Tag Archives: black dog

Who let the dogs out?

I must apologise for my prolonged period of absence. I’ve been wracking my brains trying to find a way to explain it but since I’ve been having difficulty understanding it myself, finding the right words to express it to someone else has been nigh on impossible.

I am in the midst of what has been the longest and strongest bout of depression that I have suffered in more years than I can remember and it has knocked me for six, in my darkest days and darkest hours my young daughter, Lulu, has been my source of hope, my light at the end of the tunnel shining brightly. I am taking one hour at a time, one day at a time, sometimes one minute at a time. I have progressed from the months of summer when I could hear the occasional whimper of the ‘black dog’ at the front door to the present, when he is my constant companion. 

On occasion the effort required to get through a day, to get up, to dress, to smile, is overwhelmingly exhausting. Everything seems a swirling maelstrom of jobs to be done, all as important as the other but the ability to tackle any of them seems just out of my grasp, I am frightened of life at the moment and I want to hide, but I am getting up every day, I am getting dressed, I am winning the battle. But I am exhausted, beyond exhausted, sometimes remembering to breath is all I can manage in a day.

The fact that I have been rather poorly in the last week or so is adding to my frustration, horrid big lumps have appeared on my legs and arms and they are really hot and they really hurt, like big lumpy bruises, I’m incredibly grateful it isn’t summer time or the world would be forced to gaze upon their hideousness. My GP thinks its related to the rheumatoid arthritis they now seem to think I have but I’m patiently waiting for my appointment with the consultant to confirm that and so until that day, in about two months time, I am on rather strong painkillers. I tell you, you hit forty and you start falling apart – I got my first pair of glasses recently and now my eyes have given up producing moisture – no tears for me! Luckily you can get them in a tube on prescription – all very odd.

Sometimes I find myself wanting to cry at the most inopportune moments – when paying for my coffee, when talking to a colleague at work –  there is no rhymne or reason to it. Rather like the illness of depression itself. Maybe its my body’s why of physically wanting to relieve all the tension I’m holding inside? On other occasions I just feel numb but every now and then I can feel a spark of excitement in me about something, maybe something rather trivial, and I remember that I can be happy again, that it is possible. So I shall keep on getting up and remembering to breathe and wait for it all to get better because deep down inside me, I know it will and, in turn, so shall I.