Mental health and depression during lockdown

Sunday 24th May, 2020.

Everything was fine until last week.

Sure, I’d had a few wobbles and a few bad days during lockdown, much like everyone else, but by and large I was trundling along quite nicely.

I’d done some gardening, I’d done some housework.

I’d done plenty of cooking and lots of social media.

I’d got involved with a local volunteering scheme and was lending my time not only to grocery runs and prescription drop-offs but also their publicity plans and social media.

All in all, things weren’t looking too bad in the big bad world of Covid-19 weirdness.

Then it all changed.

Suddenly, I no longer had any motivation to do anything. I lost all inclination to do the things I usually enjoy and could barely muster enough energy to get washed and dressed let alone paint the shed or go for a walk.

“It’ll pass,” I remember thinking, “I’m sure I’ll be back to my normal self again tomorrow.”

But tomorrow came and went. Then the next day. And the day after that.

Eventually I found myself wondering when on earth the annoying, stifling, dense black fog that had descended on me and drained all my sunniness and buoyancy would finally lift.

As well as losing my ability to be proactive and get stuff done, I also noticed a few other signs:

• Inability to think and speak – not so much struggling to find the right words when on WhatsApp calls but feeling as though they’re just not there at all, like I’m staring into some kind of blank void in my head.
• No sense of taste – somehow nothing I eat or drink registers properly in my brain. It’s like my taste buds just aren’t functioning, or the food’s so bland it simply doesn’t have any personality.
• Loss of appetite – I’m normally a bit of a greedy little piggy who hasn’t got an off switch when it comes to food but at the moment even the stuff I usually love is failing to get a glimmer of recognition in my brain’s pleasure receptors.

Along with no longer having any interest in most of life’s usual joys, no matter how silly or small, I also found myself behaving in odd ways that aren’t usually part of my make-up:

• Negative thoughts – I know I can be pretty sarcastic at times, but this bout of depression has taken things to a whole new level. And the nasty words and horrible sentiments don’t just flit in and out of my head, they either hang about or keep coming back, to the point where they end up being totally incessant. I relentlessly try to push them away, or find things to take my mind off them, but they’re pretty determined. It makes me feel really angry and frustrated because I know they’re making my mood even sadder.
• Irrational anger towards small frustrations – Instagram refusing to work properly, dodgy Wi-fi connections, the HMRC website*…you name it, I lose the will to deal with it. [*To be fair, this particular trigger is the root of all evil and has been known to send many a totally-in-control person over the edge.]
• Brain blank – this is my way of describing what happens when you lose ridiculous periods of time to staring vacantly at nothing, while feeling totally numb. I don’t think it’s an official clinical term, but it sums things up pretty nicely.

I’m no fool, I know much of what I’m describing are classic symptoms of depression.

I’ve experienced them a few times in my life before, but only fleetingly, for a matter of days or weeks at most, never longer.

It’s because of this I have such sympathy for those afflicted with depression on a more regular or ongoing basis – I’ve always known what was happening to me would be temporary and just one of those things, rather than lengthy spates that end up going beyond standalone episodes to become a way of life.

Don’t ask me how I knew – I just did.

And that knowledge, that fact, that reassurance provided me with something to work towards, some kind of light at the end of the tunnel which meant the dark days weren’t too consuming because I knew they’d soon be over.

The bouts never spanned into months or years, never needed treatment or pills, never ruined relationships or affected my ability to work for a living and put a roof over my head.

What I went through had only ever been a temporary inconvenience, not a destructive and all-consuming force that caused untold pain and suffering.

Of course the current global pandemic is having an impact on my state of mind – and apparently I’m not alone.

In fact, there’s an actual phenomena called ‘COVID-coaster’; have you heard of it?

Also known as ‘roller-corona’ it very aptly describes the multitude of mixed emotions, periods of overwhelm and general ups and downs we’re all engulfed by in the current testing climate.

An article on the MSN website sums it up perfectly, complete with amusing diagrams.

Although I’m a natural-born hermit and therefore very well suited to being holed up at home alone most of the time, well away from the rest of society, I’m the kind of hermit who occasionally likes to buck the trend and emerge from contented solitude to indulge in some good old-fashioned human interaction, usually in the form of pub crawls, house parties and (cringe) quality time with family.

So this whole situation of not even being able to go to a coffee shop for a sit-down and a read, or head to my local for a roast dinner with friends, is inevitably causing a fair bit of weirdness.

Add to this the fact I’ve had to come off the depo (so am much more of a raging hormonal mess than usual) and haven’t had a hug in two months (physical contact is proven to be a badass mood booster that’s actually good for your health) and you’ve got a set of situational circumstances that are a tumultuous recipe for disaster.

Without being glib, or wanting to make light of the situation, certain coping mechanisms seem to be of benefit. I’m not calling them solutions or fixes – that would be over-egging things – but I have found the following marginally useful in getting by:

• Making music – singing, playing the piano, getting the guitar out: Stringing together mounds of overly loud crotchets and quavers to create harmonies and melodies and happy things for my ears most definitely seems to help.
• Wearing space buns – I know they’re silly and I look ridiculous, but Fraggle Rock was one of my favourite TV programmes when I was little, so as well as conveniently scraping my bouffant lockdown hair off my face (so I look at little less like What-A-Mess) I also get a hit of rose-tinted nostalgia.
• Buying earrings – my best mate and jewellery designer extraordinaire Clarey M has just started her own business (Long Dog Craft on etsy) and her colourful, quirky designs really lift my spirits.
• Drinking less alcohol – not just because it’s a depressant but because in light of my weird tastebud situation the whole experience is a bit odd anyway. I’m investing the money I save into expanding my collection of ear adornments instead (see above).
• Walking – it’s really tough to get motivated and get your ass out of the house when you’re feeling like crap, but I’ve yet to go on a walk that’s made me feel any worse than I already do. Unless I end up getting blisters. Or heatstroke. Or rained on. Or into a fight with some idiot motorist who’s forgotten how to drive.
• Cooking – creating stuff feels good, even if you have no appetite to eat it afterwards. I also think there’s something really therapeutic about chopping stuff up. Focuses the mind or something. Plus, you get a rush of pride from being clever and virtuous when you make things from scratch.
• Writing lists – I’ve heard a lot of people talking about this one and I think it’s to do with regaining a sense of control. Even when whatever you’re scribbling down is tiny little tasks, like ‘call Dad’ or ’empty the dishwasher’, the very act of putting pen to paper (and crossing things out when they’re done) is hugely satisfying.

So, as Mental Health Awareness Week draws to a close for yet another year, I’d like to take this opportunity to send you all lots of positive thoughts and fortifying virtual hugs.

The campaign’s theme for this year is kindness, so if anyone out there is experiencing depression of any sort, please be kind to yourself and reach out to someone who can help by providing the support and encouragement you need.

I don’t know when my own black cloud will dissipate, but I do know merely writing this blog post has helped put things into perspective a little and made me feel like I might just be able to get through the day with a bit less trouble.

I’m off to buy more earrings.

 

 

When recruiters and businesses annoy you from the word ‘go’

Applying for jobs is a thankless task.

More often than not you hear knack-all back, which is almost as bad as a generic ‘thanks but no thanks’ response.

Worse still is the kind of communication that leaves you demoralised and annoyed.

I’m talking about the self-indulgent, pointless, irritating and supremely silly paper-pushing task of having to fill out an application form for the sheer sake of it, because some idiot somewhere thinks it’s the best way of doing things.

Such behaviour leaves you wanting to do one of two things, sometimes both:

a) scratch your eyes out in the hope it will distract you from how annoyed you feel by their ridiculously conceited demands.

b) relentlessly question how on earth said organisation ever managed to get off the starting block in the first place, let alone survive the cut-throat world of business without going under a very long time ago.

Not a great message to be sending out.

For some reason, the very act of copying and pasting one’s skills, experience and work history into a Word doc makes everything in the world seem right to some people – admittedly not the rational or intelligent among us.

It goes something like this:

“Lovely to hear from you…now please b*gger about wasting an inordinate amount of your free time filling out our very own soul-destroying application form, because no-one in our organisation has the capacity to even vaguely aspire to actually being able to cope with the merest possibility of having to use their own brain to think for themselves to ascertain if you’re the sort of person we’d possibly like to work with.”

It happens a lot.

What sort of haplessly inept manager or professional recruiter needs to see an application doc rather than a CV to make an informed decision about whether or not to call someone for interview?

It’s narcissistic, which isn’t a particularly favourable characteristic.

Worse than that, it’s self-indulgent and arrogant.

For a business to assume talented, efficient, intelligent, skillful people who have a heckofalot to offer have nothing better to do than spend hours on end regimentally copying and pasting all that makes them so very fabulous directly into its templated document is at best pointless and at worse a travesty.

If this is you, how many people do you reckon have turned their back on your organisation quicker than you can say ‘fill out this form’ when they find out what you’re demanding of them?

More to the point, do you even care?

Probably not, if all you aspire to is mediocrity and stasis.

Wake up and smell the coffee, dear recruiters: It’s a job-seeker’s market and you need to do all you can to shine.

 

 

Why are we still making girls wear skirts to school?

It’s that time of year again when my Facebook feed becomes a steady flow of now-obligatory ‘back to school’ photos.

Happy, smiley, excited, slightly trepidatious school kids grinning at the camera as they stand proudly in front of the mantelpiece, adorned in their new-term finery, beaming ear-to-ear like the cat that got the cream.

But as well as the fun aspect of all these adorable images, they also leave me tinged with sadness: Why oh why are we still making the women of tomorrow wear skirts to school?

I remember being outraged by the concept when I was little. There’s an inherent unfairness in making females wear flouncy skirts while boys get to wear practical trousers. It’s sexist, it’s discriminatory and it’s unnecessary.

So the fact the practice is still carrying on today, as though 20 years of emancipation and equality struggles never happened, is somewhat baffling.

If we want equality to become fact rather than fiction, if we want our kids to have equal opportunities and equal chances in life, surely it begins with the basics? Either you allow both sexes to wear both garments, or you scrap the ‘both’ aspect and plump for just one.

I’m not dissing skirts and dresses – anyone who knows me will tell you I rarely wear anything else myself. But there’s a difference between making your own choices and decisions about everyday life and being forced to wear a certain type of gender-specific garment in a controlled environment, such as a school or other be-uniformed place.

I was similarly irritated by the fact I had to wear a skirt and tights when I worked as a hotel receptionist.

The men didn’t.

Does a business really have the right to tell you what to wear based on your sex organs?

Apparently so.

If the recent furore over gender-specific dress codes is anything to go by, it’s OK to fly in the face of commonsense thinking and act in an unlawful way that amounts to discrimination under the Equality Act, because no one can actually stop you.

Confused?

You might remember specific headlines about a receptionist who turned up for work only to be sent home without pay for refusing to wear high heels.

No, it wasn’t me, but the receptionist was indeed a woman. [I wonder what the company’s official party line would have been if the job had gone to a transgender person, or if they’d even be able to get past the application process let alone the interview in the first place, but that’s another story.]

Some of the arguments and language that came up on the back of this wronged receptionist’s plight centred around things like ‘job requirements’ and ‘similar levels of smartness’.

There was also talk of blatant discrimination, failing to move with the times, sexist dinosaurs, prehistoric attitudes and unnecessarily painful attire that could compromise your musculoskeletal health, but turns out the government and big businesses don’t care too much for all that.

This isn’t about giving kids the freedom to run amok. It isn’t about me campaigning to scrap school uniforms. It isn’t about allowing people to look scruffy in customer-facing work environments.

It’s about waking up to the reality that reinforcing gender stereotypes in such an institutionalised way is setting a precedent for a lifetime of unfair and sexist conformity, perpetuating the myth that women should behave and act a certain way.

Think about the inherent (albeit subliminal) messages we’re sending out to our children with this kind of attitude:

• Boys and girls are not the same and must wear different things in a supposedly level playing field such as school.
• Boys and girls are expected to be as polite as each other, as committed to learning as each other, work as hard as each other and have the same ambition to go far in life but we will still put them in totally different pigeon holes from a very young age – beginning with skirts and trousers and ending who knows where?
• Boys should be allowed to run about at lunchtime without fear of flashing their undergarments but girls shouldn’t.
• Boys can be boisterous and physical and competitive but girls should sit quietly in the corner and contemplate their destiny as second-class citizens who will earn less, get harassed more, do most of the housework and be unable to get a divorce because their husband won’t let them.

Skirts are fine. Trousers are fine. Ambition is fine. Difference is fine. Heels are fine. Flats are fine. Getting a job on merit is fine. Doing it well is fine.

What isn’t fine is this.

‘Shopping maths’ that doesn’t add up

Ever noticed that the minute you haven’t got something – or are soon to lose it – you start missing it, craving it, loving it, thinking it’s the best thing since sliced bread?

This is the way with relationships, cars, houses, holidays, haircuts…and items you put on ebay.

Something about taking photos to make things look as wonderful as possible, then writing a load of big-it-up blurb to entice buyers, makes me want to reclaim all my lovely things for myself once again.

Then there’s the issue of what I call ‘ebay maths’: Does flogging these clothes, shoes and handbags really add up? After all, it’s not just listing them that takes time, it’s also wrapping them up and queuing at the Post Office.

Add to this the problem of accidentally buying all sorts of junk/apparel you don’t really need – because some bargain or other caught your eye and seemed too good to resist – and you’ll soon find two plus two equals five.

What’s not to love about spending ages getting rid of stuff, only to replace it with more stuff, having made money then lost it all?

‘Tis surely the reason woman was put on this earth.

It’s a vicious cycle. 

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Great British weather

Curling up under the duvet during the crashing and banging of this morning’s obscenely loud and scary thunderstorm was definitely the right thing to do.

Don’t get me wrong, I loves a bit of drama I do, but when it’s 6am and you’ve had a restless night’s sleep anyway the last thing you need is Armageddon as a wake-up call.

Perhaps unsurprisingly the annoying sproglets next door were out in force, squawking, screaming and screeching in their usual blood-curdling manner about how exciting it all was, adding to the decibels and piercing noises ensuring nobody in hell had even the slightest prospect of getting any more shuteye.

I did contemplate hotfooting it up to the attic room, to get some action shots of the blisteringly bright lighting skewering the Huddersfield sky, but unfortunately I am far too foggy-brained first thing in the morning…especially when I’ve endured a rude awakening and the main thoughts in my head are not fit for publication.

So instead I shoved a pillow over my head and tried to meditate my way through it all.

An entire hour’s worth.

Suffice to say, today’s soozebee has not been in the best of moods or the happiest of spirits and now needs a lengthy afternoon nap to see her through the rest of the day and help her stay awake at this evening’s Supper Club – falling asleep in one’s soup, at someone else’s house, is so last season.

I can’t decide whether thunderstorms and sproglets are more or less annoying than the ostentatious shouts and relentless door-hammering of some idiot neighbour the other morning, when the entire street was trying its hardest to remain in the land of nod.

The cretinous imbecile in question – one of Huddersfield’s finest – felt it his duty to ensure Michelle-at-number-whatever was up and about in the wee small hours, because some very important and legitimate matter clearly needed her urgent attention.

Oh well, I guess this is what you get for having a heatwave and needing to sleep with the windows open.

And living opposite total chavs.

I will have to dig out my ear plugs and hope I can shove them in far enough to make a difference without them coming out the other side or getting stuck midway.

Huddersfield weather report.

Mushy brain syndrome – the ongoing saga

As though further evidence was needed of my forgetfulness, I’ve just realised I forgot to tell you all about the most amusing ‘airhead’ incident of them all – going to the doctor on the wrong day.

Yes, that’s right, yours truly received one text confirming the details of her appointment right after she booked it, then two further reminders closer to the time, but still managed to head for the surgery on the WRONG DAY!!

Even worse, it was only after three failed attempts on the electronic arrivals system and a conversation with two rather amused receptionists that I realised (and accepted) my mistake. 

They shoot horses, don’t they?

Monday blues.

It’s true what they say about Mondays making you blue. Even though I don’t have a job at the moment there’s still a fall back to earth after the weekend, as you get to see people you love and care about but then have to say ‘goodbye’.

This weekend it was my family, back home in Cheshire. My sister works six days a week, so I hardly get to spend any time with her these days, while my nine-year-old nephew is rarely about whenever I do go over because of all the extra-curricular activities he has.

Also got to see my beloved dad, who’s now disappeared off to Portugal for three weeks (the luxurious lifestyle of a wealthy pensioner, eh?!) and my adorable mum, who with all the goodwill in the world still doesn’t understand the intricacies of ebay in spite of me jumping about like a madwoman having made my first sale!

Sat here in bed, writing this blog while sifting through possible jobs and watching some poor woman on This Morning talk to Phil and Holly about losing her husband to Motor Neurone Disease, I realise how lucky I am to have them all.