I know I was going to post up a write up about Cardiff today but I wanted to post about something that been on my mind before, during and after that trip. And as this is my space to share these thoughts and share my up and down moments I thought here is the best place to put this, especially as in the back of my mind I would like people to learn something from this, be it a little bit of knowledge or know that they aren’t alone. I do think depression and disabilities are somewhat something that is not openly talked about and what people think they understand actually most of the time isn’t quite correct. I must highlight that my blog only shows 5% of my life and I show what I want to or feel I need to show. Readers don’t get to see the other 95% which is somewhat nice but frustrating when one is trying to convey a full story to a reader who isn’t aware of the full background. Although I’m being public about my thoughts and life, I’m actually still very private.
I started this blog back in 2009 as a place to just share my thoughts and pictures and stuff. I had only discovered Facebook and the world was young, I had started CBT but was later taken off it when the old counsellor had left to be discharged by the new one who later admitted “I thought you were ok.” ...despite never reading my notes or meeting me.
It taken years and so much hard work to simply get to where I am today and I don’t know if this is even the start or towards the end of this journey! I was advised to keep a journal by quite a few people and I dug out an old journal that still had a few decent pages left in it to discover where I had last written in it from 2009 where I had been doing my CBT and stuff. Normally I thought “get a new journal” but I thought no and continued in it from this year. I eventually read the entries from 2009 to realise that 3 years later and despite the huge changes that has happened since, the problems echoed through the years on those pages to present day as being the same.
It wasn’t until last week when I was in an assessment meeting with my muma and a guy she had argued so much with over the phone until he relented and said he will do an assessment on me himself as one of the main chief practitioners for Options mental health. One of the questions he had asked ended with me pulling out the journal and he could see for months and years the thoughts and feelings poured out into the pages and he said there and then the journal showed this was a continuous problem that spanned years and would take a long time to help (and was not able to help as such as the service could only deal with people with minor/moderate depression) and I was suffering from severe and a rather complex depression due to my disability as well. You could have knocked me down with a feather and even my muma said afterwards “it took me back to being told you were disabled and there was nothing they could do. But at least we knew you were now deaf.” We been waiting for help to come and all this time we were waiting in the wrong place for the wrong type of help and people only now just began to realise they made a mistake. I’m now being passed onto secondary care and what I’ve been told – I’m scared. But I’m also glad help is coming.
And it is all because of a journal that I started 3 years ago. No one but me read it until that man and like I said to everyone close to me, no one will ever read it without my permission and not even then. The words I put on those pages are messy and make no sense to anyone but me to be honest.
The reason for this post? Even in Cardiff, I was very much aware of trying to keep myself distracted from the negative thoughts and emotions that lingered in the back of everything I do. I said so to my muma who replied “I suppose it is like when I have a migraine, even when I’m busy and in the moment, I know it is there and its hurting.” This is a good way to describe depression. You keep going and commit yourself to the moment, dimly aware that each movement in itself, each second or smile throbs with intensity and pain that you remember what is it you’re doing in the first place, rendering the whole distraction process useless! Everything I do had that sad, painful undercurrent to it, riddles with painful memories, thoughts and just downright depressing moments.
But I’m one of the many out there. Stumbling cross this old blog of mine like I did with the journal has opened up something for me. I haven’t really got a voice at the moment apart from here I guess and I’ve found that people out there open up and share something back with me. Sometimes it’s a thought, a few kind words or them telling me a bit of their own journey. Voices echoing back from a wide audience and some of the unlikeliest of people in my mind, the people who always smile every time I see them and who I never could have predicted they too were/are depressed.
Every word said by these people tells me I’m not alone and it keeps me going. It tells me I’m not crazy in a body that is intent on mentally, emotionally and sometimes physically tearing itself apart. I’m being told to take each day as it comes but I’m struggling to do even that and now my days have given way to hours. I’m taking life each hour by hour. That frightens even me, more than I care to admit to be honest.
I didn’t re-start this blog thinking I’d ever get feedback like this. Take this weekend, I received texts and messages from people sharing with me whether they too were having a good/bad day or simply saying “hope you’re ok and having a good day.” Just random friends and people from the different areas and chapters of my life, they given me a little bit of strength and I hope in return I’ve given something positive back and continue to do so! I’m amazed at the human spirit in these days and the tenacity people possess to keep going.
We aren’t completely alone I guess no? :) Thank you to you too reader.
Birdie love as always.