What a lot of not a lot.

Well, there's not a lot happening at the moment. I'm not leaving the house much at all. I went out on the 6th Nov with tch, then not until the 19th Nov. Tch had been given tickets for the rugby, so I went with him. More about that in a minute. I next went out on 23rd Nov, my metal health worker E took me to a craft morning. With hindsight I really wasn't well enough to have gone there, but I did feel marginally better for going. Stress man. The last time I went out was 26th Nov, I had said we would deliver an old palette to a friend, so I could hardly stay at home really.

That's 4 times I've been out of the house this month. Each time I have to go out I get so anxious beforehand, and will often have a bout of diarrhoea as well. Sometimes just the thought of an event looming will make my insides contract. The worst part is not being able to control this, to have shaky hands, need the bathroom fairly urgently and feel in such a state of panic.

The day we had tickets for the rugby was good in a lot of ways, but oh so stressful in others. It was good simply because I went, and in doing so I achieved a lot of things. I must tell you firstly that I have hurt my foot. It's my heel to be precise, plantar fasciitis. Because of this tch drove as close to the stadium as possible and I got out there. Then I was to find somewhere to wait for him to park the car and walk back* to wherever I was waiting. This meant I would be on my own, in a very very crowded city, until he walked back. He had a terrible job finding somewhere to park, drove round and round finding nothing. He said later that there were a lot of other drivers doing exactly the same thing, and we were two hours early for the match. Eventually he ended up paying £15 to park for 4 hours. Then he had to walk all the way back into the city to me.

I quickly found a Starbucks very close by and ordered/paid for my coffee. Although I was listening for my name, I missed it being called: the place was rammed full of people. By the time I asked about it, it was on the side, almost cold. The girl was lovely and made me another one, but I felt so stupid. Anyway, I have learnt how to deal with being on my own and I found a table in the window where I would see tch when he arrived. By sitting with my back to the room I couldn't see how busy it was, and thus I felt a bit calmer.

About an hour later tch arrived, we had another hot drink and then went to the stadium. Match was wonderful, I've never paid £5 for a burger before, I must be out of touch with what things cost. The walk back to the car was awful, I went slowly and stopped a lot. It would have been no good waiting for tch to drive back towards the stadium and pick me up as nothing was moving. We got back to the car, but it was almost another hour before we got out onto the main road. Total gridlock!!

So. I'm very pleased I went, and on the whole it was a very positive experience. I swear to you that nobody would know how unwell I am. I am very good at doing the sparkly thing. The amount of adrenaline that this takes is huge and I'm very tired afterwards. Why is it so important to do this? Why do I want to hide my mental health condition so much? I think maybe it's less stressful if people don't know. Does that make any sense at all?

 I was supposed to be going out today, to the craft thing again. Made an excuse, couldn't cope with it. There will be other days, I'll go another day. Just want to stay at home and sleep a lot.

The importance of a little bit of peace.

We are all speeding through our days, life has us on the fast track whether we want it or not.

My life is generally at a very slow pace but that fast track is all relative. Often it feels as though everything is moving too fast for me. I am not well enough to work at the moment but still life can get on top of me. I've not been well just lately (depression) and today makes 9 days that I've not been out of the house. I can't cope with people and the smallest thing has me confused. Tomorrow though I plan to go out. My mental health worker is going to give me a lift to a craft class. I really don't want to go, because I would just rather stay here on my own. It's better that way. I've said I'll go anyway.

Tch is in the process of making me a little patio area where I can sit and not be overlooked by anyone. It's not finished yet but this morning I sat out there with a coffee. It's amazing the difference to sit there instead of in the house, apart from the cold that is! No-one can see me, and so no-one will make an attempt to say hello or start a conversation. My neighbours are lovely but I don't want to talk to anyone. Sitting there, with the birds singing, was magical.

We all need that little bit of calm in our lives. Even if you have a crap life like mine, there is still stress in there somewhere. As soon as I replied to the text this morning, to say I would go out tomorrow, my insides started doing somersaults and since then I've had a runny bum. Sorry, too much info? Even thinking about it now makes me feel weak. The trouble is, once I go out for one thing, like the craft lesson tomorrow, one of the girls will suggest we do something else. Something like the cinema or getting together for a coffee. The way I am at the moment I just cant cope with that, and I don't want to give offence by saying no.

Where is your little bit of peace? What is it for? e.g. yoga, meditation or simply sitting and relaxing, like me.

This is my little bit of peace. The garden's a bit of a mess but the view is lovely. Btw, do you like my pallet? I made it from an old coffee table.

Let me bear all...

What was the first teddy bear/doll or other object that you loved as a child?

Mine was a bear, Little Ted to be precise. He was very much worse for wear, his body was held together by one of my Grandad's handkerchiefs and all his limbs were just straggly bits of fur fabric. He was very small, but then, so was I. There was a family member who used to poke fun at him and threaten to throw him away. I was scared about this at the time, but I doubt she really meant it. Sadly he didn't last very long, his 'injuries' were too severe.

Then when I was in junior school one of the girls had two teddies, in different colours and she gave one to me. This sticks in my mind so much because she gave it to me for no reason other than that she wanted to. My Grandad picked me up from school that day and he saw it when we were walking home. Lots of questions about how I came by it, and I think the parents were later contacted as well. Now I felt guilty, so many questions had made me feel that I shouldn't have it, that it was wrong. I spent most of my home life scared that I'd done something wrong because he was so strict. Always a fierce and accusing face.

It was fine though, and I kept the bear. I think the pupil who gave it to me emigrated, but I still think of her gift and how she made me feel that I was liked.

Was this the reason I became so attached to the bear? He came everywhere with me, wherever I went. I named him Cuddly, and cuddle him I did! I cuddled him so much that he went almost completely flat. His limbs had hardly any stuffing in the main arm/leg, it was all compressed into hard pads in the ends. He had hardly any nose left, I was almost all kissed away. I wasn't happy in my childhood, and I think this little bear was my friend through it. 

So, what makes us choose the toy that we love the most? For me I think it was because of the kindness shown from another little girl, in the gift of the bear. I think there's usually an association involved of some sort, with either a person, a place or a time.

How long did you stick with a beloved toy? I had Cuddly from about 6yrs old and he was with me for years and years. Today though, a child will have a toy, say one from a Disney film, and hug it and love it but only for a short while. They move on to the next one whilst the first toy is left sitting aside. Is this because of the amount of different toys that there are now? Today's child will probably have much more in the way of toys than we had when I was small. Maybe that's why they don't stay with one, that it's forgotten so quickly.

When I was in my 20s and my then boyfriend was moving in with me, he persuaded me to give loads of stuff to a charity shop. Yes, the bear went. I seriously doubt the charity shop would have wanted him so he probably ended up in a bin somewhere. I've regretted that ever since. That little bear got me through some tough years, I'd have preferred to know he was tucked away in a drawer somewhere.

A little learnt about the limbic system.

I've been looking and learning a little about the limbic system with regards to how it may affect depression.

The limbic system is the part of the brain that controls your 'fight, flight or freeze' reaction and it develops very early in childhood. Therefore the very early experiences, sometimes as young as a baby, will help to formulate reaction and have a huge impact on later life.

I've been relating this to my own early experiences, and I believe they have had an impact on my developing depression from adolescence.

My father died 2 months before I was born. Now in those days the mother was kept in hospital for up to a week. My mother knew he had an inoperable brain tumour and so knew he was going to die soon. It's as well to point out at this stage that the baby in the womb would experience the hormonal changes and other chemicals via the placenta. Some people say the baby experiences the emotion as well, I'm not so sure about that. Anyway, my mother knew he was going to die, and then he died 2 months before my birth. She's in hospital with a tiny baby, grieving and no doubt wondering how she was going to manage. Then imagine further, all the fathers arrive at visiting time... that must have been so tough for her.

So eventually she is sent home and she copes with me on her own for about a year. Still grieving for my father. Already the prevalent emotion around me is one of sadness, depression and grief.

I was about 18 months old when she began to show signs of ill health. Headaches mainly, I think. My aunty has since told me that their family doctor said my mother was having a nervous breakdown and was imagining she had my father's symptoms. He told them the best way to deal with this was to 'snap her out of it'. Aunty said she went into my mother's bedroom one day where I was hanging onto the sides of my cot and screaming my lungs out, needing my nappy changed. My mother was lying on the bed, not responding. "Come on", she said, "that baby needs you! Get up off the bed right now!" Aunty said that day haunted her for years and she never really forgave herself for attempting to 'snap her out of it'.

I don't know how long it was until someone took her seriously, because she too had a brain tumour, an inoperable one. The headaches were real, and she was dying. Towards the end she went into a nursing home not far from home. In 2016 we would talk about this to the child, be supportive and include her where possible. This was the 1960s though, where I should be seen but not heard. A child then had no rights. From my perspective my mother didn't want to respond to me and then just disappeared one day, never to return.

I can't begin to imagine the emotions that would have been surrounding me then. Adults crying and I wouldn't have known why. So, the limbic system in my brain is developing surrounded by sadness, loneliness and grief. Here then, I believe, is the start of my depression. So much sadness that sadness becomes the way to be. It is a way of life.

From that time I was brought up by grandparents. My grandad was very strict, and made decisions based on what he thought best.

I think that's best left for another day though.