Rise Like a Phoenix

Given my recent sorrows, and the kind enquiries of several, I've decided to write a blog.

The reasons:

1) To update those kind enquirers as to what is happening with me.

2) To unravel the knot of thoughts that tangle around my brain and stop it functioning at its full 18%.

3) To keep my hobby (and dream career) of writing simmering along.

4) To give me something to focus on, other than my dark thoughts.

5) To climb out of the slump I find myself in, refreshed, reborn and ready for the life I want to live.

I had a brief foray into this sort of thing about two years ago, when I was receiving chemotherapy for Hodgkin Lymphoma, an ass that I well and truly kicked. It helped me at the time to bang on about having cancer and stuff, though I had to abandon the scrawling due to nausea brought on by the drugs. I couldn't even read over what I had written without wanting to spew. I hope my followers weren't similarly affected! If you were among them, then I apologise for leaving you hanging: Yes, I got better. Remission declared on 4th September 2012. If I make it to 4th September 2014 with the all-clear from my haematologist, then it's unlikely that Mr H will ever be back.

So I kicked The Big C's big A - why should I be blue? Well, it would seem that the life I promised myself as I lay incapable on the mattress is not the life I lead. I fought to remain alive. What I am doing now does not justify that fight. This is not living - this is existing, and I'm getting fed up of it. When people say "Lizzie! How are you?" I like to answer honestly. When I was ill, it was "Well, there's a question..." Earlier this year, my reply would have been "Fantastically well, thank you!" This morning it was "Hanging in there..."

I am not happy, not even content. Sadness sits on my shoulders like a sopping turd, enveloping me in its crud until everything stinks. I've moved to the next letter in The Big alphabet. This is letter D. Deplorable. Disgusting. Depression.

I know the signs. I've had it before, see. I think most people get it in degrees from time to time, and how it affects them is different. This is a mild dose, but it's not going to go away without a bit of attention. Blogs didn't exist when I had my first encounter with the Black Dog. They do now, and I'm going to see if I can use this to my advantage. It really helped with the cancer. I think that's a fight that people find easier to support. Many of us - yes, me included - back off from mind-based health probs 'cos, let's face it, you don't know where you are with someone who has them. Are we going to wave a carrot at you and claim it's Elvis? (No.) Are we going to pause mid-conversation to fling our clothes off and run down the street, swearing in Latin? (Probably not.) Are we going to - spoiler alert - burst into tears at having to take our duvet to the laundrette? Or are we going to bore you to tears banging on about how pathetic and miserable our lives are? Maybe you'd prefer the Latin?

How Pathetic and Miserable My Life Is:

Where I am today:

Sitting on a rented sofa in a rented house where I live alone. Nothing about that last sentence pleases me.

How did I get here?

The result, I imagine, of a bunch of crappy choices that I made. I think that is all you need to know. I was living in a beautiful, big house, in the countryside, that made me happier than any of the previous twenty-three addresses I have lived at. (Yup, twenty-three.) My partner of seven years (and subsequently ex-partner of fifteen months) was living with me. Though we split back in December 2012, we maintain an excellent relationship. He (X) is tremendously supportive and continues to be so. But the time had come for me to move out as neither of us could move on with our lives. I looked on the internet for houses, and this was the first one that I deemed even remotely suitable. I snapped it up. True, it's not really where I wanted to live and the rent is going to be a squeeze, but I did it. Another crappy choice? Watch this space.

So, in summary:

1) Cancer. Fought it, beat it, but life turned upside-down. Body is not the same. Fighting to deal with that and work out what I can still do.

2) Became single. Fighting it, but gradually succumbing. It's tough - pushing forty, never been married. Never been engaged. Never been with someone for longer than 7 years. Actually I've had three relationships: Nearly 3 years, nearly 4 years, nearly 8 years. The first two chaps went on to marry the next girl they got together with. What does that tell me, eh?

3) Moved house. Reluctantly. Living somewhere I might not have picked if I'd had more time to look. Fighting to settle in.

And wait, there's more. Call Nigel Kennedy, we need violins:

4) Due to said life changes, need to find more work, lots more work to pay the rent and the bills. I am coming to terms with the fact that I probably won't own a house in my lifetime. It may not be all it is cracked up to be, but it was what I wanted. Everyone has a dream. That was (one of) mine. Fighting to keep my head above the financial waters.

5) X is dating a new person. The pain that accompanies this wrenches my soul apart. Loneliness is, ironically, my companion. I go for days without hugs - I love hugs! I fall asleep clutching my Zippy doll as if my life depends on it. I am fighting it too.

Now before you tut your "Oh POOR Lizzie! Doing what every other bugger in the world has to do. Suck it up, girl." Or even "Really? There are so many people in the world worse off than this!" along with me (because I too berate myself for being so rubbish, with similar lines), bear in mind that this is all a lot harder to take with the mental state I find myself in. Even the work I already have is nigh on impossible. I have to nail my concentration down to a chair and threaten it with ice water. As I understand it, we have chemicals in our brains that move from one place to another to indicate that we are happy, or at least content. Some days demand more of it than others to keep us going. If we make enough of the stuff, we can manage OK through those times. But some of us only have a trickle of this magic dust. We're fine when the going is good, but when the chips are down, the trickle dries up and we can't handle it. Me, I'm a trickler.

http://www.blackdoginstitute.org.au/public/Depression/depressionexplained/index.cfm and http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/depression/Pages/Introduction.aspx explain the symptoms very well. In fact, reading that link in order to add it to the blog has just given me another moment of realisation. I've been ticking off items on that list for months, and I had no idea. A little enlightenment this evening - a bit of a "Eureka" moment for me, and I've shared it with you. I'm definitely Black Dogging it. (Which is definitely not as fun as it might sound.)

Realisation aside, I didn't suspect it was back until the day when I possibly had to take my duvet to the laundrette as a result of the flea infestation in the house (boy, have I some tales to tell you...) My inner monologue, punctuated by escalating hysterics, went like this:

"Where's the laundrette? You mean I'll have to get into the car with my washing? I don't know where I'm going, I've only just moved in! What if they're closed? What if I can't park? I'll have to drag my duvet down the street for nothing? How much is it going to cost? I can't afford it! I don't want to sit in the laundrette with people. I want to stay here and hide under my potentially flea-infested duvet and cryyyyyyyy." I was absolutely helpless. There was no way that I could work out what I had to do. In the end, I called X who managed to calm me down get me pursuing the first steps of a plan - calling the Pest Control guy, who said that the washing of the duvet was not necessary, just the bedding. That was easily bundled in the car and transported, along with a still-sobbing me, to X's house and my old machine. The ability to respond rationally to a simple situation had abandoned me in a way that I hadn't experienced for a good decade. That was over a month ago. There have been several more incidents like that since then. I wouldn't blame you for being scared. It frightens the crap outta me.

Last week I finally faced facts - the only way forward for me is medical intervention. I've never had a lot of fun with anti-depressants. Reading the list of side effects is often more depressing that the original illness. I last popped one back in 2004, I think. Never mind the dizziness or the dopiness, the biggest issue (literally) was my dress size. It magically expanded, as did I, over the 3-year period I was medicated. Slimming World saved me from the 17st 9lb girl-mountain I became, but that too is another story. With fantastic before and after photos, which I shall no doubt share at some point.

Being overweight is not going to cheer me up, especially given my marital status. Since the chemo, I'm iffy about putting stuff into my bod that it doesn't want. (Er yes, that would include potential suitors. ANOTHER STORY.) I read somewhere that exercise is an excellent treatment, and the doctor (who was lovely, by the way - really sympathetic, just what I needed) agreed with me. She "prescribed" me the Healthy Lifestyle Scheme, taking place at the local pool and leisure centre. "You get gym sessions at a discount, and a personal trainer to help you at the start." Being Lizzie involves avoiding people where possible. A depressed Lizzie would slide under buses in order to avoid people, especially strangers, and especially especially in any sort of sweaty, half-dressed scenario. (Yup, the speed dating is off.) And yet today I set myself a target - walk to the leisure centre and bloody well sign up for this. Put your head down and DO IT. I did it. My initial consultation is next Wednesday. I had to hold back tears when the receptionist smiled at me at the completion of the transaction, but I walked back in the sunshine, satisfied and hopeful. Even if I loathe it, I shall be looking at it as medicine. It's only for 12 weeks - half the length of my chemo - and, if it works, I shall be feeling better as I near the end of the treatment. I am using the fighting spirit that I summoned up to kick Mr H's butt into the middle of last century. I'm relieved to see that I still have it, though it is buried under a lot of crud. As for the doc, I'm to go back to her in a fortnight if I don't feel any different, and we shall discuss tablets. There's an element of suspense for you, right there.

You know something? This writing lark is already working. I feel weights starting to shift: not lift yet, but moving to slightly less uncomfortable positions. All I ask of you reader, (and dare I say, friend) is that you bear with me. It is going to be a rollercoaster. I will do my best to laugh at myself, as always seems to be the path of choice. I will aim for as much honesty as possible. I'm its number one fan, and when I can't employ it, it brings about the blackest clouds.   

I must add that I will endeavour not to mention anything that I think may upset individuals who may get caught in the story, but I am only too aware that I can't please all of the people all of the time. So if you see something that makes you unhappy, or you think might affect someone else, I would appreciate a direct email to me citing the problem. I am very sensitive to upsetting people. I am always mortified, and retreat into my shell a little more when it occurs. I wouldn't make a very good UKIP MP. Thank goodness that is not a career path that I have my heart set on trotting down!

And if you happen to see me irl (in real life, non web-wise ones), just act as you usually would. Just know that I may cry at harsh words. I may also cry at kind words. Come to think of it, I may cry at pretty much anything, like a blackbird singing in the garden, or pretty music, or hearing about your holiday plans and remembering that I don't have any, nor money to pay for a holiday, nor a chap to plan a holiday with. Tears and self-pity flow freely, for which I am sorry, which is another reason why you might not see much of me. For a while, at least.

This old boot is rebooting, baby. Rising like a phoenix from the fading light - not like a bearded transvestite, but just as dramatically I expect. And I'm going to let you watch. Fantastic.