Warning – this post may make you feel uncomfortable, for some mental health is an icky subject. No judgement from me.
He’s been hovering around a lot since Christmas. Sometimes he comes and stays for a few days, but mostly he appears, looks through the window then wanders off again. Or he walks into the room, has a look around, gives me a nudge, then goes away again. These last few weeks though, he’s been around a lot more than I’m comfortable with. Badgering me, nudging me for attention, whining when I don’t give it, lying on me when I sleep, weighing me down.
Depression is a personal thing. How it makes me feel will differ greatly to how it makes someone else feel. For me it makes me feel tired, exhausted even. It makes me angry, short tempered. It makes me forgetful. As I spend my time
longing for happiness, contentment, emotional peace, relaxation, day dreaming if you will, I forget appointments, dinner in the oven, to pick up the essentials when I’m out.
I want to be able to eat what I want without thinking about my weight.
I want to be able to lock myself in the bathroom for an hour with a basket full of unused Christmas presents, to treat myself.
I want to go shopping and not think ‘I love that top/skirt/bag, those shoes, that lipstick, but I can’t spend that money. It’s not for treats.
I want to sit and crochet for the whole day with a flask of tea!
I want to have holidays, breaks away, to look forward to.
I want no guilt for having all of the above.
Needs are different than wants. I’m not blogging this for sympathy. My depression doesn’t respond well to sympathy. It feeds it, grows it, keeps it there. Just like when you feed a stray dog. Sympathy is definitely not what I need when I feel like this. Space, laughs, plans, practical help. That’s what I need.
Scrap that, what I actually need, is to shift my ass and get ready for work …. For health and hygiene reasons, there are no dogs allowed where I work, so for now Mr Black Dog, you have to stay at the door!