily search parties all co-ordinated with the police from the village hall – with non-walkers manning the sandwiches and teapots.

This is a community drawn together to do whatever needs doing for one of their own, people with troubles of their own, people who don’t get as involved in village life, those who know her, those who don’t – all coming to do what they can.  Emotions are raw and complicated, people are not sleeping, normal life has to be fitted around this upside down and unsettling event.

In the light of all that I feel apologetic about discussing my own feelings, but then the focus of this blog is my wobbly life...

I felt awful walking in not knowing and, whilst it was known that I have been off sick, I felt as if I had neglected them, by not being there. I felt guilty that I hadn’t known although it had been on the local TV news.  My first instinct was ‘I’m not dressed for this but have wellies in my car boot’ but I caught up more by staying at base and talking to people there.

The vicar has been on hand, the retired minister has been there, the professional searchers and a community who have plenty of resources to care for themselves – yet I still feel I should have been there. What could I have done? Probably nothing to add to what happened without me.

It may be the very human response to the situation – the desire to ‘do something’ – but equally there are elements of my expectations on myself because of my role, and a sense that I have in some way failed in that role. Which is of course totally untrue, and sitting to write it out in black and white helps me to see that, and put the emotions back into context.

The hunt goes on – please pray for all involved

After the retreat...

I have shared a couple of things that hit me during the retreat but what about the experience of being there?

It is intended as a step apart from the day to day, a change, a rest, a place of refreshment, but at the same time it was a coming together of people with something in common – in this case people who are fairly new to being ministers and those who help us settle into the role. 

Last year most people were new to me, this year there was a good clump of people from my old college who I knew or knew of, so there was a lot of catching up and comparing experiences – in other words a lot of talking about the day to day that had been left behind!

For me, having been off work and talking more online than face to face, it was quite intense to be suddenly with a whole group of people, and with set times for meals and gatherings.  I got social overload at first, despite enjoying meeting with friends.  Retreats come in various forms – some offer minimum of input and lots of chewing over time, others have a lot of structure to the sessions. This was one of the minimum types which suited where I am right now, but normally I struggle with long undefined times. For me a long silent retreat would be punishment not something to recharge batteries.

Strangely for a few days designed to give us a rest I found it a step towards work mode.  And I coped. I did flashback to some tough emotions of the past when talking to someone having a tough time, and that floored me for a day, surprised at the intensity of old pains.  But I was not consumed by the fire, I walked through waters and did not drown.

The retreat worked in that it gave me things to think about, and people around to encourage and support me, even when facing struggles. After sleeping off the late nights, I can reflect that I am confident in my ministry – despite my wobbliness; confident in my strength as a person – despite old ‘war wounds’; and looking forward to the future.

Retreat: Giving thanks...

I am thankful for having lovely churches to work full of caring supportive people.

I am thankful for the support of colleagues, but who also give me room to grow and develop as a minister.

I am thankful to serve in interesting communities that really suit who I am.

What has brought on this counting of blessings? This retreat is for those who are fairly new to being ministers and the experienced ones whose job it is to see us through this stage.  This involves us sharing stories over lunch and in the lounge, some who were at college together catching up, but also getting to know new people. Some have more challenging churches or work in difficult contexts, others I know here and elsewhere are facing serious personal or family issues. And so I stop and give thanks for all the wonderful things I have in my life, and wonder how I would even begin to have the strength to face some of the things others live with.

I love being in the place I am, I love working with the people there, no rose tints – we all have our moments – but I can’t imagine being anywhere else at the moment. The job I do gives the flexibility that allows me to work to my strengths and work around my weaknesses, the small town communities where day to day needs are on the doorstep, the space for me to be.

Such reflections could lead to my traditional guilt about ‘making a fuss’ about my struggles when others have it so much worse - right from being bullied in school when it was ‘only words’ not as bad as being beaten up, and then depression when so much is good in my life.  But I have joined a gym, and the other day I noticed something important.

In the gym the machines are in rows, a couple of treadmills in the front facing the walls with the TVs, behind them are the cross trainers – scary looking things, and behind that are the bikes. When on the treadmill you are in your own world, not really aware of others in the gym behind you. On the bikes you can see them, see the ones who are running fast, and making your brisk walk that felt like an achievement seem minor.  It is so easy to be distracted by others or feel what you are doing is insignificant in comparison – but thinking that and watching them can get you out of rhythm on your own exercise, and my achievements are no less then when I couldn't see the others.

I have had to learn over the years that my wobbles and struggles are equally valid as those others face. They may be different in size but it is not a competition, as in the gym it is about me facing my challenges, as others face theirs. Yes on a wider scale others face greater struggles, but that doesn’t make mine unimportant in my little corner of the world, and it is ok for me to acknowledge my needs and celebrate the improvements. A lesson still in the learning, and some times I remember it more easily than others.

But in the midst of my own battles I can still give thanks for that which is good.

Retreat: 'You hem me in'

It turns out this retreat place has wifi, so here I am, retreating for a while from the people I am on retreat with – suffering social overload. It was great to have a lift and not to have to drive, with concentration or navigation to worry about but the flip side of that is 3 hours of conversation – which is a big jump from just the occasional interaction once or perhaps twice a day which has become the norm for me at the moment. 

Tonight  we were asked to listen to a section of Psalm 139, the one full of images of God knowing us, holding us, creating us.  We heard the opening verses and in silence encouraged to reflect on a word or phrase that jumped out at us.

For me it was the phrase ‘you hem me in behind and before’ – I have always seen this as part of a sense of security, along with later lines about God’s hand holding us safe. But taken alone the phrase sounds negative, containing, restraining, smothering perhaps.  But then I wandered off on the word hem – tidy edges to clothing, and began to think in terms of boundaries. Boundaries are essentially neutral as a concept – but can be seen positively or negatively, definitively negative if you are a teenager pushing at them.

On the positive side boundaries create safe spaces, and define edges – in ministry we live with a lot of fuzzy boundaries, and they do get frayed at times, so maybe we need a neat bit of hemming in our lives?

Linking that with my desire to be seen to be capable (= trying to be more than) maybe God is hinting at my need to accept his hemming me in. Not to stifle me but to protect me – from myself!

Looking forward by looking back - considering wobbly triggers

It has been a good weekend, no stress, no wobbles, lots of flop time but also enough concentration to read a book – nothing worthy, but a good sign. And today the new larger trainers came – and the fancy running socks that I ordered in the sale as well. All is well and a trip to the gym added no new blisters, so the expansion space theory works.

As well as the gym the doctor recommended MoodGym – an online version of CBT.  It would be quite useful as new material but I am that annoying person – an informed patient.  So none of it is new to me however it did remind me of questions worth revisiting.

Before my counselling my major issues were around not being accepted and not being loveable.  These were lived out in different directions, when it came to my personal identity I more or less gave up, I wasn’t loveable, likable, and a misfit socially. I dressed as if I didn’t care because why bother etc.  On the other hand we all need to feel we belong somehow and because I didn’t as a person, then I had to find acceptance through achievement – at first this came through praise from teachers at school because book work suited me and I could succeed. However the flip side of this was a fear that if achievement slipped then I would no longer belong.

We covered a lot of ground that year of my full crash – I learned to love myself and believe I am loveable, able to finally hear what some people had been saying all along; I invested in getting my ‘colours done’ (because I was worth it) and said hello to a confident me.  That rise in self esteem reduced the need to gain the acceptance through achievement, but you cannot easily undo decades of thinking.

Whilst therapy was looking at feeling accepted regardless of achievement at the same time I was in college being continually assessed to see if I would be up to being a minister or not, and I lived in fear that they would decide I couldn’t and reject me after years of working towards this single thing.  And even as I began to work with my churches a report came with me that queried whether full time was appropriate for me with my health situation (not just the depression).

So I came into ministry with things that still needed to be proved, and the very real questions echoed and perhaps reinforced my childhood fears. So here I am, on my first sick note since college and the guilt and fear rose up to bite me – hard. And as I look over the last year or so I see a new minister doing lots of exciting things but also feeling the need to have lots of Good Things to go down on the record – in other words not just to be/become a good minister but to prove it somehow, even though no longer on the radar of those to whom I might want to prove the point.

On one level all new ministers come excited and with lots of energy to do what they have waited for all that time and in my case my personality is ideas and possibilities – so I probably would still have done all I have done over the past couple of years.  Yet I have to stop and consider my inner voices, and whether now I am away from a time of ‘proving’ I need to tackle them, because sooner or later I am going to have to face failure full on – and my wiring right now will not be up to it.

Just as well a retreat coming up – not that I am short of reflection time on sick leave, but there is something about a retreat venue (and the fact I can’t fill the time with TV) that offers the climate of expectation.

Learning from blisters

First exercising injuries – blisters from new trainers! And a lesson learned for life and ministry – the need to build in expansion space.

On my first solo visit to the gym after induction my ancient trainers showed they were not up for the job so on arriving home I contemplated my options for buying new but cheaply. Being in a rural area with petrol costs and big trip out to shop around I decided to go for the online option where I was able to order a pair in my size for just over a tenner. They very promptly arrived next day and appeared to fit fine, cosy but comfortable, and I wore them all afternoon to break them in without problems.

So today I happily headed for the gym in them. Felt a bit uncomfortable during the session, more so towards the end, and came home to find big blisters.  Having the time and being a curious sort I searched the web for tips and ended up finding out that you should consider running shoes etc that are perhaps half a size bigger than your normal because feet swell with exercise.

So the trainers that fitted at home were too small during the effort of the workout, and, bingo – blisters!  So accepting that it was not just a matter of breaking them in, it was back online to order my size and a half, plus some running socks that are supposed to help avoid blisters.

The current ones will be okay for walking my non-existent dog and such like, but even so I am glad to have learned the lesson on a ten pound sale pair. It is not too expensive a lesson to learn – especially when applied to the rest of life.

Remember the expansion space!

We can think that our life is a cosy fit, but even under the normal stresses of the treadmill we find the friction rubbing until it hurts. And that is before any of the unexpected extras.  To cope we need the extra bit of space, the bit that allows us to handle the stresses without being overwhelmed.

Consider this - If our lives are full then they are actually too full.

And maybe I should think of this sick leave as my blister recovery time, and consider ways to reduce the friction.     

Learning to take the scenic route...

School went fine this morning, it was the basic class, it wasn’t appropriate yet for anything pastoral though that may come later.  It was odd to put on the collar for the first time since Christmas day, particularly since officially on the sick, though I did come clean to my supervisor beforehand. I was late because my usual route is blocked for works (and will be for months!) and I got lost in the backroads as well as behind the slowest driver in the county.  The positive thing is that I didn’t get over flustered,  or over whelmed as I did at something less last week (which was what made me realise I was not ready for work).

I called in to see friends after that whilst in the area for a brief chat before the return journey – started better but still somehow found a more scenic route. I will have to study the maps before I am back to work full time as to get to half my churches I will need the diversion.

It was an exercise rest day, but the morning’s trip gave me enough activity for the day, and I slept the afternoon. It shows that I still am not up to full time but then I am only a week into my 3 weeks of leave, and on the meds handover as well.

I have prescribed myself some reading for whenever I feel awkward or guilty about this time off. It is a book I brought before Christmas when getting some other seasonal ones. It claims to be a children’s book but I think it should be compulsory reading for many adults. Jesus' day off by Nicholas Allen

Basically Jesus is losing his touch, he needs a break, and he takes one at doctor’s orders but then gets guilty about what he could have been doing instead. Then when he goes to talk to his Dad, he is pointed to lots of good things happening because of his day off.

A week since...

... I realised that I needed to seriously consider time off, that I was not ready to go back to work after my holiday leave.

In that week I have -
1) crossed wires with my boss who was disappointed that I hadn't told him that I was struggling before Christmas. His role is one of care for colleagues - it is different to say your manager in the office, although even there they are supposed to be able to respond to personal issues, but probably only when it gets to affect your actual work. I had shared with colleagues nearer to me after all.
2) had a really useful doctor's review, changed meds and received orders to go to the gym
3) officially signed off work for 3 weeks
4) signed up for the gym, and been back since!
5) slept lots but not always at night
6) begun to face up to being not the superwoman who can still do stuff despite depressive waves, but being fragile in my wobbles. Only begun though, lots more to do there.

So quite a full week considering.

And today? Well a call last night from the tenant of my flat (well the bank's flat) that the electric shower has died, so I thought I would face a day of chasing things up, but in the end one phonecall to the local electrical firm and now I sit and wait for them to visit and send me a quote. So the morning was in bed with iplayer type telly rather than dashing arond which was good. My legs were also feeling tired from the gym yesterday, and it was according to The Plan a salsa DVD day which I finally got to before tea. Useless, I can't co-ordinate to follow it!  I didn't have to think with the treadmill yesterday, just keep going.

I am also planning to break my leave tomorrow - an opportunity to speak to a high school RE class, this is a new thing and true to my need to be in control I couldn't find it in me to cancel this bit of my diary. I had the plan for what I was doing so no big prep stress, although I have just had an email from the teacher to say the school are dealing with a tragedy, so I may well offer to stay around if that is any use to them. (A bit of a Rev moment when a routine school assembly becames more profound - though unfortunately not watchable at the moment)

In part I would say that it may turn out to be very timely that I - as someone not a staff member - can be around if people need to talk.  Or is that another symptom alongside not being willing to cancel the class visit, that shows my need to be a fixer and a doer, and letting my projects and opportunities become my special babies I am not good at letting go of.

But those are deep thoughts for another day, for today the fact is that it is 10pm and no sign of the queasiness, enough tiredness to sleep when I go to bed, and I didn't have the new shower stress I feared, so a good day.

On the treadmill...

Ok so today started slowly, grumpily, and still a tad peaky. I went as planned to a lunch with colleague-friends, there was work related chat – in the sharing stories and moans – but essentially social. I was still on the fringe of queasy but ok for a baked potato. There were four of us and the most social I had been since my post Christmas visit to family. It was good in some ways but I was also ‘there but not there’ for a lot of it.  Next week I have 3 days at a retreat which I am still going to but will need to be sociable around large meal tables.

I really didn’t want to go for my first solo gym session as per The Plan, and had to wait until after lunch settled anyway. What motivated me to finally get there was a weight loss aim, it got me there and through the treadmill programme – and 600 calories! 

The doctor wants me to exercise for the nice brain chemicals that get released, well I can’t say I am noticing that as such, but there is the psychological boost of having achieved something. I also think that I ought to sleep better from it.

So all in all a day that was a bit of a mix but had some positive – a great step up from last night, however since tea my stomach has been niggly again, and a heavy headache. So whilst the junk yesterday was not good – maybe it was not solely to blame and some side effects are kicking in now, it is only about day 5 of these pills.

Anyway my head would prefer a darkened room so I will post this and lights out...

Who needs roundabouts?

'How has your day been?'
'Well swings and roundabouts...'

Why do we need roundabouts? - the swing alone conveys the variation of high and low!

And I have no intention of adding the roundabout to my swing day. Started ok, if typically slowly, I had actually slept soundly.  Nervously but with a sense of righteousness I went to by gym induction.  The instructor was good, gentle and encouraging, even when pushing me, she has given me a programme for the next few weeks and we will review it.

I left reasonably proud and feeling okay about going back.  Time for a shower and a flop on the sofa, but as evening came so did the munchies - and between them and a couple of glasses of wine (yes I know that the meds say no booze but I got away with it on the last lot no problem and the bottle was already open) well lets say my belly is not happy.

So there comes the swing low sweet chariot - poorly tummy, bad head, feeling stupid as self-inflicted, and generally useless.

This too will pass - the swing goes up as well as down, but doesn't move much in the middle of night when you can't sleep for nausea. 

Maybe there is a place for the roundabout afterall - when progress turns out to be going round in circles

Less sick leave, more like convalescent leave

It feels very stange to be on sick leave now when in many ways I am better than I was in  the weeks leading up to Christmas when I was managing to work.  It is part of the feeling awkward about not working when there are things I would be up to doing.
(Covenant prayer line 'let me be employed for you or laid aside for you' comes to mind)

Afterall I am here blogging, I go out to the bank, I even went to sign up at the local gym – on doctor’s orders, not my own volition.  On sick leave and off to the gym everyday – people get spied on by benefits checks for such things.

But then Depression isn’t a physical thing as such –although it does have physical effects, and according to those who have been in touch  with me this physical exercise wil be a Good Thing.

But back to feelings about being on sick  now rather than at the start of my crash. As well as the reassaurance of others that I am doing the right thing, and knowing it in my sensible bit of brain, I find this image helpful -

Imagine you are cycling along (I have to imagine as I can’t stay up on 2 wheels) and you reach a downhill slope, on the way down you have momentum,  you are still on the bike, and steering like mad, although aware that gravity is in more control than you are. As it plateaus out at the bottom, you heave a sigh of relief that you made it in one piece. There is no hurry there although it’s a grim place to loiter. You think that the worst is over when out of the fog you see the  path ahead is an uphill climb, the quick route is far too steep, but the steadier climb might take a bit longer, and still need you to get off the bike and push for a while.

So just because momentum and gravity enabled me to stay on the ministry bike on the way down doesn’t take away the need to get off it in order to climb gently up.

See I understand the logic and need, just that when I read of others facing bigger challenges I feel guilty of making a fuss over something much less. 

Anyway I have a couple of weeks with permission to do nothing but climb up a bit, rest a bit and climb some more, rest some more, whilst others collect the bike and dust it off ready for me to get back on again.  And with the new meds and push to exercise maybe I may be better off at the end than before the downhill ride.

On the sick...

Ok, so I went to the doctors’ on Friday, and being a drop in appointment I got whoever was available, which a doctor I had not seen before (and relatively new to the team).  When I arrived in the area and signed up with the practice I had already been on Citalopram for a year, and other than when they upped my dose in the early months of the job there has been no review of my condition. I went myself at various times to review and it was just a case of ‘I’m managing ok but still have wobbly days’, ‘ok so carry on’.

So it was a shock to find – having dragged myself there and waited – that I was being asked for details about my condition, about possible triggers for the downturn etc. Initially I felt defensive and wished he would just give me the sick note and let me go home.  But the truth is that for the first time in years I feel I have a doctor who is interested in my condition.  He has changed my meds to Fluoxetine (Prozac) after saying that my higher dose citalopram should be giving me a better base line than I was describing, so if it wasn’t then it can’t be working as hoped.

He signed me off for 3 weeks, and ordered me to exercise everyday – enough to get heart pumping. Hmm less sure on that one, but as I have to go back in 3 weeks and am not good at missing homework excuses (always was a compliant swot) I will probably try.

Rest of Friday was taken up with looking at the diary and confirming what needs cover and who needs to be told I won’t be at events/meetings. A visit from a colleague to see how I am, and to pass on work info then flop to bed where I stayed all through Saturday.

So its Sunday, and pushed myself to get up and walk over to the leisure centre to find out about costs etc. I went during service time so I wouldn’t bump into any church folk – turns out that for all I have said about being happy to be open about having depression, that only applies when I can be seen to be successfully managing it. Being on sick leave feels like a failure of sorts – yet rationally I know that acknowledging my need for it is a positive thing.  Emotions are such complicated things.

Analyse that.....

With Christmas still drifting in our ears, Iam reminded that 'Mary pondered these things in her heart'. Well I do more than ponder them, I analyse things, read into them, read out of them, all looking for the terrible worst case options.

With the therapy that came with my breakdown a number of years ago we discussed this level of paranoia, and the need to analyse for fear of something awful.  I thought I had it largely under control, but when I am low - up it pops with full force.

Today for example - it is the end of my official holiday leave, and I have had to face up to the fact that I am not ready to go back to work. If it were not for the holiday I would have faced this a couple of weeks ago. So I contacted some of the relevant people by email and since then it has all gone haywire.

Ok so the end result is that I will drag myself from my bed to go to the doctors for a note tomorrow and everyone is fine about me taking a couple of weeks off despite the hassle for others covering my sunday appointments at short notice.

But the way there was via some misunderstandings, and my huge emotional reaction to what I thought was being said. And it is scary to find how active some of those old buttons I thought we had disarmed can be. They have been triggered with such force that I couldn't see anything but those fears in what I read. I read not concern for me but a worry that I am not coping with the job as a whole. In college when the breakdown hit there was reason to think that 'they' would never let me be a minister, and suddenly I find that after a couple of years with no crises either in the job or in my depression, and objectively no reason to question my long term capability, the fear of being shut down is still so acute.

It is scary to find that in low times I am really as fragile as ever. Perhaps the point is that we are never made less fragile in our core - but when well we have more layers of bubble wrap to absorb the knocks of life. And the past few weeks burst my last few bubbles and I just have limp plastic around my weaknesses.

So right now I am dealing with the shock of how vulnerable I am at the moment, whilst tying myself in knots about how I reacted to emails and phone conversations today, where it all went wrong, and what people will think of me etc.

And I need to be more real about myself - I talk the talk of openness about my life with depression and fighting the stigma, but to need to actually take time off work, that feels like failure. But failure of what? Failure to be the superhero who can manage life and ministry with depression.  Hello reality!

Murder suicides - One killer but how many victims?

It has happened again – several bodies found in a house and police ‘not looking for anyone else in connection with the incident’. Code for one of the deceased attacked the others and then killed themselves. The latest case is in a small community in Northern England.

Horror; outrage; how can they have done this? - usually to their close family or friends; why did he have a gun?; why did she set the place on fire? ; how could we have stopped this?

Just a few of the thoughts and debates that emerge as days go on. The killer is a monster, different to us, evil, twisted and escapes our justice by executing themselves.

But...

In an online community I am linked to we had news of something similar. Far off in a distant land someone not known to me but known to many as a kind sensitive but emotionally and mentally struggling woman, had died in one of these situations, she had shot and wounded family members before killing herself. 

The  community conversations have been full of confusion, pain, anger and grief.  One commented that they wished they could go back to the world before the news, a world where people who did this were sick monsters and not people like us – but it is too late for that, all sorts of grey shades everywhere.

There is no excuse, no allowance, no justification for the shooting and taking lives of others as happened here, or even the wounding in the far off case.

And yet when someone does something that far out of character, someone who is known to struggle with mental distress, can we dare to call them monster?

What might we do if internal agony takes away our ‘right mind’ and possibly our inhibitions moral and otherwise? How many of us have known deep anger, rage, pain – but have had the resources to control it, express it less harmfully, even to suppress it in the moment?

Very rarely are the mentally troubled a risk to anyone’s lives but themselves – though those around us are affected by our illness.  In times like this where the effects are so tragic let us not judge the killer solely by this one act in their life.

In the case currently in the news the family of Michael Atherton have commented briefly on their shock, grief and lack of understanding how the man they knew could have done such a thing.

It is easy to point out 3 victims and a killer – but the family have 4 people to mourn, not 3 as the newspapers do, and it is the 4^th victim that will be the hardest, most complicated, to grieve.

Let us pray for them, and for those whose pain takes them to the extreme.

NOTE: In both cases mentioned I have no direct insight nor claim it, media stories are only ever part of any truth, and my thoughts are more generic than specific

Christmas - a season survived!

The week before Christmas I was dragging myself through each day. If I hadn’t arranged – and advertised – for the church to be open each day, and being too stubborn to force my mad ideas on the already over busy members, I wouldn’t have got out of bed at all. As it was making it into clothes for the 5 min walk around the corner to open up for 11 o’clock was a massive daily achievement. And once upright and moving I was able to get some other important things done – the Christmas home communions.

I would have beaten myself up if I had not done them, but that one-on-one being with people and keeping the professional face on cost me all the resources I had left. Christmas Eve services were on auto pilot, and Christmas morning having not been able to sleep, I finally did waking only minutes before I was due to be at church!

I spent the remainder of the day with some church folk, but where I could be me, not the minister. It was great to just slot into their day and so different from the stressed version I would have at home. I was occupied enough to be distracted from my pain without any expectations or eggshells, and emotionally overwhelmed to be included in presents not just from hosts but other guests, ok so the alcohol helped too.

Then a week with family, it is hard to be fully open about my feelings with them. They either don’t get it or over react. Their normal rhythm is hard work for me, in lots of little ways I can’t explain, and would offend them if I tried, life there grates at me and when this low...  I suppose a lot of my coping with life is linked to having control of my own space – what I eat and when, not facing disapproval if I don’t get dressed and stay in PJs, not having to defend having one glass of wine at a celebration dinner when rest are on Shloer.

And when I do let on that I am so fragile the fuss is that I am ‘working too hard’ as if depression is directly related to working hours. I accept that stress affects it but it is not that simple. And if they can’t help then there is little to gain by sharing the pain, I am worried about them, worn down physically, emotionally and mentally themselves caring for my Nan who has Alzheimer’s. There again I have nothing to offer them either, so it was a case of retreating earlier than planned back to my own domain. A couple of rest days here has been very good for me – as long as I have blinkers to the chaos of abandoned Christmas service props.  I may even get those cards and letters written...well, only maybe.  

When I look back at what I wrote a few days ago at my parents –

I have a black dog. His name is depression.

Over the years we have got used to each other, adjusting to life together. At first he seemed in control of my life, dragging me this way and that. But with help I got him under control, we both learned that I was the boss in this house. And most of the time that is true, he may bark and make a nuisance of himself for a while but I can get him by the collar and send him to his bed.

But every so often he fights back and is on the brink of overwhelming me. Now is one of those times. For the first time in a long time I can feel the depression reaching into my mind as well as my emotions. I have learned that despite the reality of the ache I feel it is the illness talking, it is depression distorting my perceptions, like a fuzzy image that blocks out the positive and sees double of anything vaguely negative. That awareness is the dog’s collar, the means by which I keep control when he tries to drag me where I don’t want to go.

But the last week or so I have had moments where my mind is missing the grip on that collar, where I start to believe what depression tells me.  I am sure that this too will pass, but begin to wonder what damage will be done on its way.

I am glad to say things have moved on from that – I have a grip on myself, tired, numb, in neutral, yes. But in agony, no. Not today.

A new year? Yes, but as always it is made up of lots of New Days. And Tomorrow is always one of these.