First, I had some kind of bug, which left me feeling so tired, achy and lethargic, that I could barely be bothered to even walk about, so I spent a lot of time sleeping, and lying on the sofa watching VERY bad TV.
I then started to get over that, but got hit by a bad bout of the Black Dog, which is basically a metaphor made famous by Winston Churchill, to describe his depression.
So here is where I make my confession. I live with depression. On good days, I hate the saying "I suffer from depression", because of it's negativity, and because it seems, to me, to imply something that has an end, a cure. I know that there is no cure, at the moment, for my depression; I can medicate, and control it as best as possible, by certain behaviours, but it will always be there. And it always threatens to turn every day into hell.
Now, I know there will be people reading this, who will say, "I understand exactly what you mean, I've felt like that", and for some, it may be true. But the 'blue' feeling we all get sometimes, when you feel a bit down, and just want to eat chocolate and watch sad movies, is nothing like the reality of living with depression.
I characterise my depression more like a deep, dark, pit, which I slowly slide into, my hands scrabbling at the sides, until my nails are broken and covered in the slimy ooze that is slowly sucking me down. It starts off with me just feeling a little 'down', and then gradually gets worse, and worse, until I cannot see anything worth living for; I hate myself, regard my life as a waste, and don't care how anyone would describe depression, because nothing matters, except a hope for a quiet, peaceful end of existence.
I don't contemplate suicide; for one thing, that would require energy I just don't have. I do hope that I can fall asleep and never wake up, and sometimes, I have bouts of crying, sobs that are wrenched out of me, until my throat and chest ache, and I just want an end to it.
This can last for a few hours, days or even weeks, I never know until it is over. Unfortunately, depression is also a symptom of menopause, so I suppose I should expect to get bouts more often because of that, too. I take medication, but have been waiting for an appointment with the psychiatry dept at the hospital to discuss some other form of therapy, which I hope will help me fight off the Black Dog pushing me into the pit.
Thankfully, the worst of the feelings lift eventually, until I am left with something that resembles normality, as I know it. I live to breathe another day, and try to find the best in whatever I have. And sometimes, I succeed.
On a cheerier note, as I started to feel better, I decided to make some ice lollies to help with the heat. I love ice cream and sorbet, but don't love the amount of sugar that's in them, so I occasionally make my own. This time, all I did was puree fresh mango and a small tin of pineapple, including the juice. I froze it in a plastic container, then tipped it out into a bowl, mashed it up again, transferred it to ice lolly moulds, and popped it back in to the freezer.
I don't regard myself as a 'girly' girl (though some others have, strangely, described me as such), but I love these moulds. Can't remember where I got them, and I don't use them as often as I should, but they're sooo cute. And they have a built in straw thing to drink the excess juice! How cool is that!
See you soon
XX
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