I wasn't going to write in this little box today.
No energy and nothing to say.
However, I've been upstairs trying to watch something on telly and I just cant concentrate. The tv guide is telling me that there are a few favourite programmes of mine on, but my channel hopping is getting ridiculous. Nothing fits. Nothing is relaxing. Everyone on tv is annoying me tonight. They're all either too pretty, or too succesful, or just generally have it all. And I'm lying on the floor, wrapped in a pink blanket eating ryvita. Its not a good comparison.
I really wish I could stop comparing myself to others. Its so frustrating. And such a waste of time, and energy. But my brain will not desist. It likes to remind me that everyone else is living a much fuller, healthier, more enjoyable, less stressful, life than mine.
I feel like I have just wasted time.
I'm 25 and what do I have to show for it? A cupboard full of medication, hands that wont stop shaking and a brain thats gone all funny. (And not funny ha ha. Funny weird....)
I wish the doctor could tell me, "Susanna, in 2 months time you will be feeling back to normal..."(whatever normal is!) Its the unknown I guess. Which sometimes can be super exciting, but mostly, at the moment, I just find scary.
Is this illness going to be a part of my life forever? Have I just got to accept that it wont ever go 100% away, that there will always be a battle there? Or will it fade? And when will it fade? The trouble is, when you think back how long all this shitty depression has been going on for, its probably so much longer than I want to realsise or admit....5 years? 6 years? Not good.
And then I think. Seriously Susie, you really shouldnt be getting frustrated. What have I got to complain about?
But then I remember.....that we all have problems, ill health, stressful stuff going on. And theres not really any point thinking that my stuff is worth less than others. Its hard not to though. Sometimes I think, oh I'm just making a fuss about nothing. Hundreds of people have depression. Which is true, hundreds of people do have depression, but no-one else is Susie Piggott.
I'm the only one.
And everyone has a different way of healing. A different timespan to heal. Different issues, different problems, different people. No one else will ever feel exactly how I'm feeling because there is only one of me. You can certainly empathise and sympathise with others. Relate to what they're saying. But the uniqueness that we're all made up of is actually a good thing I think....I'm not making any sense....
I would love to be rescued. A big helicopter would come zooming down (maybe Prince William would be the pilot, who knows!) All the big strappping helicopter rescue men (not sure of their official title) would winch me up that rope thing and nurse me back to health. But I wouldnt be rescuing myself. I would be totally dependant on my rescuer. And when you're in a vunerable position, its so easy to get attached to your rescuer. They seem to have the answer to everything! And you're not in a position to argue with them. Because they rescued you. Which is quite a powerful thing to hold over someone.
Lost yet? Yeah my train of thought is a little weird this evening.....
Now I'm not saying being rescued is a bad thing. Of course not. We all need rescueing from time to time, especially if you're a teeny tiny cat stuck up a tree. And I'm also not saying that in some ways I havent been rescued. Because I have. Daily.
I have a team of mini rescuers. They give me my medication, digest my innermost thoughts, cook me dinner, text me, hug me, kiss me, tell me a funny story, tell me any kind of story, write to me, email me, phone me, poke me, make me a warm squash, send me a picture, drag me out of the house, walk with me, run with me, spin with me, eat with me, make me laugh.
And I am forever grateful.
But I wouldnt be sat here typing if it wasnt for a little nugget of strength found somewhere within my gut. It said to me, "Susie, get off your arse, and do some writing, you will feel better."
Pretty clever gut by all accounts. And I could of easily ignored that. But I pinned back my ears, and listened to my gut, my inner rescuer.
And now my inner rescuer is telling me to stop typing. Ha!