Being “OK”…

Ok, so here is a blog post that’s been in my head a while… I want to talk about routine (again), being ok, depression and coping… and hopefully in a way that is positive and maybe even helpful to someone out there…

You can imagine that a lot of lovely people are asking me “how are you? Are you ok?” and of course it’s wonderful that folk are asking but it makes me think each time. Am I ok? What is ok? Should I be this thing called “ok”? Is it, in fact, ok if I am “ok”?

So, I think, yes, I am OK. I am happy at times, sad at times, variously in love/cross/delighted with TheBoy; he’s ok with this, it’s normal for his mum to be both snuggly and grouchy in well, let’s say, not-quite-equal measure; snuggly wins, most days. Truth be known, it feels wrong to feel so ok…(and yes I know I might have a ‘re-lapse’…)

Routine helps; I’ve chattered on about this before, it’s the little things that you just have to do, because you did them yesterday and the day before and the day before that, that keep you going sometimes. These things are a no-brainer; feed the cats (they’re asking so you have to), make a brew (it’s what you’ve done first thing every morning since about 1990), get TheBoy to school (it’s frowned on to allow your children to abscond and, let’s face it, who needs them underfoot 7 days a week?!), go to work (all the tea you can drink and friends to keep you sane), collect TheBoy (it’s not a boarding school), feed cats, TheBoy and self, TV, sleep until 7.05am. Repeat. Routine helps.

Right, so here is something else I want to share. It’s about depression. I’ve managed depression for a few years now; the stigma surrounding depression is being gradually eroded and I’m glad for it… we need to talk about it. A doctor told me once that it’s like having diabetes and needing insulin; you have a chemical imbalance in your body and the drugs help make it right; that helped me a lot to get my head around what was going on when this weird out-of-control feeling got a hold. I know now what makes me low, what it feels like when I’m heading down there and how to pick myself up; invaluable.

Depression is very selfish; I know that – unfought – it would keep me in bed, dozing and feeling dozier for it; keep me home during the day in an air-less lonely house; keep me from meeting people, travelling, getting on with my life. I would feel as though I were indulging myself by staying in this bubble; allowing myself permission to hand out excuses for not doing all the things I really want to do if only I could just grab life and shake off the depression.

Grief is exhausting and I don’t mind admitting that the last few weeks have taken their toll; sure I feel ok now, but there were a lot of days when all I wanted to do was give in to the tiredness, stay in bed and generally idle around the house. And yes, I’ve had days where I’ve not left the house. They are few and far between and by mid afternoon I crave fresh air and exercise. The stay-at-home day begins as an indulgence and ends up a trap.

Busy. That’s what has kept me in one piece, both now and on and off since the depression first arrived. Busy sticking to my no-brainer routine and busy filling the gaps by making things tidier, prettier, cleaner, more efficient. I love that the busyness leaves me with more energy than when I started my tasks and I love that I’m wupping depression’s backside each time I get something done.

So in summary; I’m leaning on my routine like it’s a crutch and I’m keeping busy to ward off the gloom. Every now and again I look up and wonder what happened; how did we get here and where did the last few weeks go; is it real? The answer might hit me like a sledgehammer one day; until it does you’ll find me on my little treadmill, doing OK.

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