What's behind that smile?

A few weeks ago I was reading the Daily Mail (don't judge me), when I came across this article - Smiling Depression - This totally describes me. In the early stages of my spiral down into depression, you'd never know by looking at me. Outwardly, I'll have a big smile on my face, I'll be making jokes and I'll be the usual social butterfly. Inside however, that black stone will be growing in my chest. That's the best way I can describe it, a black stone. Think of a sphere, dark as granite. I swear that when I'm depressed, I feel heavier (not just because of the comfort eating)... It honestly feels like something physical is weighing me down and everything slows down. 


I have only really just realised the extent of this new cycle of depression. I now realise it has been coming for a long while, but to begin with, not even Nickie knew. I was smiling and hiding/ignoring beginnings of the fall. At that point, I hadn't yet reached the edge of the cliff, the slope was gentle and easy to manage. The stone was a mere grain. I guess that was around September; money was getting tight, I'd been off work for over a month and I still hadn't had a scan. Come October and NYC and I the slope was getting steeper. I was still hiding it well, the pain I felt in New York wasn't just my back ache, but the growing knotted ball of depression characterised by guilt, anxiety and stomach problems.


Returning from New York threw me off the cliff. I came back to emails which threw me majorly off kilter, declined debit/credit cards and Nickie's new job which took her out of the house for 13 hours each day. Add jet lag and I was no longer functioning. Even at this point, I was convincing myself (and Nickie) that this was nothing more than post-holiday blues. By Halloween, I was immersed in full on moderate-to-severe depression (as diagnosed by my doctor). Later that week I began taking mood stabilisers. That was just over a week ago.


Since then my sleep patterns have been erratic to say the least. I am sleeping 1.5 nights out of three and as such I am exhausted most of the time. On the nights I do sleep, it is through sheer exhaustion, following a full night awake. I cry myself to sleep, my brain fogged with memories of bad and/or embarrassing experiences from my past. There's a tiny voice (not literally), which reminds me of that time when I... (insert painful anecdote here). Right now it's almost 4am and I have not slept a wink. Worse still, I have kept Nickie up all night. She has been so amazingly understanding and supportive throughout this, researching the condition, holding me when the tears come, loving me and just plain being there. But I know that this is killing her. I also know that if she could take away black stone in my chest and insert it into her own chest, she would. I feel like it would be better all round if I just went to my Mum's for a while, but I know she'd worry more being unable to see me every day. 


I ache from typing this so I'm going to sign off...


Suggestions and help is most welcome.

Return to the Cuckoo's Nest

I'm rapidly going out of my mind. I thought I'd hidden myself really well from my Mental Health demons. They found me in bed on Saturday and wouldn't let me go to sleep. I covered well, even managing to convince myself that I was staying awake to care for my beloved. The demons have set up residence now. They are engaged in an "Occupy Lydia's Soul" protest. They have placards that say "You're not good enough" "We are the 99% that believes Lydia is worthless". They have also stolen all of my spoons. I'm back in that dark place now...


Night Vision


Someone switched the lights off, I rely on my Night Vision
I only wish I'd eaten more carrots.


Someone switched the lights off, every time I pass a mirror, I see a shadow of my former self
I barely recognise me.


Because it was dark, I fell down a well, it's even darker and full of monsters
They are taunting me.


The walls are rough and spiked with glass and nails like The Trunchbull's Chokey...
I wish I was still a child reading Matilda.


My voice echoes back to me, I'm in too deep to be rescued
It is so dark, even the good things in silhouette cast scary shadows. 


I can't get out.
I can't see a light.
My heart is breaking.
I can't breathe.


Someone switched the lights off, my Night Vision's failing
There aren't enough carrots in the world

X-Factor

I felt compelled to pen a response to tonight's X-Factor. 


The behaviour of Tulisa tonight on X-Factor, when she almost reduced a young contestant to tears was disgusting and should not be tolerated. I found it absolutely outrageous that Tulisa in particular had the candour to call Misha B out for bitching behind the scenes. Regardless of what was said to one of her acts, NOBODY deserves to be shouted down, live on stage, in front of MILLIONS of people. It was nothing short of bullying, and really makes me question why she is a "mentor". My heart really went out to Misha and I hope that she knows she won't lose my vote. 


Speaking of bitching, bullying and general nastiness, the aforementioned judge was engaged in her own very public war of words less than a year ago with a dancer. Isn't it a little hypocritical for her to tell Misha not to say nasty things to her poor little groups when she was quoted in The Sun as Tweeting the following;


"WTF do u do? Other then open ur legs? Ur nothin 2 me, I don't speak about u, I don't think about u, u don't even exist! Get on with ur life, ur obsession is unhealthy and ur just makin things worse 4 urself, take a leaf out of my book, love live life B****." 


Other than the over 25s, the majority of finalists have not yet left their teens. Janet Devlin is 16 and Misha is 19. They are kids! They should be protected. But instead we have an 18 year old Frankie Cocozza applauded for sleeping around, acting uninterested in this opportunity of a lifetime, and this week "swaggering" onto the stage half way through his song following a full week of nights out. Gary said "He's a teenager!" No excuse. And then back to Misha. Yes, maybe she takes her enthusiasm and passion off stage. Maybe she even antagonises the other acts. Perhaps she does this to spook her competition - I don't know and that's the point, nobody knows. I've yet to see evidence or video of this altercation, and frankly, I'm not interested in seeing it anyway. Because here's the dirty little secret. Every artist, performer, musician with any passion (even some without) has slagged off a rival, has had something taken out of context and published which shows them in a less than favourable light, or has had a private moment broadcast for all the world to see. So, what now? If a head teacher singled out one student and made that comment in front of a hall of kids in assembly, I can guarantee that they would be swiftly suspended and investigated, and rightly so! So come on OFCOM, ITV or Executive Directors of X Factor - reprimands for Tulisa. 


It's a shame too, I was really beginning to like her.

A Proud Mancunian

A little bit more positive, my pal Emma Garside, currently residing in Gorse Hill, Manchester - the proudest mancunian you'll ever meet penned this poem which just about says it all and has very kindly let me post it...


I am Manchester by Emma Garside

I am Manchester,

I am the friendliest people on earth,

I am red and blue,

I am afflecks and corn exchange memories of old,

I am the triangle and printworks of new,

I am the Arndale shops and market,

I am piccadilly gardens,

I am the northern quarter,

I am still going strong no matter what you throw at me,

I am manchester full of pride,

I am manchester gay straight and bi,

I am the mancs coming together,

I am cleaning up the riots no matter the weather.

I am manchester through and through.

Manchester i'm so proud of you!

Out of the fear comes greatness... Please share this!

PAIN...

I'm afraid this is rather a negative one... I've had a really bad day.


I returned to work on Tuesday... 


It was a necessity...


I was about to go onto SSP (Statuatory Sick Pay) which is £81.60/week ($132.00, €93)...


This isn't a bad rate for somebody who isn't physically working, and a darn sight more than employment and support allowance (a sickness benefit which replaced Incapacity Benefit), but I cannot physically live on that. This is not because I have become accustomed to living to certain standards, but because I live to a budget for my outgoings and if I drop £500.00+ per month I will be verging on bankruptcy...


So I have returned to work...


And I am in agony.


My employers who I will not name have been very helpful in terms of my return to work. They have furnished me with a raised desk and a stool so I can alternate between standing and sitting... But as it turns out, they both hurt...


I cried today - luckily my new desk faces the wall so nobody knew... 


I took two doses of the Tramadol/Diclofenac/Cyclozine mix which has been up til now taking the edge off the pain, plus two Paracetamol tablets between my two doses of opiates... They didn't touch it. I spent the day feeling like I was being battered with big sticks across my spine. The pain is constant, then come spasms in bursts which take my breath away. I'm trying to keep my owie noises under wraps and desperately trying not to be a whiner at work - when someone asks if I'm ok, through gritted teeth I say "Yes".


What am I supposed to do?


I just have to grin and bear it... 






I finished at 4pm

Fuck... I'm still horizontal!

A few days on from my last entry, and I am still on the sofa, horizontal and feeling not too pretty! Yesterday was productive. I showered, changed my pyjamas and updated the website which has needed doing for a few days.

Today too has been mildly productive, I walked to the Post Office and bought myself a few magazines, emailed my Aunt about my birthday and now I'm watching Victorian Farm on Yesterday (which should be renamed "The Nazi's Were Bad - We Get It"), whilst writing another entry.

In brief, I went to A&E (that's ER to any of my American readers!) and Jimi, the lovely nigerian doctor prescribed me Diazepam and Diclofenac. I had intended to continue from my previous entry with a hilarious account of the visit, but I've just felt too poorly unfortunately - what I will say is that there's nothing funnier than hearing a doctor in the next cubicle saying "Hello, my name's Gary", in a thick Oriental accent followed by your partner whispering immediately "sure it is" in response. Laughed heartily and had to sit down again!

Following my trip to A&E last Tuesday, I ended up there again on Monday of this week after collapsing on the floor on Sunday, rather upsettingly, as I had honestly thought I'd be back at work the following day. After a terrible night's sleep and a few tears and my last Diazepam, I called NHS Direct who suggested calling an ambulance! Well, not one to waste resources (even if I am paying for them through the PAYE system) and delirious with pain, I stayed in bed thinking - "Well, it's not an emergency!" Very luckily for me, a very good friend in the shape of Pixie Truffle offered me a lift to the hospital and Nickie turned up just as we were leaving so I had my own personal entourage when I returned to A&E.

Sadly, I wasn't treated by the attractive female doctor who I kept straining my neck to see everytime she walked past (Nickie knows about this and we had quite a giggle about it). The very nice doctor who was assigned to me did the same batch of tests as lovely Jimi had the previous week, and one more which I will not go into detail about, but was designed to check whether I had damaged my Coccyx (I hadn't). The pain by this point was worse than it was the previous week and it would seem that I had jarred it when I fell on the floor. The doctor advised that he wasn't concerned enough to keep me in (a relief), but he could see that I was in a significant amount of pain and so prescribed me some stronger painkillers. He asked me about Codeine, but me and that particular drug have a chequered past - we don't get on. It affects my digestive transit shall we say (TMI?) So instead, he prescribed me Tramadol, a fairly strong Opiate which has finally stopped the pain in its tracks but comes with a bunch of really pleasant side effects like extreme nausea, dizziness, clumsiness and what can only be described as the appearance of being stoned! My doctor has prescribed Cyclizine to deal with the nausea, but can't really do much due to the dizziness. Honestly, the walk to the shops was a triumph!

I'm bored as hell, and very lonesome and tomorrow, instead of being at work or at Oldham Pride, I'll be right here, on the sofa, watching repeats on the TV and wishing I could get ahold of a box set of Prisoner to pass the time. Until I do, it's Gilmore Girls, Desperate Housewives and Being Erica on E4... and Learn From My Fail blog and Facebook Online. Please send me Facebook Messages, entertain me with videos... ANYTHING as I'm climbing the walls!

In other news I found an app which tells me when to take each of my tablets which is useful and will help me avoid the inevitable overdose which comes from Tramadol induced forgetfulness!

Signing Off xx

Fuck... The Ceiling's Gone All Swirly!

Inspired by my old pal with whom I've recently been reacquainted, what follows is my analgesic review... Firstly, in the words of "Scrubs", my favourite hospital based comedy, "it's pronounced an-algesic, not anal-gesic, the pills go in your mouth"... You can generally distinguish between oral medication and suppositories because of the size of the pills, generally, if they are bigger than 2 joints of your little finger, they ain't for swallowing! :-)

My first medication, self-prescribed, was paramol (not to be confused with the awesome post-millennial, Tennessee rock band Paramore although probably equally hard to swallow!) these contain paracetamol and dihydrocodeine and tend to make you feel a little floopy... The did not get rid of the pain, however they did stop me giving a fuck about the pain so something of a result!

The next day I forgot to take them to work and could only get paracetamol before my 8am shift started which was as effective as covering to area in dripping and chanting! Thus began my three pronged attack. Back at Boots, I asked for something strong with which I could take paracetamol... The gave me ibrupofen with dihydrocodeine! Once again the pain remained but I was so "hopped up on goofballs" that I couldn't do my work, and that coupled with the pain sent me home.

At this point I believed my back pain to be nothing more than the residuals from an old hockey injury (wow, never sounded gayer, or more middle-class!!) so I bought myself a heat pack and some mags and went home to rest up vowing that a few back exercises would have me back in work the next day!

The next day following badly thought out back stretches designed for sprains and pulls, my back was in agony so I took myself down to the walk in centre in Manchester. After a brief wait I saw a nurse who basically said I was doing all the right things (how wrong she was).

I spent the rest of the afternoon hobbling between bed, bathroom and sofa and drinking lots of coffee with the pain getting increasingly sharp and stabby and beginning to radiate down my legs with tingling in my toes. A quick look online showed that anything from nerve damage to a slipped bloody disc could be causing the pain and as Nickie wasn't around to be the voice of reason, I began to panic!

Tbc