Battle Scarred

Anyone who suffers with depression will know how crippling and painful it can be. People often ask me how it feels to suffer a bout of depression. Sometimes I am asked by people who suffer themselves. They want to know if I feel the same as them, for they like me find it impossible to make the majority of people who don't suffer understand what it is really like. To complicate things further, every sufferer is different. There isn't one 'flavour' of depression. Everyone seems to experience it differently. I can only really talk with any certainty about myself. I know how it feels for me and I sometimes assume that others will feel the same way. This isn't always true. Some suffer excruciating headaches whereas others become very tired and unable to even get out of bed each morning. We are all different but at the same time have one thing in common, we suffer.
I have just 'come out the other side' from another dark bout of depression. There was no trigger, no event or barbed comment - it just enveloped me as it often does. It chose Sunday, my most hated day of the week, to appear and stayed with me well into Monday night. Forcing myself on Tuesday to attend group was, in hindsight, the correct decision - despite my mind telling me not to. It made me feel better, a lot better. I was with people who understand and they instinctively know what to say and do. They are practised in it.
That afternoon I was 'dragged' to a short training session in Boston on the subject of fund raising. I really didn't think I would stay awake through it, but to my amazement, I did and by the end of it I was awake, in a better mood and hungry once more. Every bout of depression acts as a very effective appetite suppressant, switching off those things inside that regulate hunger and interest in food. It happens every time, but for a diabetic it's far from good and I often end up force feeding myself something sweet to prevent my blood sugar falling too low.
People I know who suffer alter the dosage of their medication to suit how they are feeling. This is something I haven't done as yet, but I did call my medical centre to find out if my dosage could be increased. Knowing I wasn't coping well, I would have expected someone to have called me back. They haven't. How fortunate it is that I'm not having a crisis.
I'm due an appointment soon to meet my new GP and have my medication reviewed. No doubt I can discuss this then.
I was talking the other day with a friend and we remarked at how depression is one of the few illnesses that doesn't leave a mark. From the outside there is really nothing to indicate a person suffers with depression. For this reason, I suspect that some turn to self-harm to provide this sign. They do it through frustration to provide something physical that another person can relate to. It is also done to release some of the pain caused by depression, and it does actually help. This may seem a mad statement to many but it can be seen as a very effective safety valve, often taking the form of scratching or cutting. Again I know people for whom this is a coping mechanism. It does work. How do I know this? I have the scars from my latest battle.

Not with My Back & Musings on a Tuesday

With every bout of gardening or more rarely, decorating, comes the inevitable bad back. I've suffered with it for years and despite this I continue to push it to its limit and beyond. Today I am paying the price for my over-exertion. It's always the same - a day's gardening and a week's suffering and recovery. For anyone who doesn't suffer, it's difficult to understand. My wife is sympathetic as I groan and wince with every movement. But it's impossible to describe pain. You just learn to live with it and accept it as another limitation, which I do.

Like many, I have been appalled by the recent senseless loss of life in Afghanistan. Of course I refer to to the reported losses though I'm fully aware that there are countless numbers being lost on a daily basis, many of whom are innocent and literally the victims of ill-judged foreign policy. I don't really do politics, I don't have the time and frankly causes so much division in society. Instead, I remark on what I see as a failed mission for which its justification changes on a near daily basis. The longer we keep our people there, the more of them will sadly be lost, never to return to their families.
There is much talk currently regarding the gun-ho attitude of US troops and the atrocities committed by them in the name of 'American values'. Linked to this is the 'special relationship' we here in the UK are supposed to support and be proud of. I for one am beginning to question this relationship and wonder how much longer we can go on justifying it.

I attended my support group meeting earlier today. The talk was varied as normal but was more downbeat, covering such topics as financial hardship, benefit payments and employment support allowance. We also discovered that one of our members is a sufferer of IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome). It took great courage for her to open up to the group and I wonder if her tears were in part caused by the relief she must have felt in being able to discuss it. Just like depression, IBS is another illness that's been dragged into the open and is finally being discussed and better understood. I did also discover that a woman I had previously seen on many occasions driving erratically is in fact her.
Another of our members informed us that following a recent assessment of their illness, their employment support allowance is to be withdrawn forcing her to seek employment. Having spent some time in her company, I am in no doubt of her inability to work and fear that she is yet another victim of failed government health policy and unfair assessment.
Today was certainly a day of discovery. I informed the group of my visit to the bank and its outcome which I suppose could be called progress of sorts. After all, we still have our home.
The journey home was uneventful apart from finding that the car direction indicators stop after so many seconds use. I noticed this at a junction while I waited to turn left. The same seemed to happen when turning right. I suspect it may be a relay - the thing that does the tick-tick-tick sound. Sometimes these get hot and wear out. I remember having a similar problem with an old Volvo.
I stopped off at my parents on the way home. I'd received a couple of letters from Eon for their electricity incorrectly addressed to me. They've been doing this for a long time despite numerous requests to fix it. Once again I was met with a locked door and having to rouse them by repeatedly pressing the doorbell until one of them heard it. This does much to rile me and this was evident when I finally arrived home.

Weather today has been miserable, a blanket of grey and damp. I really had hoped to be able to spend some more time organising my plants for the Spring, but it wasn't to be sadly. Maybe tomorrow will be more conducive.

Finally for now, there could be no better advertisement for gay marriage (for which I am a supporter) than the site on the TV news today of David Cameron and Barrack Obama walking almost hand in hand toward the Whitehouse, jackets slung over their shoulders.