The worst thing about depression isn’t that it lies. It’s that it keeps telling you uncomfortable truths until you’re too weak to keep saying “so what”.
When my depression tells me that no-one will miss me or that the people I care about will be better off without me I know that it’s lying. No matter how worthless I am they would miss me because they are good people and my death would hurt them because they’d feel like they failed. Clinging on to that has kept me going. I’m not living for me and I haven’t been for years.
When my depression tells me that none of that matters in the grand scheme of things it’s not exactly lying. My life and the lives of everyone I know are meaningless when placed against the span of human history. All of human history is insignificant in the whole history of life on our planet. And that’s just on a local scale. Our whole solar system is not even a mote in the eye of the universe. Sometimes it’s a comforting thought. I am so insignificant that there’s a real limit to how badly I can fuck up.
When my depression tells me that I don’t matter that’s old news. When it tells me that the Universe is huge and ancient but still young and that it’s impossible to conceive of how brief and tiny my life is by comparison I can agree. But when it starts to say that’s also true about everyone I care about then I have a problem. I’m only living because I don’t want to hurt them. But if their pain is unimportant then there’s no reason for me to keep going.
I’m going to stop writing this now. I have no idea if it’s making any sense. The depression is very bad right now and my brain isn’t communicating with itself very well.
This week I lost half a kilo (about a pound) and I am already underwhelmed with weight loss after only 4 weigh-ins.
I find the entire process of dieting deeply unsatisfying. It’s expensive, it takes ages, it requires constant vigilance, and it leads to me obsessing about my appearance.
I’d really rather not think about my appearance. I’ve tried very hard to either like how I look or not care that I don’t like how I look. Dieting invariably seems to involve more thinking about how I can’t fix the problems with how I look and I’ve so far failed to fix how I feel about that.
Dieting also means not using food as a painkiller or an antidepressant. It means having to deal with pain, both physical and psychological, that I could avoid if I wasn’t on a fucking diet. And I have to expand precious mental resources working out what to eat rather than say, just having some toast. I find myself just having a cup of coffee to suppress my appetite because then I don’t have to think.
Context is everything. I’m a fat middle aged woman so me deciding to drink coffee rather than eat seems like a neat diet hack. But it’s just as dysfunctional as a skinny teenaged girl doing the same thing. It’s neither healthy nor moderate and it may not be sustainable but who cares because the number on the scale is headed in the right direction.
For more information see Update 4 or the Diet Page.
One of the problems with chronic pain is that it’s a lot harder to treat than acute pain. With acute pain you can just knock it back with strong painkillers and then wean yourself off the painkillers. Acute pain also has a limited duration so there’s the option of putting up with it till it goes away.
Chronic pain isn’t going anywhere and over time the painkillers tend to become less effective. My pain is variable so I deal with it by only medicating it when it gets particularly bad and ignoring it the rest of the time. This is not ideal.
For the last week I’ve been experimenting with CBD. That’s cannabidiol which is a non-psychoactive component of marijuana. That means it doesn’t make you high. There’s some evidence that it can be used to treat anxiety, inflammation and pain. Sadly it’s the THC in cannabis that works really well against pain but that’s the stuff that makes you high and you can’t buy that legally in the UK.
I’ve been vaping CBD oil as it’s the fastest way to get it into the system. I’ve been using it to deal with those times when the pain suddenly gets bad. Oral painkillers can take up to 40 minutes to take effect so something quicker would be handy. I’ve also been using it when I’m feeling anxious as anxiety can make Fibromyalgia worse.
It seems to be working. It’s been helpful when joint pain hits while I’m out and about. It’s too early to be sure but I’ll keep you updated.
For now I’m using a disposable vape pen in blackcurrant menthol flavour. I was dubious about that as a flavour combination but it’s surprisingly nice. I will probably move to a refillable one now that I think it’s worth the money. If anyone else wants to try the same supplier I’m using I have a referral link. If you use it and you buy stuff I get a discount. Here’s the link – https://cbdlifeuk.com/?raf=ref1943134.
There have been some proper trials done on CBD that showed a positive effect. However only a couple have been large scale double blind trials. Most of the studies have been of quite poor quality. So I would suggest that if you are going to try it you take it slow, don’t spend loads of money on something that might not work for you.
There are times when I want to do a thing and I know I should do it but I don’t seem to be doing it.
Days pass and I continue not to do it.
I miss out on opportunities. I piss people off. Sometimes it costs me money. I know I should do the thing. I want to do the thing but I continue not doing the thing.
It makes no sense. I get angry at myself. Sometimes other people get angry at me. They demand an explanation. They expect some kind of excuse or justification. There is none. I wanted to do the thing. I was capable of doing the thing. I intended to do the thing but somehow I did not do the thing.
I forgot to do the thing. I just didn’t get round to it. I didn’t really want to do it. I was scared of doing it. I thought it wasn’t really important. None of these are true. I was acutely aware of the thing. I had every intention of doing it but somehow it did not get done.
Over the years I have developed some coping mechanisms. Whenever possible I do the thing immediately. I know that if I put it off I just won’t do it. I try to avoid volunteering to do stuff because I know that there’s a chance that I won’t do it and not volunteering is a lot less painful than volunteering and not following through. If I can’t avoid it and it can’t be done right away I try to delegate it to someone who is actually good at getting things done.
There was a time when this problem applied to everything. Over the years I’ve found ways to actually get some things done but it’s patchy. At the moment I have 3 overdue library books, a conversation I need to have with someone that I’ve been putting off for a week and a list of literary agents that I haven’t contacted. On the other hand I have meals planned for the next 3 days, 9 novels in various stages of completeness and I’ve been posting 3 times a week on this blog for 12 weeks in a row.
It still doesn’t feel like progress. No matter how many things I get round to doing it’s never enough. There are still those things that don’t get done or get done too late and every single one irks. I feel like an idiot. A weak and foolish idiot that can’t follow through on anything. Except, of course, for displacement activity. I can displace like a boss.
I don’t have a problem with the Body Positivity movement as long as it’s your body we’re talking about. You look fabulous, by the way.
I just can’t be positive about my body because there’s nothing positive about it. My problem is not that I’m fat. Fat is not a problem. My problem is that my body is a worthless piece of toxic trash that has been torturing me almost from birth.
I hate my body. Everything I’ve achieved I have achieved in spite of it. All it does is slow me down. I can’t rely on it. It turns the food I eat into dysfunctional fat cells that lock the energy away. I can’t access that energy and the cells just build up on my legs looking fucking hideous, hurting and stopping my joints from working.
I’m trapped in this fucking cage. It doesn’t work. I can’t fix it. It’s made my life a living hell. There’s nothing I could ever have done to fix it. I’ve been struggling my whole life, blaming myself, thinking that I was a failure and the whole time it’s been beyond my control. I was doomed from the start.
If there was any justice in the world I’d be offered a do-over of some kind. But there isn’t so I’m just stuck here until this body stops working completely. I feel like my entire life has been wasted. Not just because this body sucks but because I’ve wasted so much time blaming myself for something that was outside my control and trying to fix something that was never going to work.
No more. Fuck this body. I’m done putting up with its bullshit.
Well I say that… but even as I type this it’s making a spirited attempt to get me to stop. My back is cramping up. The pain is all I can think about. My body is demanding that I stop typing and go back to bed or something. Realistically there isn’t much I can do about it.
At the last election I was faced with the realisation that the electorate of the United Kingdom either actively wants me dead or at least doesn’t care if I die. It was a sobering realisation.
This time it is, if anything, worse. Because now it’s not just the United Kingdom. Many of my fellow Scots want me dead. Why?
Seriously, Scottish Conservative voters, why do you want me and people like me dead? You’ve voted for a party that has cut disability benefits, attacked the NHS, cut Social Care spending and refused to condemn the forced institutionalisation of disabled people. People are dying. People have died. And if, as seems likely, the Tories cling on to power then more people will die.
If you voted Conservative in this election then you voted in favour of turfing out law abiding EU citizens, you voted in favour of the rape clause, you voted in favour of taking mobility cars from disabled people, cutting benefits to the mentally ill and to people with learning difficulties. You voted in favour of benefit sanctions that drive vulnerable people to food banks where they can hang out with nurses and police officers. You voted against the NHS. You voted in favour of fox hunting and selling ivory and cosying up to Donald Fucking Trump.
If you voted Conservative then why? What was it that you thought you were voting for?
Of course if it’s Scottish Conservative MPs that return the Conservative party to power against the will of the English electorate I am going to laugh for about a week. Particularly since the EVEL legislation, pushed through by the Conservatives in the wake of the independence referendum, means that they wont be able to vote on a lot of bills.
I’m terrified of dying. I don’t just fear the pain associated with death I fear the very idea of it. If I had some genuine religious faith then perhaps I would fear it less but I can’t bring myself to believe that there’s an after-life waiting for me. Other people? Yes. Me? No.
Maybe it’s a good thing. My fear of death is probably the only thing that kept me going through my teen years. That fear kept me from serious thoughts of suicide until I was well into adulthood. By the times things had got bad enough that I hated the thought of living more than the thought of dying I couldn’t do anything about it because by then I had responsibilities.
These days I often wish I was dead but I’m not going to act on that wish because it would hurt too many people too much. For years I felt lonely and unloved and I was sure that no-one cared if I lived or died. I didn’t know when I was well off.
I’m fond of saying that you should always look on the bright side and if you can’t find it you should polish the dark side. The bright side of my fear of death was that it kept me alive in difficult times. If I polish the dark side of how bloody awful my life is right now then at least it’s cured my fear of death. Death comes to us all and when it comes for me it’s going to be a relief.