Regrettably I seem to have returned from sunny Bognor Regis by the sea more vexed than before. Today I am resting my weary body and squiddly mentals in an attempt to feel less tired and stressed. I’ve still cooked up a curry, sorted laundry and made a trip to the post office, but I’ve rushed around less than yesterday at least. I feel guilty that I haven’t made it to the gym, either today or in fact since getting back from holiday. And the irony is, it would probably do me good if I did. But all the while I just feel like crying, I can’t quite face it. I mean I need it, desperately. I fell off the wagon with the healthy eating big time at Butlin’s. I’ve returned with an additional 4kg body weight I need to shift. But I’m struggling. For me, moderate depressive mood always equates to the desire to eat everything in sight. Particularly chocolate, cake and sweets. If I slip over into losing my appetite altogether I know I’ve crossed the line into severe depression. I’ve been doing this enough years to know myself well. I don’t stress too much about myself in the moderate phase, despite its unpleasantness, but I do keep a very close eye on things as I really don’t like the severe depression. It scares me, and tends to scare those closest to me.

My internal monologue during depression tends to include,

“Are you ok?”

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I want my mum.”

“I want to die.”

The first two are just my way of checking in with myself. The third is laughable as not only is my Mumma no longer around, but she actually made me feel worse when I was depressed. What I actually want is the person I needed my mother to be. Someone to look after me. And the final statement is just a default setting, not actually indicative of suicidal ideation. It slips through my filter, but I put it back in its place. This is also a barometer of how severe my depression is. If I was actively suicidal I would be banging on my doctor’s door not casually blogging.

I’m aware returning from holiday can be difficult for me. Being low isn’t at all unusual. And I had such a wonderful time; spending time with my lovely best friend, paddling in the sea and enjoying all that Butlin’s had to offer.

And there are still the sad anniversaries to endure yet. I’m not certain why they still mess with my emotions so dramatically, even after 16 years (Andrew) and 11 years (Mum). To the people who think I can just ‘move on’ from Andrew, or ‘get over him’ now I have a new husband, I frankly wish I could. I don’t delight in this grief. But grief is the price we pay for love, and loving my husband, either past or present is not something I did, or do halfheartedly.

I’m so incredibly proud of Martin. I can’t believe it’s been a month he’s been in his new job now. And I’m still trying to work out who I am now he’s riding his metaphorical bicycle towards his bright and promising future. He frequently reiterates the role I play in supporting him. We were discussing this over the weekend during an excursion to Pets at Home. We came up with the title Emotional Support Wife. Much laughter ensued as we both suggested simultaneously that I should have a special harness for the role. Both then laughing more, as again, at the same time, noted I would probably enjoy that a little too much! He knows me well.

So I guess, despite feeling like I could seriously benefit from some additional emotional support myself currently, I will carve out my ongoing role as Emotional Support Wife. After going to the station yesterday to meet Martin off his train, and only realising he’d driven to work when he messaged me on arriving home, I think we could be in trouble. I don’t even know whether to blame the depression or the menopause for the brain fog. My memory is shocking at times.

I will do what I always do, until things start to feel a little brighter; hang in there. I’ll up my self care endeavours, and try to be gentle on myself. And forgiving. No matter how dark the night, the sun always rises in the morning, right?

I’m currently hugging my Nugget. Not a euphemism. Many of you are familiar with Ian, my large penguin plushie. Well Nugget has been recruited to share the workload. Ian is responsible for bedroom huggles, while sofa squishes fall to Nugget. It seems to be working so far.

So I’m hiding under my pink blankie with Nugget the penguin. I’m just absolutely done this week. I have got a couple of workouts in, been to get my nails done, made numerous trips to the post office and/or pharmacy, two station pickups, and made a wasted trip to the dentist.

That stressed me out. Since having a traumatic appointment last year I’d got in the habit of asking Martin to take me. However now Martin is working I got all brave and went by myself. First I struggled to park, then they broke to me that the new denture I was expecting to be fitted hadn’t actually arrived from the lab. I wasn’t best pleased. I’d summoned all my courage to face my anxieties around both parking the car and seeing the dentist himself, just to be sent home again.

Martin is absolutely thriving in his new joy. It’s a joy to see. So why am I feeling so discombobulated? I did say to him the other night, I feel like I’ve supported him so much over the last 3 years, and now it’s as if we’ve taken the stabilisers off his bike, and as he rides off into a bright and exciting future, I’m just stood here watching him go. I’ve done my bit and now I’m redundant. If I’m honest it’s a similar feeling to following Andrew’s death when my caring role ended abruptly.

I am happy for Martin. Really happy. He’s outgoing and gregarious (unlike me). He is in his element interacting with a team of colleagues. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him chuckle so much. But I feel almost as if I’m missing out on something.

I have resigned myself to the fact that my mental health and physical constraints have rendered me pretty much unemployable. My life’s work is centred on keeping myself well now. And I’m generally content, in that I’ve exercised radical acceptance regarding my situation. So why do I feel so damn useless right now?

I know it’s October. Followed by November. Obviously. Sad anniversary season when I remember the losses of Andrew and my Mum. As if I ever forgot, but you know what I mean. Even all these years on I struggle to escape the pain. I appreciate this isn’t ever a great time of year for me. But there’s definitely more on my mind. A sense of obsolescence.

Hopefully time will work its magic. Something’s got to give. Having spent years justifying why I don’t have a job I am left frustrated by my current insecurities that perhaps, yes, I am just a lazy benefits sponger.

Concurrently, the menopause (lack of) hormones continue to ravage me. I watch my hair getting thinner by the day. My skin managing a dry and oily combo of which I’ve never before seen the like. I am continually striving to shed more weight, yet my mildly shrinking body gives me no pleasure. I feel ugly and I don’t look like the person I always knew. I struggle to feel womanly when I look in the mirror and an old hag stares back at me.

I clearly need a little more radical acceptance. Or maybe a holiday by the sea, that might help. And quality time with my bestie. Watch this space.

Recently I haven’t felt right. I couldn’t put my finger on if it was a physical or a mental cause. I’ve been waking up late, despite having had a decent night’s sleep. Feeling particularly unmotivated and uninspired. I’ve done barely anything toward my assorted craft projects. I’ve stared a lot at my phone. I have been reading an actual book which seems to be something I generally only do on holiday these days. And while enjoying a book is obviously a positive, it doesn’t require the creativity my crafting does, which definitely sums up how I’m doing.

I’ve been a little low and tearful. Not constantly, but from time to time. I’ve had some of the classic mental thoughts that visit me at these moments. Again; fleetingly, not like the bad old days, pre-lithium.

And my IBS has been awful. There were days when I felt so weak and washed out, I did absolutely nothing. But dash to the toilet. Sorry TMI. Considering my diet is fairly good currently, with sticking to a calorie deficit, my poor tummy really shouldn’t be this bad. Difficult to gauge if the IBS was a result of stress or the stress was a result of the IBS. I endured some enforced rest anyway.

Trying to stick to a healthy-ish diet when my mentals are squiddly is always a challenge. First, my hearts desire is to eat ALL the cake. And chocolate. And then because I CBA to cook, let’s have a takeaway! But I’ve pretty much stayed on track. I do make sure I work some occasional treats into my calories, otherwise I would just give up. But it’s also important for me to remember, that an odd day of a few extra rogue calories isn’t going to ruin everything. So long as it doesn’t become the norm.

As an aside, let me talk a little about protein. As part of my daily intake I endeavour to consume as much protein as possible. I snack on Grenade protein bars sometimes. Have a protein yogurt or shake for breakfast. Or eat chicken, eggs or fish for my lunch or dinner. For me this has little to do with building muscle, although some of my program involves resistance work. For me it has everything to do with the qualities of protein as a macronutrient. It keeps you full for longer, which means less incentive to snack an hour after eating it (which was constantly occurring when I ate cereal bars). Also it doesn’t make you pumped (unless you’re doing that kind of exercise) I’m not! And unlike foods high in carbs or fat that the body will store as fat if they’re not needed there and then for fuel, excess protein is simply excreted from the body if surplus to requirements. Having a Grenade bar is good enough to fool my body into thinking it’s had a chocolate bar. Yet it’s low sugar and high protein. Win-win. Anyways, back to the subject in hand.

I’ve had to really push myself to get to the gym recently. Today was a breakthrough day. After so many days of feeling like I might actually die during my exercise, today I felt strong again. I always take gym selfies, for accountability and to remind myself when I’m feeling rubbish. My recent photos I’ve looked rough; tired, pale, old. Today I saw a difference, something in my eyes, my skin, my demeanour.

I’ve also been walking with Martin most days. It was always about building up his fitness so he can walk to the station of a morning when he starts his job next month. The side effect has been my increased mobility. Yes, I still get back pain and stumble sometimes, but less. And I’m not desperately breathless. The combination of twice weekly workouts and regular walks has definitely had a positive effect on my health and fitness.

And I guess that’s the thing. When you feel least like doing it, that’s probably when you need it the most. When creating a healthy meal or doing exercise feels the most impossible, that’s when the benefit is greatest. And it’s not even necessarily instant reward. But it’s the consistency, the determination that will ultimately pay off. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it will happen. And you’ll feel stronger

Since getting married at the end of 2022, life hasn’t exactly been marital bliss. It’s not that we’re unhappy with each other, but it feels like a heck of a lot has been thrown at us.

We spent the first five months of last year clearing Martin’s flat, and having a lot of work done here; decorating, new carpets, new built-in wardrobes, furniture out, furniture in. It was a huge upheaval. We took a load of stuff to our storage unit, but only a few months on we cleared that out again and downsized to a garage. Saved us a good amount of money, but it was hard. Martin particularly finds it difficult to part with stuff. I can never be bothered to try and sell stuff, it’s soul destroying, so ended up giving a lot of it away on free sites or to charity.

There was my horrible experience with HRT that left me suicidal and seriously questioning my sanity. Which also coincided our getting the kittens, who we were totally ill equipped to provide a home for (with hindsight). The heartbreak of getting them rehomed and within a very short space of time losing our beloved Roxy cat too. It was devastating.

One highlight, after getting our head round grieving for our feline friends, was adopting our current cat. Think Mog the Forgetful Cat. Big, cuddly, tabby and white, snuggly girl. Loves to be close to her people and really loves food! I was unsurprised at her recent check up with the vet we were advised to reduce her intake. That’s all three of us on a diet then!

Although things this year have been more settled than last, we seem to have been faced with a number of challenges. We are still not able to use our beloved Roger the motorhome. My teeth and Martin’s diabetes have been problematic. Then my car was bumped and I had to have it repaired via my insurance company. It all seemed a lot. I was fighting my mentals much of the time, trying not to lose hope.

Martin and I continue to lose weight steadily. He looks noticeably smaller. Me less so. But we’re obviously doing something right. Having two of my teeth out in hospital helped with the weight loss. Two weeks on and I’m pretty much eating normal food again. We have celebrated with some treats this week (mostly within my daily calorie allowance) because it is three years since Martin and I met for the first time and shared our first cake date at Dobbies.

And we’ve had further cause to celebrate too! Martin has a job! Since his therapy has come to an end, he has been increasingly aware that he needs more mental stimulation than his rug making or mushroom growing can offer him. He’s been applying for various jobs for a few weeks now, and then finally, yesterday, he was offered not one, but two jobs. To say this was the boost we both needed would be an understatement.

This week I started back at the gym following my oral surgery. I know it’s necessary for my physical and especially my mental health, but it feels like hard work currently. We’re also on a quest to get Martin walking in readiness for starting work. Conveniently there is a Costa on the outside of the railway station so we can have a coffee there before heading home again. I’m all for a little incentive. It really won’t hurt me to get my steps up either.

I’m apprehensive to say that things are on the up, because as we all know, life ongoing deals us a mix of both good and bad. But Martin is definitely feeling more confident and positive and that can only be a good thing. And happier husband makes for happier me.

I’m aware it’s only a couple of weeks since I last wrote, but I wanted to share some encouraging progress from our journey so far.

Firstly, me. I have been hitting my goal of getting to the gym 2-3 times a week. For the first time today I felt powerful and strong, even though my motivation to get myself there had been utterly lacking. I am regularly increasing weights on the resistance equipment. I’m so glad Coach Chris encouraged me to use an app to track my progress as it helps me appreciate just how far I have come. Being realistic, I’m a 50-something, grossly obese, menopausal woman with a dodgy spine. I’m not going to break any records. But I am nonetheless proud of my progress.

I have been sticking to a calorie deficit and logging my intake faithfully for 17 days now. I now understand that being in calorie deficit is the only dependable way to lose weight consistently and it gives me the scope to have the odd treat so I don’t feel deprived. I continue to swap out indulgent foods for healthier alternatives. What I’ve really noticed this time is that I’m sticking to my plan more easily than I’d expected, but I’m also aware it’s early days in the ongoing scheme of things. Again, I use an app to help me track my calories, and to keep an eye on my macronutrients.

I’ve been doing pretty well creating healthier, diabetes friendly meals for us. Am still on the lookout for different recipes and options, but I’m satisfied I’m on the right track.

My weight has been on a steady downward trend for the last three weigh ins, which is really pleasing. Also my heart rate and blood pressure are lower too.

We’ve also seen an improvement in Martin’s stats. Blood sugars, weight and blood pressure are all lower. And as yet he hasn’t lost the plot over anything I’ve cooked. It’s all good.

I’m pleased Martin actually has follow up appointments this time around. In reality we probably should have been doing this a year ago, but he was definitely not in the right headspace and I was not going to be the big ogre who denied him all his favourite foods if he wasn’t on board. Moving area and GP surgery he totally slipped through the net and he was reluctant to chase people up. Until in the place we found ourselves recently with everything in chaos.

Things are not sorted. It’s still early days and there’s definitely an element of suck it and see. But initial signs are generally promising and I’ll take that.

I’m ashamed to say it, but the majority of weight I lost before the wedding has crept back on. I knew what I had to do to maintain that loss, but I was lazy. I admit I have been hindered by not great mental health during that time, and indeed the challenges of menopausal hormones (known for causing weight gain). Emotional eating has been at a premium.

Additionally, many of the meals that were my staples during weight loss previously would not have been received well had I offered them to Martin. Cooking for both of us has frustrated me at times. I tend to be more open to eating stuff I’m not crazy about. But Martin likes what he likes and that’s it. So fish in its many forms, steak and kidney, and broad beans are off the menu. Because frankly, preparing one dinner is stressful and painful enough for me, without doing two. And as for sausages! Staple of sausage casserole or sausages, mash and beans are now reduced to ‘in a sandwich’. Before our holiday I had hit an all time low in the quest to keep coming up with something for dinner. The same options were being rolled out each week and frankly it was getting really boring. I toyed with searching out some new recipes, but I feared how they’d be received.

Meanwhile I was beginning to see a reflection in the mirror I was less than happy with. My clothes were feeling less comfortable. I was gutted I’d let myself gain so much weight again. Also, having worked so hard to reverse prediabetes I really didn’t want to revisit that again. So on my return from holiday I eased myself back into healthy eating and started logging my daily intake to ensure I was staying in calorie deficit. So far, it’s been easier than I’d anticipated. I haven’t been able to get to the gym because of dental/sinus infection and pain, but I’ve done well with my food and first end of week weigh-in was pleasing. I’m sure there’ll come a time where I’ll crave something indulgent, but at the moment I’m keeping the gremlins at bay with my healthier swaps.

Also since we came home, Martin had his diabetes review. I think to say his diabetes was completely uncontrolled was the kindest way of expressing it. It has been a huge kick up the bum, for us both, as obviously I am the one responsible for the shopping and cooking, but ultimately he’s the one who’s eating it too. So I’ve cooked healthier meals for us, but I am lacking in inspiration again. The diabetes booklet says lean protein like chicken, turkey, fish and beans. And lots of oily fish too. Which for Martin, pretty much comes down to chicken. And as much as I’ve tried to mix it up, we’re rapidly getting bored of chicken!

In terms of my healthy eating, I feel like I’m all over it right now. In terms of Martin’s diet, I feel utterly at a loss. It’s a challenge.

In light of his rather high sugars, Martin has been prescribed a new weekly injection. It apparently will also aid weight loss, which can only be a good thing. But it isn’t a miracle cure. In fact he was warned that if he eats badly whilst on it, it will make him ill. We need to get a handle on the dietary intake too. I have told him in no uncertain terms that I am not up for another dead husband anytime soon. I will support him all I can. I love him and we’re in this together. But I can’t do it for him, he needs to work that one out for himself.

I think for me, I need to eat what I need to be healthy. Even if it’s fish! I tend to compromise in favour of an easier, quieter life, but maybe I need to be a bit more proactive for the good of my health. And get my lardy ass back to the gym as soon as my sinuses are better. Aside from the physical benefits, it’s the one guaranteed thing that will lift my mood and boost my confidence.

Change is scary. But it can also be good. We’ll get there.

I always go to Butlin’s in May to escape, as much as possible, the sad anniversaries of my first wedding and my late husband’s birthday. I haven’t succeeded on being away for either of the actual significant dates for some time now, but the break seems to help in what can be quite a challenging time of year. The last two years Martin has gone with me, and he did again this year. But it’s my thing, not his. And he didn’t seem overly happy to be there with me this time, which I think added to my feeling of being unsettled. The kids (and parents) seemed less well behaved than ever. And irritating! Butlin’s, as a resort felt decidedly tired and shabby. Even the hotel I always stay in had lost its sparkle.

I did make inquiries about potentially going back alone next May. But that was as far as it got. I was told Butlin’s no longer accept single adult guests, unless attending an adults-only break, or if I knew a family with children I could tag along with them. The insinuation is that if you’re a lone adult you pose a risk to children. Which frankly is pretty offensive. Butlin’s has been a safe place for me to go, with or without my child (now grown up), friend, partner or family member(s) for many years. I’ve often described it as my second home. I don’t really understand how I’m more of a menace alone, than if I attend with my husband. Weirdly I don’t become some monster when unaccompanied.

Oh well. So consequently I’m not booked for next year. My booking for October with Penny, my best friend, remains. I will see how I feel then.

We were booked Monday to Friday, and by Thursday I asked Martin if he’d be happy to go home. My son was feeding our cat, and I was upset that she’d hidden herself away and didn’t even bother with her food. I didn’t like to think of her unhappy. Add to that our general dissatisfaction and the decision was made. So we had our spa treatments Thursday, had dinner, and trundled home. It didn’t help that we were staying away again over the weekend for a family event.

Anyone who knows me knows how I struggle with social interaction. I spent the duration of the family party trying not to lose the plot and trying not to say the wrong thing (I should never be trusted with secrets as I have no filter). I made polite chit chat with various friends and family of my in-laws, some of whom I recognised and some I didn’t. I made it through and Martin only once had to tell me to be nice! But I was absolutely drained. I can’t explain to others what an ordeal a room full of people and the expectation to mingle and look like I’m enjoying myself is. You either get it or you don’t. Martin has his own anxieties, but doesn’t comprehend mine. Hence the following day more family visits ensued.

By the time we got home I was exhausted and tearful. In the subsequent days my mood slumped. Everything seemed to be getting on top of me. Literally all I could do was survive.

That week my car got fixed (after some inconsiderate driver scraped the back bumper in our residents’ car park and failed to leave their details). It is looking great, but no doubt I’ll suffer next year when my insurance premium goes up because I had to claim.

And I also saw a psychiatrist, for the first time since, I think, 2018. The appointment had been sent through because when I changed GP practices last year (I think) no shared care agreement had ever been completed. The relevant form took about two minutes; name, signature, date. The appointment however lasted 40 minutes, as we discussed my life, illness, diagnosis, and whether or not I’d benefit from an autism assessment. Interestingly it came up that I’d previously been given a secondary diagnosis of EUBPD and he asked why that had been. At first I laughed and said I had no clue! I then stated I believed it was because I had pink hair, 17 visible piercings and some tattoos at the time of diagnosis and that seemed to be the criteria. Plus childhood trauma and a tendency to be a bit histrionic when depressed. He said he didn’t believe I had BPD. Not sure that means it won’t be on my notes anymore or not. I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever dealt with such a down to earth, genuine, approachable and kind psychiatrist. I felt heard and valued.

I ended the month with a flare up of the infection in two of my back teeth. I could sense it was already migrating into my sinuses again, and the tooth was absolutely throbbing. I managed to get a dentist appointment swiftly, and was prescribed antibiotics. They finish in a day or two. In a lot less pain now, but still feeling rough.

May has been a lot. There’s more but that’s for another day. Hoping June will be brighter.

That title is flipping awful! It’s making my spidey grammar sense all uneasy, but that’s what the creator of the challenge said, so here we are.

I am incredibly proud of myself for having blogged every day for the month of April. I didn’t know if I would be disciplined enough. I was concerned it would become a burden and potentially get me down. And despite not having been in the best mental health this month, I’m not sure the writing challenge has exacerbated that. And my mentals are steadily improving again.

Usually when I write it helps me process whatever is on my mind. It releases stress. However, just writing each day because I’m completing a challenge is different. It has forced me to find an angle on subjects I probably wouldn’t normally have tackled, so I guess that is positive. But there have been days it’s felt a bit of a chore. Like homework. Regardless of how interesting the subject it’s still taking time away from more relaxing or pleasurable pursuits.

So aside from the accomplishment of completing the challenge, how do I feel now? Kind of relieved. I can go back to blogging when the inspiration comes, rather than trying to create inspiration daily. Being that disciplined wasn’t a bad thing, but there were occasions when I would have blogged about what’s happening in my life currently, but the thought of writing twice in a day was just too much. I’m definitely not planning to continue blogging daily, at least not for the time being. But never say never.

Maybe daily bicep curls in May 💪🏻

I am a complicated woman of simple desires and my hopes for the future reflect this. I aim to stay alive for a while yet.

Not so long ago the average life expectancy for someone with bipolar disorder was 59. And I’m already 53. Thankfully that life expectancy has risen in recent years to 67, but that’s still 13 years less than the average UK woman. I’m aware I’m very overweight which isn’t doing myself any favours, but I am doing better than I was. I would love to be able to keep type 2 diabetes at bay as long as I can. I’ve reversed prediabetes once, my aim is to keep it that way.

Something else important to me is to keep my mental health as stabilised as possible. I’m aware that bipolar can be difficult to control in older age, which causes me a level of anxiety. Currently a good combination of medication, lifestyle and self care is working well for me, and I really hope I can hold on to that equilibrium. I hate that ultimately my brain chemicals rule my life. And medications can cease to be effective at any given moment. A lot of radical acceptance is required on my part.

I am blessed to have a lovely husband. It would be amazing if both our mental and physical health conditions were adequately under control and maybe life circumstances could give us a break so we could have a little more fun together. I want us to have great adventures, eat great food, have great sex, laugh together, make awesome memories.

And I would love to see my son married and have children. If that’s what he wants of course. Most importantly I wish him happiness and fulfilment. Because he deserves it, and so much more.

I don’t have any wild ambitions. I mean I’ve even accepted I’ll probably never be a plus sized fetishwear model now. But I’m ok. I have family and friends who love me and that’s the most amazing thing.