Tacenda

Recently, I have been writing more blog posts, and once they are all finished – I just don’t publish them.

This blog was originally a therapy for me, a way to slow down my thoughts and help me make sense of me. Now, I panic incase I upset someone, or they worry about me.

My blog was my safe place, where I could be entirely me. Although this sounds negative, I’m taking it as a good sign. My thoughts and feelings make so much more sense now that I don’t feel the need to “check” them with others. I can be entirely me.

Guess there isn’t much to say on this topic. I’ll try to work through the drafts and publish a bit more once I’m back in the rhythm of things.. this hiatus in to the “confident” and “loving myself” zone can’t last much longer surely….

Absence makes the heart grow fonder

I feel like it’s been forever since I wrote anything. This could be for several reasons

1) I truly believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder and I’m desperately trying to make everyone like me more

2) with the increased dosage in my meds I’ve been so tired that I have napped every spare second I’ve had

Take your pick, which ever one makes me sound more exciting or interesting.

Nothing has changed recently, I’ve seen lots of friends and been kept very busy. Which has been lovely, but exhausting and we have recently started watching the crown. Excellent TV show, but has raised 2 very interesting points

1) We know nothing of UK history. I had no idea there was a great smog that killed thousands of people… and I can’t even name any of the previous prime ministers. Cue some research on our part.

2) Nick is now talking about what a great king he would be. He reckons he would thrive on the scheduling required. I’ve tried explaining that he yells at me when I try to keep him to a schedule but he has progressed now to imaginary conversations with the servants.

“Very funny sir, great joke”

“laugh”

“excuse me sir”

“if it’s funny, then laugh”

3) I am now questioning my marriage… to the worlds worst imaginary King… although I am pretty sure I would make a great queen, obviously provided I wasn’t the reigning monarch. Maybe there is something in this idea.

Well, this has been exhausting I’m off to nap and dream about being royalty.

Oh happy days

Here is something you probably don’t know about depression, sometimes the good days are actually worse than the bad.

Back when I was contemplating suicide I was used to the bad days, they became mundane and normal. Then all of a sudden I would have a great day, an evening with a group of friends that made me laugh so much I was actually in pain, but then it hits you. This is the best time to die, that way the last memory of you is happy. Everyone can remember the good times with you. End on a high note, leave everyone wanting more.

When it comes to the down days, everyone’s best advice is to just get through it and know the good times are coming. The good times are what you survive for, and once they arrive, what next?

Fairy tales always stop at the wedding, “and they lived happily ever after”, and people commonly ask, what next? Did the prince get annoyed that his new wife wasn’t as perfect as she seemed, or did she get annoyed that being a princess wasn’t as fun as she imagined. No one really knows, the wedding was the end of the story. Essentially there is no “what next”.

Well, that is how I felt about good days, they where what I survived for and once I was back to the good days, what did I do now? What that the end of the line? The last chapter? Apparently not since I am here writing this.

*spoiler alert* After the good days comes more good days, then some bad, and so on and so forth, until you find your rhythm. There is no end of the line, no magic ‘good day’ to end all the bad ones, and thank god for that. That is a lot of pressure for 1 day.

Instead, I try to thing of the good in every day, a text, a funny photo, a decent cup of tea. It’s easier, and less pressure, to have a good moment than a good day and it makes it easier to have a bad moment instead of a bad day. That way I’m not waiting for an elusive good day to make every better, every day is good, even if it’s a bad day. A day where I’m tired, and everything seems overwhelming, I just need 1 moment to snap back to reality. Even if reality is just as tiring and overwhelming….

I read a book (fiction, not self help) where you should write down 3 things you are thankful for every day. I don’t do this, I’d forget and miss a day and then the book wouldn’t be perfect and I’d get annoyed and want a new notebook, but I like the concept. I have a pessimistic outlook on life and I think it very easy to focus on the negative, so sometimes my nice moment on a bad day, is just the thought that I got through it.

And there is nothing wrong with that.

Oh for the love of tea…

I assume we all agree on one thing, there is nothing better than a good cup of tea (nothing worse than a bad cup of tea but we are being positive here). When you need comfort, when you are cold or wet or upset, a cup of tea can sort everything.

I case you didn’t get this already, I’m British. I love nothing more than being curled up with a cup of tea. It is so essential being able to feel at home no matter where you are. I’ve got 2 poorly boys this weekend with both the hubby and the cat not being very well – and it is the perfect excuse for us all to curl up under the duvet, watch the start of the six nations and have a decent cup of tea (or 4..).

It feels really good to not think about the to-do list for once, no housework, work or errands just the 3 of us and an annoyingly decent Wales performance.

That is what is so good about a cup of tea, it fits every occasion, the busy /wake up mug, vs the relaxing and calming mug. I keep reading up on ‘self care’ and how important it is, and for me self care starts with the click of the kettle. That minute when the only important thing is the decision of which mug to use and the stress of not making a crap brew.

Plenty of self care this weekend, as I said 2 poorly boys, so plenty of tea has left me feeling slightly refreshed, a pleasant, yet unfamiliar, feeling.

So I’m leaving this as a short blog post to enjoy my tea whilst it’s still hot and finish the mug before the cat vomits somewhere again.

Spectacular

For my 21st birthday I asked everyone to buy me a copy of their favourite book, and I read them all. It is still a gift idea I love – and honestly one I am always grateful for. From my sisters joke Topsy and Tim book to my aunties Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, there is not a single book I didn’t enjoy. Some weren’t my cup of tea but I loved being able to tell people what I liked and didn’t and having them explain their reasons (yes, I’m sure I would enjoy a book club but I’m flaky at best). So whilst I loved them all there is only one I have reread since. In fact it is one I reread every year.

My husbands Gran bought me a beautiful copy of A Christmas Carol. She loved Dickens, and whilst I have always struggled with his other work, I love this book. For me, it’s not Christmas until I have seen the Coca Cola advert, the tree is up and I have read A Christmas Carol and watched the Muppets version.

Why this book means so much to me is either one of two things. I like the book or, I loved her very much. (most likely both). I love Scrooge, he is deeply unhappy and it shows, yet, when shown the life he could have, he is brave enough to change everything about himself. (Just how I would like to be). Granny, she didn’t need to change anything about herself, she was unconditionally kind (Nick’s words, I was struggling to describe just how wonderful she was)

We would always travel back home a few days before Xmas, always on a late train, with too much baggage and would get to the house in the pitch black, freezing cold. Granny would meet us in the hallway and give us a hug. If you have grandparents, you will probably understand what I mean by suddenly feeling warm and at home with just this one hug. It was the end of a journey and it suddenly felt like Christmas. There was a few years I read the book on train home, now I like to read it in the run up to Christmas. It can be so stressful trying to get all the cards written, gifts bought and wrapped and don’t get me started on the food and wine. Does anyone buy things early and just eat them? So when I feel like my to do list is too long and I want to forget Christmas all together, I pick up the book, and like the ghosts did with Marley, I am reminded not only of the meaning  of Christmas, but of my Granny. (She was my Granny, I was the grand daughter she never had, but always wanted – her words not mine)

Christmas with her was fantastic, we would enter the house, get our magic hug, get a cup of tea and sit with her, catching up. There was nothing to catch up on, it was just lovely to be with her. She kept the Christmas card I gave her the first year me and Nick were going out and put it out every year (it’s on my mantle piece this year). The musical dancing snowman that made her laugh was played every half an hour and giggled at. It was like Christmas with the Cratchits, not in any way spectacular, except that it was, spectacular. Just like her.