And the Oscar for the Best Actress Goes to...

When I was first signed off work with depression and anxiety, I used to go in to visit once a month to maintain some contact with my colleagues. I didn’t know how long I was going to be off and at that time, I saw some of them as friends, although now I know that some just kept me with them in a very negative atmosphere. Some people would ask me how I was, not really wanted to hear anything other than “OK” or “Getting there” and one particular colleague caught me in a moment of honesty and was rather shocked when I turned round and said “Do you really wanted to know, or do you just want me to say fine and then you can feel that you cared?” – I never particularly liked him, he ignored me usually at work, you don’t think it showed, do you??

Anyway, the first time I went back for a visit, people did show some concern and one came up to me and whispered “Do you know, of all people here that I thought would have depression, you weren’t one of them?” She meant it honestly, as kindly as she could be, to which I said “I’d actually had depression before and had just a short time off that time, but that I was good at not looking depressed or showing my feelings – I had had years of practice.”

I never went back to work there and in fact still remain on long term sick leave, although now I am unemployed. Gradually I stopped going back and slowly I stopped contact, partly because some of the people I had been true friends with left the place soon after I had gone on sick leave. My husband remains in the industry and there just a few people who ask after me now.

But with all the talk of best actors and best actresses, this blog is actually going to end on those in the best supporting role. For me, the award would primarily go to my hubby and my son, for all the help, support, tear wiping, smiles, laughs, good and bad times they have got us through. But there would also be special mentions to my close friends, here and elsewhere, whose words, blogs and comments inspire me. This one is for you all xx

What I said was that I blame You: I didn’t say that it was your Fault

This is a poem I wrote in 2005 when I was receiving counselling from a women's group for abuse and bullying that I had received as a child and again as a young adult. The "yous" are different people that were in my life, but each added their actions to the equation. I've revised the poem a little, but it is very honest and is now my attempt at explaining my inner critic in words and how I used to feel. My anger is gone as I have been able to let go of the guilt I felt for my role in keeping the situations going. I now realise that parts of my past were not my fault, but I own that I kept the punishment of me going internally, when I should have challenged my inner critic's so called "evidence" of worthlessness and guilt. I'm not that person anymore. I am still haunted by parts of my past, but I am learning to forgive and let go.



What I said was that I blame You: I didn’t say that it was your Fault

You made me feel stupid when I wasn’t,
You took advantage when I was naïve.
You didn’t see when I was hurt.
You made me eat lies, and feel worse about myself.
The problem is that you stopped.
But I added to it.

I took the flawed evidence,
Drank in your poison
And found me wanting, found myself guilty;
Tried in the absence of my real self -
And I knew the words that really hurt
And where, in the dark, to truly twist the knife.

So now I’m the problem,
Not you.

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Not a happy poem, but a recognition of my situation then and a resolution to move on from the hurt that I had. I've included it to show truth and honesty, and as a contrast or measure of how far I have come from there. I try not to blame or apportion fault now, but try to look at what people say now and measure it against my truth. Guilt still sometimes raises its ugly head, but I know that those things were in the past and that now that I know better, I aim to do better. That person who was me is now a foreign land, with border guards and high walls to keep it from sabotaging the newer me, the real me, again. Occasionally the guards fail and my past interrupts my present, but I look at it, look at the truth and then look away, looking back at the present and the me that I have now. That's all I can do. I've "served" my time, suffered the punishment, now I move forward as best as I can and remember to be human, and not so hard on myself.