A dark and funny life

Yes, that’s right, another story about depression. Sorry. I would say it will be entertaining, but I can make no promises, as I am not generally entertaining, but if nothing else, you can laugh at my failures, dear reader.

I know you’re not supposed to laugh at depression and anxiety, or any mental illness, but sometimes you have to. Some people will call that hysteria, but maybe, just maybe, hysteria doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

I think I am pretty hysterical, if hysterical includes overthinking to the point of getting to a thought, after about six million other thoughts, and then having to back track through those six million thoughts to get back to the original thought, to remember what it was that started you thinking in the first place. All of which is interrupted by random crap that pops into your head like ‘I want a pet ferret’ and ‘where would I go first if I could teleport?’

I am not hysterical in the funny sense; although people might think I am because I make a point of being ‘funny’ sometimes because I am not sure that if I just talked that anyone would find me entertaining. Why I feel the need for people to find me entertaining, I have no idea (well, some idea, but more of that later) although I suspect I don’t have anything interesting to say most of the time. Maybe those people I mentioned at the start of this paragraph do think I am hysterical, in a ‘jeez she’s frigging barmy’ way.

Oh, depression lies. Lies to the point that it has third degree leg burns because its pants are permanently on fire. I do of course have some interesting things to say, if I didn’t then I assume I would be alone, with my dog and clutch of cats (I am not sure that that’s the right word for having multiple cats, but it sounds like it should be). My phone would have only one number in it and it would be for my Mum, because she’s my Mum and so has no choice but to listen to me. That’s not the same as being interested in what I have to say, but giving birth to me comes with some obligations, like talking to me, and giving me really blunt opinions apparently, but usually after I have cocked up whatever it was I was doing in my life, or made a disastrous choice about something. I am not sure her hindsight advice is really helpful, because by the time she gets round to telling me she never liked my ex-husband, or my hair when it was dyed red (it had been that colour for about 18 months) I have usually already made another decision that she hasn’t opined about that could also be a mistake and I will only know if it was after the event.

I am sure my headstone (if I were to have one, which I am not) would read, my Mum was right. Although she could have told me!

I do in fact have numbers other than my Mum in my phone, work, friends, exes, random numbers that I no longer recall the reason for having and of course my partner, Chris.

Chris; where to begin? He is a very patient man who says I never have to apologise to him. That’s very sweet, but I of course find myself apologising all the time. Usually because I have said something shitty, in a funk, and been incredibly blunt about it. Hmm, I always blame my Mum’s bluntness on her stroke and loss of vocabulary but perhaps it’s a family trait after all. At least with those closest to me. It’s sometimes like the words just fall out, sadly even when I have been thinking about them for hours and hours and still blurt them out with all the tact of a rhinoceros demolishing an oasis he stumbles upon after hiking through the desert for a week with the morning-after tequila mouth. Not that rhinos hike, in the desert, or drink tequila. As far as we know. Maybe I will stick to clichés, bull in a china shop, but then I have never seen a bull in a china shop either, but I understand the analogy. Although it doesn’t really fit with being tactless; that’s more about breaking shit, rather than being inconsiderate. Plus a china shop is likely to be crammed with breakable stuff and a bull is pretty frigging large and probably doesn’t understand the etiquette of shops. Or china ware.

If I am honest, writing is probably another distraction for me, I have a lot of those. The very clever solution I have devised to deal with depression and anxiety which causes an over busy mind is to make the rest of me busy too. My advice to myself is often crappy but it does distract me. I can spend hours delving into YouTube for projects which scream ‘I could do that’ and then hope that I can because if I can’t I will only get frustrated and assume that it is because I am clearly a failure at life for not being able to make a sofa from cotton buds, plasticine and newspaper, in a day.

What is really annoying about that is that spell check doesn’t recognise plasticine, which makes me feel old and feel the need to find a shop that still sells it to prove my PC wrong.

Some of my projects have been successful, some look like a two year old was let loose in a craft store. At least in my opinion. Chris always says they look great, and I just have ridiculously high expectations of myself. I disagree. Frankly I have no idea why I started baking and crafts and a host of other activities along those lines, I have never been the creative type.

Sometimes to see if I can, other times maybe to give me an excuse to beat myself up when it doesn’t meet my standards. Yes, Chris might be right, but I won’t be telling him that, he would smirk at me, hug me and tell me he loves me. Who needs that when you are trying to berate yourself for not being a domestic goddess and little miss perfect and everything else you are supposed to be? Foolish boy. Clearly I love his reaction really, it doesn’t always make me feel better, but he does understand. That’s not to say he isn’t honest with me about some of my efforts. I am far too honest with Chris, so it’s only fair really. But when I call him a knob, it’s usually in an affectionate way. Honest.

User Comments

Depression is a battle, it doesn't ever go away I think it lurks there and you learn how to deal with it.  Or that's what I have done anyway!  I know how you feel as I struggle everyday but I keep going so hope you do to x


It is the depression telling you that you are worthless, listen to Chris - he sees you more objectively than you do.  If he supports you then sounds like you have a good one there, so work on spending more time with him and enjoying yourself.