I’ve suffered from the Big D for years, I hate the word depression, it conjurs up visions of hard times in history, masses of negativity and lots of bad shit.
Yes, it is nasty, it makes life hard, and it has had me in bad bad places before, and as is the case with mental illness, there is no cure and only you can help yourself.
I’m not going to go into great detail, thats for another day to bore people to tears, but at the moment I’m struggling a little. I want to sleep all day yet I am wide awake at night; I can’t control my eating, I have huge issues with compulsive and emotional eating, one huge vicious circle; and the biggest issue is I have no energy to do anything or go anywhere.
Me and the monster have not been out all week – yes, I know its selfish, but I haven’t wanted to face the world. That involves washing my hair and drawing my eyebrows on and I haven’t cared.
I knew I needed to go out today – we had no milk and no bread, and nothing that I could concoct a meal from.
I popped to Tesco, got the shopping, come home ready to hide away for the rest of the day.
And there, was my little muffin. In his gilet and shoes, saying ‘backpack mummy’ while holding the house keys and his reins(backpack).
I didn’t want to go out, my legs hurt, i’m tired, and Big D is giving me all sorts of excuses for not going out. But my little man is bored, he needs to go out, I tell myself we have to go. And off we go.
We went to the local train station to meet Santa and sing some carols, to be fair it was one fucking tantrum after the other, he was a fucking nightmare, he refused to put money in the charity bucket, wouldn’t go near Santa, screamed when the train went because he wanted to be on it, it was a NIGHTMARE.
But we went out, we got fresh air, we spoke to people, did lots of walking, got very cold(well I did, the infant was fine), and had some us time.
Fuck you, Big D, another day survived, you won’t beat me.