Balance

I have, my entire adult life, struggled to find balance.  No matter how many times I try to tell myself to take it easy, see how you get on, don’t overcommit, I always start something full pelt, fail to stick with it and then feel dreadful about yet another failure.

I make to do lists and then feel upset and anxious about my failure to tick everything (or anything!) off it.  In reality I shouldn’t be surprised by this, I talked at great length in my last post about the paralysis caused by my anxiety and depression.  But that doesn’t stop me beating myself up over it all, causing even greater levels of anxiety…. and on it goes.

I’m all or nothing.

I’m either Whole30 or I’m eating my own body weight in crisps, cake, scones, bread, washing it down with a small lake of Pepsi Max.  I’ll try to be sensible with my food, but then I’ll eat something unhealthy and I’ll think FUCK IT, I might as well just eat ALL OF THINGS now and for the rest of the week because I have already RUINED IT.

I’ll exercise every day for a week and then I’ll miss a day and then a second day and then a third and then I’ll think FUCK IT, I can’t stick to ANYTHING, what is WRONG with me, it is all so POINTLESS, I don’t know why I BOTHER WITH ANYTHING.

It has to stop.  There must be a balance to be found.  And I’ve made a start.  You remember those monthly goals that I’ve been working on?  I’ve decided that having a pass / fail attitude towards them is only exacerbating my all or nothing outlook.  After all, if your goal is to walk 7k steps every day for a month, what’s the point of carrying on if you fail to hit that count on day two, right?  Because you have failed already. Why bother? Not a very helpful thought process at all.  

So instead, I’m giving myself a grading system, with grades A+ → F based on how much progress I made towards completing each monthly goal (in percentage terms).  For March, I found this worked really well.  It’s helped me to see that even though I might not do all of the things, all of the time, the effect is cumulative.  For example, I didn’t complete my channel swim distance goal, but I completed 17% of the remaining distance.  I may not have completed the 7k steps every day, but I did do it on 27 out of 31 days.  I did at least two NTC workouts on three weeks out of the five.  

Because I’m such a nerd, I have a little spreadsheet to log all of this and I found it helpful to update my progress on the goals throughout the month.  I used this information to persuade myself to go for a walk around the block to get my step count up, because at the moment, you’ve only got a C. No one wants March to go out with a C, kid.  Get out there and do some walking.  I could also see which activity would help me to increase my overall monthly percentage the most, helping me to prioritise that activity, when I knew that I didn’t have capacity to do everything.  Wow.  That’s a little bit of balance, right there.

March went out with a B grade.  I’m happy with that.  And I’ve set my new goals for April too: 

Goal 1: Finish channel swim goal
Goal 2: Don't buy food or drink in London
Goal 3: No sleeping during the day

I'm rolling over that channel swim goal, I'm determined to try to get that finished this month. I've got 894 lengths to go!

The second goal is to try and focus on more healthy choices, forcing me to plan and make choices ahead of time, rather than just throwing stuff in a basket and eating enough food for three people (which happens a LOT).

The third goal may seem a little........odd.  But I sleep a lot.  I mean really A LOT.  Sleep is my escape from the world.  It passes the time without my brain having to do much of anything.  Often I spend an entire weekend sleeping.  Sometimes, on my work from home days, I'll have a nap at lunchtime and then another when I finish work, before I make dinner.  I love sleep.  But I recognise that what started as another symptom of the depression has become a habit that is stealing my life away and I'm going to try and break it this month.

Stay tuned to see how I get on!

PS, in other news........

Can we please all take a moment to enjoy how empty and clean my kitchen sink is?

A photo posted by @readyamefire on Mar 30, 2016 at 6:52am PDT

Paralysis

I don't tend to write very much about my depression. I don't want that to be what this blog is about. Quick, let me distract you with a picture of Murdoch.

A photo posted by @readyamefire on Mar 5, 2016 at 5:45am PST

Look at that gorgeous little bastard.

Mostly, I'd rather use this space to tell you about the things that I am doing rather than the things that I'm not doing. There are a million things that I'm not doing.

I'm not washing my hair every day, because every single day starts with me having to negotiate with myself get out of bed and face the world and sometimes the only way to do that is to tell myself that I don't have to wash and dry my hair, just get in the shower and you can tie it back in a pony tail.

I'm not showering every day, because sometimes that negotiation doesn't work and I have to get up and go as I am, because life doesn't stop and you can't call in sick to work and tell them that it's because your brain can't comprehend how to make your limbs move. That your brain refuses to make them move because the world is out there and it's too much. So you make your limbs move and you go out there and you face it. Every day.

I don't do the washing up every day, I do it about once or twice a week.  I sit on the sofa feeling anxious about the fact that there is washing up in the sink.  Worrying that it's been there for days.  Thinking about what I can cook for dinner that doesn't involve using the stuff that needs washing up. But I don't do the washing up. It's beyond me.

I sit on the sofa, not sorting and putting away the pile of clean underwear that has been sat next to me for weeks. Instead I just take a pair of knickers and a bra from the pile each morning and add more clean stuff when I can find it within myself to put a wash on..... to put a wash on?! Seriously?! I'm not going down to the river to beat it with a rock. I'm popping it in the washing machine in the kitchen and waiting for it to finish. But then, you see, I'll have to hang it up to dry, which will inevitably lead to it needing to be put away, or GOD FORBID ironed.

I don't see my friends and family as much as I would like.  I have to talk myself into it, every time.  I know that I'll enjoy time with them once I'm there. But GOD, the effort of it. Because I'll have to shower and wash my hair and style it and put on some make up and find something to wear and oh no, the laundry hasn't been done and nothing fits and OH! there's something that fits screwed up at the back of the cupboard, but CRAP I'm going to have to fucking iron it for FUCK'S SAKE. And that's before I've even got the other side of the front door.  And I'll have to think of stuff to say that makes it sound as though my life is busy and fun and full, because you can't tell your friends that you've spent most of the week sitting on the sofa in a Mexican standoff with a pile of underwear. They'd probably understand, because they're good people, these friends and family of mine. But nonetheless, you don't say it, because you don't want to sound like a crazy person. Or almost worse, a lazy person.

I've become pretty bad at looking after myself. It's difficult to comprehend how you're going to make it to the swimming pool, when your own pants are mocking you from the next seat. It recently took me four weeks to get around to making a dentist appointment, even though my gums were bleeding. I was bleeding from my mouth, sitting on the sofa, wondering what to do about my socks and the pile of washing up and dear god I haven't cleaned the bathroom for weeks and it's been three days since I washed my hair.

My very wise friend B said that one of the things about depression is that it takes the word "just" out of your vocabulary.  You are incapable of thinking "I'll just pop to the shops" or "I'll just put this pile of pants away" or "I'll just go for a quick swim".  There is no just.  There is no lightness of feeling that these are small daily tasks that you're more than capable of doing in a jiffy. Everything has weight.  It's hard. It all feels so hard. And so you get paralysed because your brain has turned you into a lump of rock and you can't imagine being able to make the effort it takes to get enough momentum to get moving.  Ironically, the big stuff is a bit easier, because the need to do big things (such as going to LA) is a giant shove that gets the momentum started and you just try and keep it rolling. 

SO. In amongst all of that stuff, I'm going to take a moment to think about the things that I have been able to do.

I did eventually go to the dentist and it was just a build up of tartar. I get the washing up done, once or twice a week.  I get the laundry done, even if it never quite makes it to the drawers.  I get the dog walked every day.  I go to work and do the best job that I can.  I see my friends and family and try to keep in contact with them via text or whatsapp when I can't find the oomph to go out and see them. I am (and will continue) doing the best I can.  What else is there? 

A million little things

I have been told off a couple of times recently for not updating my blog.  Sorry about that.  It's not that I haven't done anything to write about, because I've been up to all sorts.  I have a different kind of problem.

I'm overwhelmed.  Not with a big bad thing.  There is no Big Bad.  Oooooh, it's like season six of Buffy, where they realise that sometimes the badness is just every day stuff that happens *nerd face*

There are just a million tiny little things that I need to get done and I've been feeling so increasingly overwhelmed by my evergrowing to do list, that I've been paralysed and unable to do any of it. To the point where the most reasonable option for the past couple of weeks has been to come straight home from work and hide under my duvet.  It's not very healthy, is it.

Then on Tuesday evening I had a minor breakthrough.  

At least a year ago (probably closer to two), a friend lent me a DVD box set to watch.  I got halfway through it about six months ago and then got busy and didn't watch any more.  Ever since, that box set has been sat there bugging me.  I have been disproportionately distressed by that box set, just sitting there, not being watched.  

Ooooo look at me, sitting here, not being watched

My friend hasn't wanted it back, hasn't hassled me or anything like that.  It was just another thing on my list of things to do that I haven't done.  On Tuesday I had a revelation.  I do not have to watch the rest of that box set.  There is no reason on Earth, why I should have to watch that box set.  No one is making me worry about this.  Phew.  

So on Wednesday morning, I returned it to my friend and immediately felt MUCH BETTER.

So last night I went one step further and deleted my entire to do list.  All of it.  It's mostly tidying up and and housework, nothing on there that will cause death or bad hair days.  So I got rid of the lot.  And felt EVEN better.

Then I put two things on the list.  Just two things.  And I did them this morning.  I hoovered the flat and put away the enormous and evergrowing pile of clean underwear in the drawer where it belongs.

I've now got two more things on the list.  I need to write a blog (*TICK*) and clean the bathroom. 

The paralysis has been broken and it's time to start getting things done again.

My Reason

It's Murdoch's birthday today! Happy birthday little guy. He's 8 today and we've lived together since he was so small that I could hold him in both hands. The little tinker.

The cutest thing I'd ever seen

Because it's Murdoch's birthday, I'm going to try and explain why he's so important to me, something that I find difficult to put into words, but here goes nothing. Murdoch, although you'll never read it, or need to understand, this is for you.

I don't presume to know what living with depression is like for everyone, but here's what it's like for me.  Mainly there are three kinds of days:

1. Days where things are pretty good.

2. Days where I can pretend that things are pretty good.

3. Days where I can't pretend that things are even close to good.

Most of my days fall into category one, although there are parts of those days where things go south and I need to take some time out to regroup.  It's not that bad things happen to make me react by needing to hide.  It's just that sometimes simply being in the world is overwhelming and I reach a point where it's too much to deal with, which brings me neatly to category two.  

Some days fall into category two, and while there are moments in those days where things are actually pretty good, those days are mostly just about fronting it out and making it through without bursting into tears for what most people would see as no discernible reason, or showing how much I feel mildly panicked and out of place.

Category three doesn't happen too often (thankfully!), but those are the days when I can't face being in the world.  Not in a scary suicidal sort of way, never anything close to that. But in a way that means I can't cope with even the most basic of interactions.  This is not limited to strangers, even those that I love beyond words are too much to deal with on those days and I tend to spend most of them hiding in my flat by myself.  There is no rhyme nor reason to when these days happen, sometimes I just wake up and cannot imagine how I'm going to go and face the world.

Regardless of which sort of day it is, every day starts the exact same way, with the noise of Murdoch's paws pattering across the floor as he comes into my room to see what's going on.  His face is the first thing that I see every morning.  It reminds me that even though sometimes it all seems too difficult to face, there are good things in my life.

He needs me.  He needs me to get out of bed, because he needs to go for a walk and to be in the world, running around and being vibrantly, almost obnoxiously alive.  And because he needs me, I go. When I can't think of a single reason why it could be good to go outside my front door and face the world, I don't need to. Because he is my reason.

It's a powerful thing and he doesn't even know it.  He's spent nearly eight years being the glue that has held me together through good days and bad.  For eight years he has given me simple, unconditional love that never asks anything in return.  His generosity of spirit, which all dogs are blessed with, has allowed me to be selfish and to cry stupid, pointless tears into his fur.  Even when neither of us know what I am crying about, just having him there calms my soul.

So there it is.  As I wrote this (having a quiet little cry in places while I did so), Murdoch was curled up in his bed by my feet.  We'd been out for a lovely walk. It was a good day.

My Reason