Such an enticing title, I know.

I’m depressed. Not life threateningly, but just enough to make the basics even more difficult than usual. No motivation. No enthusiasm. Sleep pattern messed up. Comfort eating like my life depended on it. No desire to be sociable or communicate with others on any level. To be honest, all the stuff I struggle with on a daily basis, but amplified to the max. The only reason I get out of bed is because my back, hips and neck hurt if I stay horizontal excessively. Sitting on the sofa doomscrolling is my default position currently.

And there lies another issue. I have long used social media to maintain contact with friends and family. It enables me to feel connected to their lives without the one on one conversation I find difficult. However, at present world events and politics are screaming at me from every other post. I avoid mainstream media as much as I can, for the sake of my mental wellbeing, but if I switch off social media, I lose my manageable interactions with my tribe. I feel a bit damned if I do and damned if I don’t.

Talking of unwanted stresses, I have had both the electric supplier and the Department for Work and Pensions hounding me. We have actually changed our power supplier as a result of their actions. Constantly calling me, especially at 8am was doing my nut. It came about that they wanted to increase our monthly payments by £102. I called them, stating it was unreasonable and I couldn’t afford that. Despite my online account clearly stating the payments were increasing, I was told over the phone that they were absolutely not. I left it another couple of days, checked my online account again, it was still showing the 1st April payment at the increased amount, so I cancelled the direct debit. That’s when the barrage of calls began. I couldn’t take it. Martin switched us. New supplier took over today. Yes, I still owe some money to the previous company, but they shouldn’t have lied to me, or harassed me, a vulnerable customer on the priority services register. When I have it, they’ll get paid.

As for the DWP, who knows what they want this time. I had a telephone appointment recently informing me they wanted accounts from us both. Except you can’t screenshot bank statements etc anymore. They have to be uploaded as a PDF file. As I’m not terribly computer literate these days, Martin uploaded mine for me. Except it’s still showing in my UC ‘to do list’. I have no idea whether they’re going to come after me. Or worse sanction me. I live in constant fear of someone deciding I’m fit to work at the best of times. So now we both have telephone appointments next week. How I’m I supposed to look after my mentals with that hanging over me?

I had a job. Not recently, I admit, but I had a job I loved. I had the privilege of educating very small people in a warm, safe and fun environment. If ever a job kept me feeling young and joyful, it was working in early years. I was told on multiple occasions that my eyes lit up when I talked about my work in the nursery. It was a joy. Then I had a breakdown. Again. Throughout my life there’s been a pattern of work, breakdown, work, breakdown, work, breakdown. Rinse and repeat. Every time I manage to maintain employment for a period of time, another period of mental ill health follows. It’s nearly 13 years now since I last worked. Mostly I can accept that because I know devoting my time to self care is what keeps me well. But other times, like currently, I feel crap about it.

Depression tells me I’m useless. I’m lazy. I’m a waste of space. One of life’s spongers. I have nothing worthwhile to say, so why waste time blogging? The more junk I eat, and the more physical space I take up, the less space I feel I deserve to inhabit.

Yes, I’m down. But I’m not risk. Just more overwhelmed by the negative thoughts than usual. This too share pass. Apparently.