I’m not doing well. I’m weary, run down, burned out and depressed. I’m trying hard to keep afloat, but I fear it’s the culmination of weeks of trying to stay afloat that has led to this current blip. My mentals are decidedly squiddly and as always I’m at a loss what else to do.

I’ve done my usual thing of buying a load of unnecessary stuff in an attempt to cheer myself up. But cheer has been fleeting while my bank balance is depleting. Which presents its own problems. I claim state benefits. I don’t deserve treats. In fact I’m no longer sure I deserve power or groceries either, but I try not to dwell on it. You know, being prone to depression and all.

I’ve tried to do things I enjoy, although those things also cost money I don’t really have. I’ve been ensuring I eat, medicate, shower, go to bed on time, stay hydrated and so on. I admit I’ve been struggling to get to the gym, even though I know it will probably help. To be honest, having to go anywhere where there are people is a challenge currently. My anxiety is high. Higher.

My memory is appalling. I have a little household routine I follow each night; dead locking the door and putting the chain on, loading any last bits in the dishwasher and starting it, loading the washing machine and setting its timer so it runs overnight and so on. Recently I’ve been forgetting things and I may or may not realise before I fall asleep. Thankfully Martin has been taking up the slack for me. But I feel useless.

My brain feels like cotton wool. I walk into a room and forget why. I can’t think of simple things. I’ve also noticed I’ve had more hot sweats and I can’t help wondering if my current symptoms are due to menopause rather than depression related to my bipolar disorder. How would I know? And I can no more take HRT than I can antidepressants so I guess this is me for the foreseeable future.

I just keep crying. Every time I read something sad online. Every time I think of my parents. Even thinking about my son and how much I love him and how proud I am of him sets me off. The thought of going to Tesco to visit the photo booth so I can complete some essential admin had me blubbing earlier. It’s hopeless.

Trying to accomplish anything at the moment feels impossible. And pointless. It seems like no matter how hard I try, life just deals me more shit. Which incidentally is one of the reasons I parted company with the church. Accepting life, or the universe, or whatever randomly throws me crap upon crap is one thing. Believing that a loving god could be responsible for that is just cruelty. I feel rubbish enough about myself as it is thanks.

I could contact my GP, but all he’d do is book me a phone call with the mental health worker. And all she does is metaphorically pat me on the back and tell me I’m doing all the right things. I’m not unwell enough to be referred back to CMHT, which I’m relieved about, but it just leaves me a bit in limbo.

I’m trying hard to communicate to Martin what is going on for me, and what I need. I know it’s hard for him to see me struggling. And while he himself is still struggling with low mood.

The cat is a treasure. She snuggles up and puts healing purrs on me. She’s such a sweet, affectionate girl I can’t imagine life without her now. Sometimes of an evening when I’m sat, cat on lap, I think to myself how much I’ve become like my mum, with Tiffy, our cat when I was young. All I need is Coronation Street on the TV. As if!

I’ll get through this. I will keep trying to be kind to myself. I’ll try to take it easier. Ask for help if just existing becomes unmanageable. Surely things have to get brighter at some point.