Tag Archives: depression

In other news…..

The complaints department took a call the other day. “Your blog is making me really sad lately. Can’t you do a happy post like you used to?” Ummm……no. Nothing cheery here. Move on along now.

My sense of humour, fun, tolerance and any kind of joie de vivre seems to have fooked right off.

On the bright side – when the going gets tough, the tough start decorating. My living room and bathroom now have lovely new wallpaper so I suppose every cloud has a silver lining. So, what’s this other news then? Well, this happened weeks ago, actually but I haven’t had the metal strength to be bothered to tell you about it. It’s a funny thing, mental strength. You wouldn’t think you’d need it just to speak but you really do – as I’ve discovered. I can be sitting in the car with Boofuls and suddenly think, ‘Oh. I didn’t tell Boofuls that’ but it just takes too much effort to drag the words from my brain and out of my mouth so I don’t bother. So instead I’ll sit there quietly while a million thoughts whizz round in my brain trying to get out.

What? Oh yeah, what happened weeks ago….sorry, I got distracted.

Batty got a guide dog!  Among one of the youngest to get one in this country, it has given her a new independence. Now she can get herself to and from school etc. What a shame the dickheads at school have decided to bully her because they can’t treat the dog like a pet and play with it. They don’t seem to understand it’s a working dog.

On the subject of dogs. Douggie the doggie has been to see the vet after his major trauma in Wales. The vet has decided to put him onto phenobarbital, a drug I’ve been trying to avoid because of the long term health implications of it. I hate what it’s doing to him. The light has gone out of his eyes and he’s turned into an anxious, whiny, listless dog with flashes of madness and manic behaviour in between. He’s spent most of this week actually sitting on my knee and at 5 stone that’s not the most comfortable thing. If he’s not on my knee then he’s trying to get on it. Poor little sod has no idea what’s going on, he just knows he feels terrible. I hope it’s true what they say and that these side effects will only last for a few weeks because it’s heartbreaking to watch him.

Right. I’ve spent the last ten minutes starting at my screen and wondering what else is new this week. Nothing at all you’d want to hear about, it’s been traumas and dramas all the way so I’ll go now and take the dog out.


Feel free to move on right along without reading this post dedicated to self pity and misery. To be honest, it’s not really for your benefit so I’m not even going to try and make it upbeat, grammatically correct or well written. It’s just a self indulgent misery fest.

Really it’s more of an aide memoir so I can look back in a year or two and laugh and laugh at the tough times* she said drily*

That’s it. I’m down. After finding it harder and harder to get up after every punch I’ve had thrown at me recently, the universe has finally beaten me. I am now that woman walking along the street with eyes downcast, shoulders slumped, looking like she’s had the spirit beaten out of her.  You know you’ve had enough when you think you’re washing your hair and suddenly realise you’ve been standing in the shower holding your head and crying for the last five minutes.

Regular readers know that Boofuls and I have become professional funeral goers this year. The death roll is now well into double figures and it saddens me that there have been so many deaths this year that I can’t even instantly recall who they all are.

It started with a friend of over forty years, then it was Boofuls’ brother, followed by my cousin, a few friends and acquaintances, our lovely dance teacher of over fifteen years  and the most recent, my brother.  In another few days/weeks Boofuls’ best man at our wedding will lose his wife.

Our gorgeous daughter has had her own issues this year and all we can do is stand by and watch. It has broken my heart.

Seven years, oh yeah, S.E.V.E.N years after this lovely  house we live in went on the market – almost on the day the housing market crashed, it is still not sold.  Drop the price? Oh yeah, we never thought of that. We’ve dropped the price by £165,000, is that enough for you? Now we find ourselves in a position where …..never mind. Suffice to say I have never felt more like we are living on a knife edge.

I truly don’t know why it isn’t selling. It’s in a gorgeous position, it’s well maintained, it’s got land, barns and stables and planning permission for conversion.  Even now when I come home I look at it and think ‘what a lovely place we live in.’

Turning down a buyer for the business after trying so hard to find one wasn’t feasible but who would have thought all this time later we’d still be here and not in Devon?  Retirement was great when I thought it was only for a couple of months. If we don’t sell the house  soon I’ll have to get a job working on a checkout in Netto.

Then to cap it all, Boofuls, me and Douggie set off to Wales for a heel work competition this weekend. We checked into a lovely hotel yesterday, met some friends who were competing as well and had a great time, we were really starting to relax and unwind and I realised I was actually having fun for the first time in, well, ages.

Until….Douggie woke us up to four o’clock this morning to let us know he was going to have  a seizure. He paced the floor, whined, barked, let out an almighty howl and eventually jumped onto the bed. The trouble with having a five stone dog is that if he decided that’s where he’s going to have his seizure, that’s where he’ll have it and there ain’t nothing to be done about it.  So, he had his seizure on the hotel  bed, weeing all over it as he did it.

Then, just as he began to come round from his seizure he went straight into another seizure and then another. I really thought he had gone into status epilepticus and we were going to lose him. It was terrifying.  When he eventually came round he was hyperventilating and very distressed. He needed to be cooled down and calmed down. FAST.

The other hotel guests must have thought there was a major domestic going on as they heard all the scuffling going on in our room.  Douggie also managed to knock everything off the bedside table,  when he fell off the bed, what a commotion.

We spent the next hour and a half walking a whining, barking, distressed dog round a hotel car park in the early hours of the morning  in the pouring rain while Boofuls tried to get hold of a vet.

Curtains twitched, lights went on and voices were heard. Great. We’ve woken the whole hotel.

When the staff arrived for duty around 6.30 a.m. I explained and apologised profusely to the hotel management about the whole sorry incident, obviously paying for the extra night we decided not to stay for and ensuring that they checked the room  before we left so we could pay for anything Douggie may have damaged. Luckily, I’d had the presence of mind to strip the bed after he weed on it so the mattress was ok, that would have been pricey.

Needless to say we didn’t compete. Shame, his rehearsal the day before was brilliant. Damn me for saying to Boofuls, “I hope this isn’t a  case of good dress rehearsal, bad performance”, or as it turned out, no performance.

Instead we have come home.  Douggie has been restless and difficult.  Boofuls and I are both punch drunk, physically and mentally at the end of our tether.

If you believe in karma then Boofuls and I  must have been some proper bad bastards in a previous life. I know life isn’t a bed of roses but come on, this is way beyond a joke now.





Reasons to be cheerful one, two, three

You may or may not have noticed but in the last few months my normal cheery disposition has been taking a bit of a knock and fallen victim to some nasty but thankfully short lived bouts of depression.  Living on a financial knife edge for years took it’s toll, all I could think about was the worst case scenario – on any subject. The future looked bleak no matter how I looked at it.

Tears, palpitations, headaches and an inability to cope with anything more complex than writing my name had all become every day occurrences. I hadn’t realised how bad it had got until one of the staff caught me crying in the office. “I always used to think you were high on drugs, you are always so cheerful. I’m not used to you being upset.”  It made me smile through my tears to think that the staff have me pegged as a nutcase who’s as high as a kite on drugs most of the time.

Just high on life, baby. High on life. Most of the time, anyway.

That was a couple of weeks ago and since then things have got much better. While I was out walking with Velcrodog the other day I was enjoying the warmth (yes, actual warmth!) of the sun on my face, the view across to the coast which was spectacular, the sky was a clear, bright azure blue, the birds were singing and for the first time in ages I felt like I didn’t have a care in the world.

Ok, all the usual worries were still there but somehow they’d become much less significant. In their place was a profound sense of gratitude for all of the good things I have in my life.

I suppose it was a bit of a spiritual moment. It was certainly intense.  As I walked the tears began to well again but this time  it was because  of the feeling of gratitude I felt when I realised all of the things I have to be grateful for.  Here are just some of them:

I have a husband who still loves me and is still my best friend after all these years

A family who drive me mad, make me laugh and of which I am immensely proud.


A roof over our heads and food in our stomachs.

Enough money to live on – I preferred being rich but hey ho, we have enough.

We live in a beautiful place with amazing countryside literally on our doorstep.

Good neighbours – apart from ‘Screamer’ who screams at her dogs and can be heard a quarter of a mile away.


Good health (ish in Boofuls’ case).

Good and loyal friends.

There, that’s not a bad list to be going on with, is it?

Excuse me now, I have to go and do the gratitude dance.