Watch Nothing...

Its hard. Its a life I could not have imagined as a child. I wasn't completely unaware - after all, I was the 'poor' one at my school. Yes, its relative - I went to a private school, and this means people think they have the right to assume things about you and abuse you in the street because they think they know your life.  But I knew how people who had less got treated.

I know that having money doesn't make a difference to how happy you are on an emotional level. There were, and still are, people with more than me who had parents who barely remembered their name. There were, and still are, people with less who had great, loving parents who didn't put them down or make them compete for their love. I can't even imagine that.

Now I am at a new level. I am, apparently, scum, a benefit scrounger, living off the state while I buy a big 'ol flat screen TV. (No, in case you're wondering, that is NOT true!)  I rant about Daily Mail reading Tories. OK I probably did before, but after America, and after this, I feel it now too, as one of those people they are misleading the public about. Its about time we were heard - not the people you see incredibly biased TV documentaries about - but the rest of us. The ordinary people who want a normal life.

Its hard to write this knowing that the people who were brought up like me will say 'yes, we understand'. Do you? But then, I'm still on the other side too - when I say I've lost 'everything' surely I mean 'ooh, I'm down to my last £100' right?

Er, no.

I'm so tired. Tired of money and the inability to work, on top of disability, on top of illness, on top of my Mother.s death, on top my life at home, on top of being a stranger in the church, on top of the family and friends I have lost, on top of my husbands betrayal...yes, I'm tired.

So now, I have to come from nothing, with nothing.  Well then, watch nothing.
It might surprise you.

3am...

...maybe I should get up?  

Because even the sheep are complaining. They don't want to jump over the fence just so I can count them anymore. They want to sleep!

I know why its hard to sleep tonight - its partly because I was ill today, with a grim throwing up, staggering around and camping in the bathroom thing - and all I could do after that was fall into bed. So I did, in fact, sleep, from 9am to 3.30pm. It is also because there is no one else in the house, because my Dad has gone to Cambridge to see a childhood friend. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm very happy that he gets to visit John and Rani.  He deserves to get out and see some friends, after the loss of my mother. He is doing great - not that he doesn't feel the pain, he does - but I am proud of the way he is getting on with it.

But you know how it is....when you're used to another person being around in the house at night....its weird...it creaks....

To look on the bright side, I have a week of the house to myself! I could do anything! Wild parties, have people over...

I think I'm getting old. When Dad said he'd be away, I thought, 'ooh, I'll catch up on the housework'

I think I'll join the sheep. Good night.

I Wish You....

You know what I hate most in the world?

People believing something about me that is false, and not being able to anything about it.  I mean, I'm not saying I hate that MORE than suffering, planet destruction, lack of world peace - I mean in a smaller sense, obviously!

Although doesn't 'world peace' start with us, in a sense?

Does it mean I'm a control freak, and have to have every like me? Or does it mean I'm too nice, and feel guilty when I upset a person, even though they are actually wrong about what I have done? Whichever it is, I drive myself mad worrying about it. Did I do the right thing? What are they saying about me? Why am I so worried about something so insignificant, in the great scheme of things? What if the person I upset is devastated and lapses into illness and depression?!

Ok, I know that last one is over dramatic but really, my mind goes there...

In the end, I have left a website I was an active member of for several reasons - this was simply the last push. I have tried several times to fix the issue, I have tried to resolve it, I have done everything I can, but in the end, I have to go, because these things were not accepted.  

I wish everyone on that site well. I hope they continue to write wonderful poems. I pray that God will bless them in every way imaginable. 

Goodbye.

Baking Therapy...

Fllummmphh!  Oh, excuse me - that was the sound of me collapsing! Baking is an exhausting process these days, as I only have one and a half hands to do it! I say half, because I do now have movement in my right hand, but not all of the feeling. In other words, I can pick up and move objects, but can't always tell when I have dropped them. Well, not until I look at the ground and wonder where the mess came from....

I decided on baking today because I thought it would help the current climb out of this attack of depression. I am, at the moment, hanging off the edge at the top of the pit, peering over and calling out 'hello?' in a voice not quite loud enough. This is an improvement on the last few days, which were spent grovelling at the bottom, not realising it was a pit with a hole at the top at all!

I know some would rather beat themselves with a wet kipper than spend an afternoon baking, but I find it therapeutic. It is a combination of creativity, of doing something I am reasonably good at, and of caring for those around me. It fights against those feelings of being useless, of having no purpose, that depression creates. It means producing something which my family or friends can eat, although I cannot earn any money. It also gives hope - something that depression sucks right out of you - for the future. Maybe I can cook for someone? Make a cake to cheer someone else up? Maybe even get a job, when I am fit enough?

So next time I am depressed, don't avoid me because you don't know what to say. Come round and look in the cupboards! Today we have bread, poppy seed and sea salt rolls, and some lemon and poppy seed cake.

I'll even make you a cup of tea.....!

             

What do I write, when I can't write?

....is there anything more frustrating than feeling the need to write, but not knowing what to write about? Yes, OK, there probably is, but bear with me!

For the last few days, my depression has struck - the clinical, 'comes down like a curtain and throws you into a black hole covered with glass that you bang on and scream at but nobody hears or sees you' type of depression. When I am in this state, I try to explain it to those around me - oh, hang on, THATS the thing thats more frustrating!

If I lived alone, I guess I would hide until I feel better. Because I live with my family, I try to give them an idea so that they know its not them. This, however, is easier said than done. I go downstairs, with the intention of getting out the words, and someone says 'what are you looking so happy about?'  I burst into tears and run upstairs. Generally it doesn't go well. The trouble is, when you have a mental health problem, people who don't understand or have much experience of these things think you're...well...mental! People think that depression is a 'bad mood', that you have it because 'you're that sort of person', that you can 'pull yourself together' and the more you try and explain it, the more you sound like a mad woman anyway! It doesn't help that you are looking for confirmation yourself that you are not crazy.

Probably the most hurtful response is the one that can sometimes come from Christians. They are my people, my brothers and sisters, and it is painful to know that there are those who think it is because I do not have enough faith, or because I am not listening to God. Thankfully, there are also those who do understand. I have the same faith as all of them - sometimes strong, sometimes weaker, sometimes having to confess my failures to God - not perfect, but trusting Him. Actually, depression REALLY gives you a lesson in how to hang on to God when you see absolutely nothing but darkness - and it really shows you that when you can't hold on any longer, He holds on to you.

So be patient with me while I come out of the fog. It may not look like I am doing anything at this time, but the smallest thing - getting up, getting dressed, coming out to church or just walking up the shops - is a victory. Please understand that it is part of the illness that I cannot see any hope, any light beyond this space - but that it can help to remind me of that, because a small part of me stands outside and watches and says 'its OK, it will pass, thats just a symptom'.

The following is a poem I wrote after a friend killed himself. I completely understood why, but my overwhelming feeling on the day was that if he could have just waited one more day, maybe ....

So I will wait, and I will cast my anxiety on God, because He cares for me.  (1 Peter 5 v 7)      

Ruth x


To Live

New days will begin 
I will wait for tomorrow
Just another minute more

I could give up now
But maybe this is the day
When I start to smile again

What if I missed it?
I would never know the joy
Of being free from despair

I wish you had known
That there was a tomorrow
If only you had waited

I promised myself
To remember this for you
To wait for the smile, and live.

2 Years On...

Yes, yes I know - no one is reading this because I haven't written anything for so long. I am, in fact, talking to myself.  I'm not sure why, except that my Dad said I should continue my blog because its 'good for me'. So, though I have a sneaking suspicion that it may be 'good for me' in the way that All Bran and exercise are, here I am.

Its now October 2013. In other words, its two years since I left America. Two years since I left my husband. Six months, almost, since I had any communication with him. People say to me 'it seems like you never went to America' - a statement I find really strange, because I feel like I've been gone forever, and my life has changed beyond recognition.

The trouble is, it doesn't appear to have. I live in the same place I lived before I moved. My family deals with things by not dealing with them. The difference is, I have found out some things I always suspected, but put down to my paranoia, are true. I have found out that though I had a difficult relationship with my mother, she was the one the held the family together and without her, we have little to hold us together. I have learned that certain people don't know me, and probably never will, as they won't talk about anything that doesn't fit in their little boxes. 

In all of this I found out something else

ITS NOT MY FAULT.

It is not my fault that I found what I did on the computer.

It is not my fault it took me some time to react - I was accusing my husband! Don't you think I wanted to be sure? Don't you think I wanted it not to be true, that the person I loved would do this?

It is not my fault that certain people cannot deal with it, and show a lack of compassion towards me.

It is not my fault that I now have a disability which means I cannot, at the moment, work, because after two hours I have to lie down.


It doesn't seem like a long time that I have been here - it all feels like it happened yesterday, and while a good part of that is down to the nature of why I left, which will stay with me forever, an even bigger part is down to those surrounding me.- their lack of support, their lack of compassion, their lack of what they claim to believe. 

I do believe in God. I believe in Jesus Christ, that He died for me, and that He is living today. I could very easily look at my experience and say I am done with all that - in fact I do, but I say it to God, and saying 'I don't believe in this!' to the Person you're not believing in? Well...doesn't really work , does it?!  My struggle, I guess, is what that means in practical terms.  I am still working that out.

Until then, I will put one foot in front of the other ....



Ruth x

An Onion Bagel with Chive Cream Cheese.....

This morning, I had my first bagel for eight months. My taste apparently has not changed - onion with chive. Of course, if I could get hold of an Asiago bagel and some Willow Tree Chicken Salad.....


...excuse me, I need to take a moment.....


Since I have returned to England, there have been things I could not buy or eat, because they just triggered too many memories of being in New England. I would see these things in the shops, pause for a moment and walk on by. Peanut Butter, Reeses Cups, bagels, chowder. I wonder if it is a sign of healing that I have started to include these things again? The other day, I bought some Reeses Cups. I am back on the crunchy peanut butter. A bagel for breakfast today. 


Of course there are things I cannot get here, just as there were English things I missed in America. Nobody can live in New England for more than five minutes without developing a Dunkin' Donuts coffee addiction, but I have returned to Starbucks, my first love, and have a loyalty card for Caffe Nero. My Coolatta cravings are somewhat assuaged by Shakeaways. I have continued to cook Mexican food, and find myself looking for Portuguese bread in the supermarket! I have found a UK website for Dreamfields Pasta.


One day, when I know I will be able to see the places I lived without being in too much pain to enjoy them, I will visit New England. I will eat clam chowder, buy a Dunkin' iced hazelnut, walk along Boston Harbor and take the trip over on the boat to Salem. I will go whale watching from P-Town, and see the fall colours in Vermont and New Hampshire, in all their glory. 


I will hug my friends.


And one day, over here, I will be able to walk through Asda without stopping at the Ben & Jerry's ice cream and crying.


Ruth x