Good things come to those who...

This is the blog I was going to write a couple of days ago... Sorry it's late 😀

(TW: depression)

For the past few years, I've followed the example of a lovely friend called Diana. While I was suffering from depression, I noticed that Diana regularly posted little updates of what she'd been doing lately but instead of going into detail and rather than seeming like a Facebook brag what Diana did - and does - was post a little list. The title of the list varied, but it was most often called "Today's Five Good Things" and it was her way of seeing goodness in everything, even on a day that wouldn't necessarily strike her as particularly enjoyable.

With Diana's encouragement, I took up this mission: to find five good things at the end of every day, regardless of how badly my depression had smothered me that day. There were days that were harder than others: some days I could go on to six, seven, ten good things. Other days, I really had to force myself to think of what to add to the list, only having two or three to begin with.

Gradually I came to realise that the exercise was forcing me to appreciate smaller and smaller things in my world: being wakened by my then-toddlers was something to celebrate, even when it felt like some form of cruel and unusual punishment. Those little boys were climbing all over me, excited for what the day might bring. They needed me to guide them through the day, to take them to the places and people that made them happy. They were excited to start the day with me and I suddenly felt grateful to have two wee guys feel that way about me.

The other positive outcome of posting this near-daily list on Facebook, rather than just writing it down, was that I couldn't get away with cutting it short. Friends engaged with the project and made me complete each day's list. Sometimes that act alone - friends caring about my wellbeing - was enough to complete the list. By posting on Facebook I was being accountable for my mental health and I was making my experience public.

This last part led to the most incredible outcome of all...

Three years ago this week, I suffered a neck injury which pained me for days into weeks. I couldn't get any physio (12+ weeks wait via GP!) so I decided to go for reflexology which had helped me with other aches and pains previously. The treatment helped, but not totally. I went next for reiki, another therapy I'd had in the past. When I came out of the reiki session my neck was much better. But I suddenly felt very emotional and I cried all the way home.

I don't know what made me so upset, I'm still not convinced whether it was the treatments I'd had or just a coincidence. My psychiatrist later said that my neck pain may have been caused by stress and that fixing the neck pain unlocked the stress. It all sounds a bit hippy-dippy to me (says the person who went for holistic therapies, I know!)

Regardless of what happened, by the time I got home - all of 10 minutes' drive - my depression was crippling. It was the most I've ever felt depression like a black cloud descending over me. The sun was actually shining that day. I can still remember the light on the wall during my reiki treatment. By the time I got home and went straight to bed, I felt like the sun was mocking me. The darkness inside me was overwhelming.

For the next four and a half weeks I stayed in that bed. While my husband took the first day off work, my mum actually ended up taking the next three weeks off to look after me and to take care of my children. The fourth week was the first week of the Easter holidays so my school-teacher husband was off anyway. By this time I'd been fast-tracked for psychiatric care and I was seeing the psychiatrist weekly. I didn't think much of him but my mum thought it was maybe just my depression talking. However, when I told the psychiatrist that I couldn't see him in Week 5 as we were going to my parent's house in Ireland, he made a snide little reply about how I couldn't be that bad if I was going on holiday.

I was devastated. For almost four weeks I'd been so flattened under the weight of my depression, I'd needed 24-hour supervision and care. Suddenly I felt like an impostor - I couldn't be that bad, could I? How could I justify going on holiday when I'd been in bed for four straight weeks? I must just be making it up, or making it worse than it is. I wept when I told my mum what he'd said.

Of course, my lovely, kind, caring mother is a fearsome warrior in the face of someone upsetting her children - regardless of how old we are. She phoned to complain, she came with me to stand up to this bully, she stayed calm and collected but left no one in any doubt: you have messed with the lioness. I was promised a new psychiatrist, a new location for my appointments, more nursing help, more, more, more. And all to be given after I'd taken my holiday, which was of course entirely justified and acceptable.

Reliving that experience, even in summary, has been hard. But the good thing happened when I started to come out the other side of it - probably by late April. I posted a "note" on Facebook explaining where I'd been, having skipped social media entirely for the previous 10 weeks. I praised my mum and my husband, I thanked my dad who was a regular counsel and sympathetic ear, having had bouts of low mood throughout his life. And I was open and honest about what I'd gone through. It was the first time I'd really given an insight into the darkness of my depression.

It was then that I saw the final positive outcome of my gratitude postings really come to fruition. As soon as I published the Facebook Note, I was inundated with comments and messages far beyond anything I could have expected. Some were simple, little love hearts or kisses, just acknowledging my post. Most were warm and praising, something I certainly hadn't anticipated, celebrating my honesty and my return to better days. The ones I expected least of all were the ones which thanked me: people identified with what I'd been through and recognised parts of themselves in what I'd written.

To this day, whenever I say anything on social media which reveals a little of how I've fought the Black Dog of depression and won, I still get messages and comments saying how people can sympathise or how they appreciate my candour.

As I've said previously, I'm a pretty outspoken gal. I speak as I find and I stand up for my beliefs. I try to do this with tact and care, but still, I know it's not for everyone. But if I can find the courage to say something difficult or painful and know that one person reading it will be helped by it... I don't mind pissing off a couple of others along the way. I try very hard to come from a place of kindness and with good intentions. I don't go out of my way to upset anyone. So my conscience is clear. But sometimes I need the reassurance that I'm reaching someone with what I write - to know that I'm not pouring my heart onto the page in vain.

I was signed off by a wonderful psychiatrist last August and I'm thrilled to be clinically free of depression. That doesn't mean I'll never feel sad or fed up ever again, but for now the skies are blue and sunny inside my soul. I've fallen out of the habit of posting my "good things" lists because I don't need to remind myself that there's good in the world. I am currently living with some physical pain issues so I don't always have great days, but I know that there's lots to be thankful for in my world.

I'm incredibly grateful for the family and friends who supported me when I was at my worst, even though some of them are no longer in my life. I regret losing friendships, but I still know that I've never done anything with malice, so I'm thankful that I have no guilt over them. I wish my Gran was here to see me out the other side of my illness, because she was such a good help when I was low. She had some great wee expressions and phrases which I still think of regularly. I'm grateful to have had her in my life for over 30 years and that my children knew her long enough to have memories with her.

My boys are a huge source of thankfulness. They're two funny, sweet, unique little men and even if they are completely endless, I'm also endlessly grateful for them.

My husband is a special creature. He's seen me at my worst and never wavered. There aren't enough words to convey my gratitude at being in Team Gibson. Our boys (M1 and M2) reckon that there are four people and one dog in Team Gibson, but I know there's really three people, one dog and a superhero.

However, the point of the daily good things list isn't to praise and laud my loved ones. The real point is to see the beauty in the little things around me. When I'm not carpe-ing the diem, nor carpe-ing the noctem - really when I'm struggling to move my legs at all, never mind seizing anything - I can't feel guilty about wasting my time here. My body is temporarily failing, so I can't go exploring the world or seeking adventure. Sometimes it's okay not to seize the day, but just let the day go by quietly. Life is short, I don't want to waste it, but by recognising all the little things that make the world great, I'm celebrating the life I've been given. And that's okay.

So I'll continue to be grateful for a quiet cup of coffee, for my loud boys, for little moments with good friends, for listening to my Grampa's silly stories, for wet doggy cuddles, for a nice bit of cake and for the weed my child picked on the way home from school for me. These are all of the happy memories that make up a life well-lived. By my standards. And they'll do just nicely. 

Peace and love.


FGx


Links:
Samaritans
Sane

Please ask for help if you need it. You are never alone. FGx