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.