There’s some horrible stuff going on in the world right now. An idle twiddle on Facebook ends up depressing me. The newspaper, the radio, my friends: they all tell me tales of horror and woe. Gaza. Cancer. Death. Divorce. Lives falling apart, bodies caving in.
It’s so easy to scroll through it all, and get overwhelmed by misery, hopelessness, despair.
To take doomful notes (I’m part of a race of base, violent beings) and paint mindscapes of black bleak unspeakable things.
I’m a sensitive flower. When bad news comes I feel have but two choices: ignore (oh gosh that is sad but I’m not going to let myself actually FEEL that sadness right now because I don’t want to ruin my day) or implode (HUMANITY IS FUCKED, HOW CAN I EVEN GO ON WITH SUCH HATRED AND VIOLENCE AND ANGER RICHOCHETING ALL AROUND ME, LIFE IS COMPLETELY MEANINGLESS).
I need a third option.
I want to be able to DEAL with the shit: to acknowledge it, really feel it and then MOVE ON from it; all the more determined to live a good life, take positive action, balance out the epic sea of turd with a little bit of sunshine.
I know how lucky I am: I don’t live in a warzone, I’m not riddled with disease, I love and I am loved.
I want to celebrate that, not feel bad about it.
I want to do what I want do while I’m fortunate enough to be able to do it.
I want to make a difference. I need to deal with shit.
You may have noticed I like to talk about myself.
This blog is basically made up of post upon post of me, talking about me. My social media feeds are a big enormous Lotte party. And, although I claim to detest the letter ‘i’ (curse you, O Ruiner of Scrabble!), I’m thinking my book is going to be comprised almost entirely of it.
I. I. I.
Me. Me. Me. more →
I’m currently on a self-imposed booze ban, to help get my latest bout of depression to fuck the fuck off.
I won’t lie to you, this is difficult for me.
I love a drink, I do.
Not in an ‘I’m alcohol dependent’ kinda way (I’m not – though I may have been once upon a time).
No. I love a drink in a ‘mmm booze is delicious’ kinda way, and - I’ll admit it – in a ‘it makes life fun’ kinda way.
Yes, I said it. Alcohol is fun.
It crept up on me just like that.
One moment I was absolutely fine, the next I was crying in a cemetery.
Panic. That ball in my throat. Jittery shaking holding back melodrama. more →
Things are ramping up workwise in Lotteland, which is great for stuff like paying for my new roof, but less so for my sanity.
I’ll level with you: right now I feel overwhelmed, under pressure and out of control, and worse off it’s all of my own making.
This whole ‘do what you love’ self-employment thing – especially when juggled with a toddler and other life requirements (y’know, paying bills, doing chores, getting a few hours sleep) – well, it’s HARD. more →
Once upon a time I used to have HIDEOUS self-esteem. It was proper proper bad. It started when I was a teenager – classic ‘I hate myself and I want to die’ angst – and I never really grew out of it.
Everything is breaking in Lotteland.
You all know about the roof (and the worms dropping through the ceiling), but there’s also the boiler (which we’re ignoring) and the bed (which is currently being held up by books).
One of our hobs has broken, our grill has broken and both our phones have broken too. The stairgates fell out of the wall (broken!), the clothes dryer out of the ceiling (broken!) and the chain on Dave’s bike snapped last week (broken!).
The builders started work today (I’m broke!), but arrived late because their van broke (is it me?) and then – wait for it – I only went and did this more →
I’ve been invited by Karen of The Great Corporate Escape to join the Writing Process Blogging Tour.
Through the tour, writers are asked four questions about what they’re writing, why, and how. At the end of their post, the writer ‘hands on the baton’ and invites three other writers to join in the fun, creating an ever expanding virtual chain of writers. Nice huh?
Thank you Karen for the invite – I enjoyed reading your post. Here are my responses! more →
It’s my own fault.
When you write about your depression in blisteringly honest detail, it figures that people will assume you’re happy to talk about it too: especially when you constantly harp on about what an open book you are.
But here’s the thing.
I hate talking about depression. more →
Last week was one of those weeks when shit happened.
On Monday I had a work-related meltdown (too much to do, not enough time).
On Tuesday our boiler died (just to add to the financial strain of roofgate)
On Wednesday Maya broke my phone
And on Thursday I crapped myself.