Tipping Point

After my desperate blog post on Tuesday, I realised that I had once again reached a point where things needed to change.  I have been at that point so many times before, managed to claw my way up from it, tread water again for a while (months even) and then slipped slowly downwards again, without realising I was almost underwater until I found myself gasping for air.  I can’t keep complaining about my situation when there are things I can do to change it.  Granted, I often find those things difficult to do, but they are not impossible, they just require an extra big dose of determination and effort on my part.  I can talk to friends about things, to Big Sis, to Samson, and have a good source of support.  But I don’t think even my closest loved ones knew the full extent of how I was feeling, or perhaps more crucially, the finer details of exactly why I have been feeling so low.  It’s hard to remove the mask even with people I love and trust the most.  Writing everything down made me realise exactly how unhappy I have been feeling and that I really must do something to change things.  


I wrote a list of what I needed to do this week.  I managed to get a few trivial items done, but the most important items, the biggies that glared at me from the page even more virulently the longer I put them off, they were the ones I knew I had to face and get over with.  After work on Tuesday, I stayed behind a little late.  I called up the employee assistance program we have at work to enquire about whether they have CBT available.  They don’t, but I got some details about the counselling they offer and what I would need to do to set up my first session.  I called up the loan company that has been sending me threatening emails requesting that I reply, then responding to my replies with generic information that didn’t answer my specific queries.  They were threatening to add fees of £350 onto a payment I owed of £315 if I didn’t pay by the 20th of June, despite me telling them more than once that I get paid on the 22nd and could not make any payment until then.  When I called, I explained this and stated that it was unfair to add charges that amounted to more than the actual loan, for the sake of two days.  Despite me feeling anxious about calling, the woman I spoke to seemed completely reasonable, said that payment on Friday was fine and that they would waive the charges.  The last call was to a company that offers free debt advice, including setting up debt managements plans, all without any charge.  I called them back, set up a phone appointment for Thursday and arranged to make a list of all my creditors and the exact amounts owed to each.


I feel so much better having done something.  My life needs to change and I'm the only one who can change it.

The Struggle

Why do I only feel like writing when circumstances, or at least the way I feel about them, are bad?

Things were slowly becoming more positive for a while, but without the underlying causes of my unhappiness being properly dealt with, things have once again become a little unbearable.  I feel a sense of guilt for not wanting to live sometimes, or lamenting that my life is rubbish, unenjoyable, stressful, boring.  I shouldn’t be so ungrateful for God’s gift of life, especially seeing as He has blessed me with so much to be thankful for and I have misused some of those things, causing my own unhappiness.

I’ve often wondered how I would be if I hadn’t had some of the negative relationship experiences that happened in my past.  I apportion some of the blame for my insecurities and issues with self-worth to those experiences, or more specifically the people who are responsible for those experiences, but they all seem to be getting on with their lives just fine as far as I know.  So if they are not to blame for my continued sadness, then who is left to blame but me?

I’ve had recent meetings with the occupational health nurse at work, as I was absent for work for about 8 weeks earlier this year and my return to work has been phased under her advisement.  I mentioned with a sense of regret/chastisement that I hadn’t done or was having trouble doing X, Y or Z.  “Yes,” she replied, “but you’re not well.  If you were well, then you would find it easier to do those things, wouldn’t you?”  I suppose I forget that I’m technically ‘unwell’.  It’s frustrating because I feel I should be able to do some of the things I find difficult (e.g. get myself organised, eat enough, do exercise, cope with things in general) and not be able do just makes me feel worse about myself, which only makes things harder.  I’m currently meant to be undertaking a course of CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) online, but without the regular contact you’d receive with in-person therapy, I’m finding it hard to be disciplined enough to complete the ‘homework’ I get each week.  My lack of discipline is pretty much the source of most of my problems.

I find it hard to confront problems at the best of times – or at least to take the action required to resolve the problems and follow it through.  I know what changes, for the most part, are required in my life.  But taking the steps to make those changes feels so difficult.  I can understand why some feel that depressed people need to just ‘pull themselves together’ or ‘get a grip’, etc. when the things holding those depressed people back seem so trivial.  But unless you’ve experienced depression yourself, until you know first-hand how crippling it can be and how insurmountable problems can feel when everything seems utterly bleak, you cannot understand why it is in no way as simple as that. 

At the moment, I am still trying to resolve my financial debts.  My post earlier this year about being a month or so away from paying everything off turned out to be rather too optimistic.  There is an organisation that helps people with debts they are struggling to pay, offering budgeting advice, debt management plans and other assistance, all for free.  I filled in their online form and they have called me back numerous times, but I have felt unable to answer.  It seems so stupid, but the effort required to go through explaining my income and outgoings, the debts I am having trouble repaying and the companies I owe them to, feels so great.  I need the help, desperately, but the final step towards getting it holds me back. 

Similarly, the CBT I have been receiving is not really suited to my situation.  I’ve found that although I can complete the sessions myself without too much of a problem, the activities I have to complete between each session are problematic.  The discipline required to set aside time each day for these activities eludes me.  I need to call the office that arranged the online sessions for me to find out whether in-person sessions are available.  Alternatively, we have a counselling and advice service available through my employer who may be able to offer the same therapy.  Have I made either call?  No.  The prospect of talking to someone about it makes me feel anxious.

My life has become a constant struggle of putting on a brave face, getting by, barely coping and holding it together.  I’m not sure what I’m so afraid of, but it feels like the moment I admit to having the problems I am having and admit to the cracks in my ‘I’m OK’ facade, is the moment the cracks deepen, break, and everything falls to pieces.  I’m scared that once I start to cry, I won’t stop.  That once I admit that things are not OK, that at times I find life unbearable, that I often feel incredibly sad and disappointed, I won’t be able to keep up the pretence that says otherwise, the very pretence that has made it possible for me to get by thus far, to keep going into work and maintain a semblance of ‘normal’ life.

It must be an indication of things not being right when the prospect of being institutionalised seems – in some ways – to be a good one.  Having your basic needs taken care of, having someone else be responsible for the small things that can occasionally feel like too much to deal with, appeals to me.  That’s not a good sign.  Depression may be a mental illness, but often for me, and I’m certain for other sufferers, the sadness feels present in my very bones, penetrating the marrow, weighing me down from within the deepest core of my body.  It’s a burden I carry, one that weighs me down mentally and physically and can’t just be thrown off when it gets too heavy.  Fortunately, despite the fact that I often feel like I’m constantly treading water or worse, drowning, I can be encouraged by a quote I heard recently in an inspiring talk by David Asscherick: “The struggle itself is a sign of life”.