The Face of Depression

A Personal Blog…

I was utterly horrified when an old photo of me surfaced at work. Taken near the start of my current job,  around 2010/2011 time… I am beyond embarrassed,  so here I am,  sharing the monstrosity on the bloody Internet instead of putting it through the shredder…  Because, my very first thought when I looked upon myself from (not that many) years ago, was ‘OMG… I was so unhappy’…

It was that thought which compelled me to keep the photo and to share the photo.  This is the face of Depression,  this was me at my lowest ebb, this was the self destructive,  self harming, suicidal,  drinking, eating junk, miserable and ill… I was slowly killing myself and I hated myself…

This is my face and I’m wearing my depression in my eyes, it lays heavily on my shoulders along with the weight I was carrying.  This is me, this is who I was and I can’t hate her,  she’s my past,  she’s all the horrible things I’ve been through… But she survived… Because she is me…

This is me now, this is who I am, who she came to be…  I no longer live with depression… It’s been a long path, that journey to self love,  to love life and grasp crazy adventures (like Glass Walking)…

If I had given up,  if I had vanished into the bottom of another empty wine bottle,  I would never had thought I could have achieved all I have done in just a few short years.

I am not perfect, but I don’t need to be perfect. I still have moments where I’m gripped by anxiety and  I am still overweight (Damn You Cake!)…

I never anticipated that I could change my life around so much,  so drastically… Sometimes you need that blast from the past, that smack in the face to help you understand just how far you have come and give you the courage to continue…
Love Anne x

09.03.17

Anxiety induced writers block

Anxiety is a dreadful waste of the imagination. Something will happen,  usually something simple and rather insignificant.  Yet for some reason it will worm its way into your thoughts and alter events into every worst case scenario you can imagine.

The words you want to use are buried deep inside a thick layer of panic as the mind creates situations mentally that causes physical side effects,  your heart races, you feel sick, cold, you can’t eat, or eat the wrong shit… your mind is so wrapped up with imaginary ‘what if’s’ that you don’t even have the sense of logic to speak straight,  you’re on autopilot or simply frozen as the mind cripples you with a fear that does not really exist beyond your own skull …

And that in itself is your own personal horror story…

 

Anne Harrison 11.02.17

Pop Art

Tumbling down the Tumblr hole and finding you’re not as strong as you think you are…

 

i saw an image today
i watched - it did not move
just a lone image upon a screen
one of many - but single to me
despite all horror and gore
the made up shit that is nothing more
sometimes reality leaps back
and turns your stomach inside out
memories you would rather forget
scenes which question strength
pain wrapped up in stitches
tears stain the bathroom floor
i click - close the page - open anew
and write
words flowing freely as my tummy tumbles
feeling emotional
without the strength to cry

 

Anne Harrison 07.10.16

Inner Monologue

Me: I want to write a story, something horrible which will churn tummies and ignites trigger warnings… Something nasty…

Brain: Why?

Me: Because I’m in a nasty mood and generally pissed off with this week, the state of the country, the world and life in general.

Brain: OK, since you put it like that, lets forget reality and try to think of a nasty tale.

Me: Deal.

***

Me: So… Haunted house?

Brain: Done to DEATH… Comeon, do you want me to list every example?

Me: Humph… Haunted Asylum? School? Castle? Forest? Fucking Ice Rink!!!

Brain: Nope, nope nope nope and nope… What are you thinking?

Me: Thought you were the one supposed to be thinking!

***

Me: So… possessed child?

Brain: *screams internally*

Me: Possessed Item!!!

Brain: Pffffttt…

Me: *Sigh*

Brain: Chocolate?

Me: Chocolate!!!

***

Me: OHH… I know… Demonic Car!

Brain: I’m not even going to bother to reply to that!!

Me: Comeon brain, we need to work together, we can get through this writers block and think of something remotely original…

Brain: How about this for a horror story – A middle aged woman, who has had a rocky past decides that maybe it’s not to late to do something to improve her life, put all those grotty years behind her and look ahead with new promise, a fresh shine and a healthy outlook on life. Full of promise and wonder, venturing forth with her trusty cat companion!

Me: How is that a horror story?

Brain: Well you see everything is fine at first, then things start to slip and slide… Goals are neglected, ambitions ignored and naughty habits start creeping back into life, too much chocolate and puddings, all that lovely hard work trashed!! Until doubt and lack of confidence become all consuming… Waking up every morning at 5am with good intentions only to lay in bed for another hour mentally fighting with herself to move and always, always, always, ending up with the same hallow promise that tomorrow will be different, tomorrow she can start again and really do it this time. Meanwhile she surfs for inspiring images, quotes and hints and tips for making all the improvements she desires. The media enhances her insecurities, she is haunted by images of perfection that are totally unreachable as she is not an 18 year old model, but a middle aged woman with years of neglect clinging to her thunder thighs. Every morning, every day, every week 5am… the same hallow promise… Like an evil version of Groundhog Day… Where all good intentions always diminish in the face of cake and a new DVD series… More wasted days, wasted evenings, internally fighting with her own mind until…

Me: Until What???

Brain: Well you see the story doesn’t end there…

Me: … What shall we call this little tale?

Brain: … ‘The Story of My Life’ …

THE END

 

Anne Harrison 01.07.16

When Old Enemies Raise Their Ugly Heads

This is just a short post today, due to circumstances beyond my control. I’m not looking forward to this afternoon, in fact I would be much much happier to stay at work and carry on working my ass off like a hyperactive hummingbird, because it helps take my mind off shit I’ve got to deal with this afternoon.

I will spare you the grizzly details, but suffice to say that the situation involves those of authority (Social Services) and the future of my Mother’s health care. My annoying little friends, ‘Nervous Anxiety’ ‘Panic Attack’ and their cousin ‘Gloomy Blues’ have popped in to see me today and look as though they intend to accompany me for the whole daunting two hour meeting.

Fucking hands are shaking as I’m trying to type and I keep wanting to clench my fingers into claws… I hate feeling like this, hate the fact that these little bastards can creep up and gnaw away at my peace of mind. I used to live with them constantly, however, this current visitation is due to concern for my Mother and not my own mental health.

Though it goes to show that they can still linger within the cave of doubt inside my mind, raising their ugly heads every-so-often to nibble at my confidence and trigger my imagination into an overdrive of worst case scenarios.

For I have no idea what will happen within those two hours and I just want the best for my Mum, even though she can’t always remember my name…

 

Anne Harrison 10.05.16

Curious Encounters

… Or the metamorphosis of Anne

… Or how lucky I am

… … …

Sometimes it takes a blast from the past to make you realise just how much your life has changed in the last decade. These usually happen when you least expect them, however in the last few months I appear to be collecting friends from the past, from past jobs and even college, people I used to see on a daily basis, close friends, once, connections severed throughout years, distance and change in circumstances.

It was one such curious encounter recently (yesterday) which resulted in two cups of coffee and a long natter at lunch time, that spurred the frightening realisation that I am not who I was. So if I wasn’t who I was, as in the person who people remember me as, who am I?

Is this an external change? Different clothes, pink hair colour, splash of make up, my weight… All these elements can alter your appearance, can make you look different, feel different, carry yourself different… And indeed changes to these elements of my persona have been implemented throughout the years. But… I still get this sensation that I am totally different ‘inside’… Something deeper than a mere external changes.

I hesitate to use the phrase ‘reborn’ that gives the whole process religious overtones (and the subject of religion must wait for another day) also the concept of being ‘reborn’ feels as though this would be a near instantaneous phenomena, whereas the change I am processing in my mind, feels as though it has taken years to cultivate.

I was a creature lost in the dark, scurrying from one day to the next, years merging into each other with no direction, goal or motivation. These where fleeting fancies of a distracted mind, I would always have good intentions of bettering myself, but these intentions most frequently ended up in the bottom of a Stella can. Looking back… (Something I  try to escape from doing) I can understand how I dissolved into a pit of depression, nights of brutal self harm and alcohol use. Truth is, I was miserable, tired and fed up. Tied into a life where I had lost who I was (in my teenage/20’s) and became this thing of self loathing & self punishment. Pain was the only thing which felt real and alcohol deadened that pain.

This is not easy to write, not something I long to dwell on and even harder to address to my invisible audience, but these faces from my past have churned up all this buried emotions and I am left with this overwhelming sense of total self understanding.

I want to scream ‘LOOK AT ME NOW!’ I want to stand proud and strong, my life enhanced by the drastic changes I have adopted to make me who I am today. I am different, I can see that now, by looking back (briefly) I can see just how much process I have made. Naturally, I still have moments of weakness, where old me tries to pull me back into the depths of despair. I am not always strong, but I am looking ahead, I am more aware of who I am, what I am and my goals are more realistic.

LOOK AT ME NOW… I look at my life and hold my head up high!

I might not be the person my old friends remember me as…

Truth is, I never want to be that person again. Before you now is a stronger, braver, thinner, cleaner, crazy cat lady. Someone who actually likes herself!

Truth is, I’m doing the best I can, each day, every day, to make my life whole…

 

Anne Harrison 01.03.16

 

PS: I am lucky, I am grateful every single day I thank my blessings. I do not desire to appear big-headed… More like… I’ve survived!!

Frustrating February

Frustrating February or the not so happy new year…

… I had mentally written this whole blog earlier in my tornado of thoughts. Inspired by a short text conversation last night with a good friend of mine who pointed out that my blog was kinda catharsis for me. This I like and has given me the urge to address my Frustrating February in clear words, to focus on all that rumbling shit in my head and transform it magically into words so that it lifts this dark cloud of gloom from my life and I feel tremendously restored to my usual shiny glittery self…

… Trouble is, as soon as I sat down with my lunch at the keyboard, all those words, all the deep grumbling doom, all that stress, shit and general misery… It’s not there, the careful yet painful words I wanted to share, my speech, my inner monologue… Nothing, Silence… Beautiful clear peaceful silence. As though the decision itself to sit and write has lifted a veil from my soul, a calm voice in the back of my head is like a soothing warm perfumed bath I can sink in to and relax.

… Ooh the shit is still there, but I don’t hold the stress that had fueled my desire to write all that shit down. Granted I have coffee and (Birthday) cake with my lunch, this alone appears to be a magical winning combination, which turn the lips up into a content warm smile. My inner filing cabinet system has neatly filed away such emotions under the ‘don’t-get-stressed-over-shit-you-cant-control’ heading and I feel more inclined to sit back and ride the wave instead of drowning in an emotional tide.

… I’m not sure if it’s the meditation class I attended last night, the decision to write or the fact that I spent this morning mentally writing everything anyway… Maybe, possibly, could-be a happy combination of these… But it’s gone and I feel lighter, my shoulders don’t ache so much, my headache has ceased and my inspiration has returned.

… Maybe with March on the doorstep I can finally cast off this drowning sorrow and focus ahead upon my forthcoming adventures and new courses. With a new month, a new day (and pay day) a time of travelling awaits me instead of ragged nerves over a situation I can not control… That feels much better…

 

Anne Harrison 26.02.16

 

 

Self Restrictions

I am an Enigma to Myself

Each time I find a way to get my posts back onto the subject I created the blog for, albeit in the roundabout way of my rambling inner monologue, which frequently divides off into unintentional tangents, I find myself wanting to pour my heart out onto the screen.

It doesn’t really serve any purpose to do so as I don’t like to share this page on Facebook, this is my secret corner of cyberspace. As such I feel safe to write my thoughts, I have no fear of ridicule or judgement here and I do have a lot crowding my thoughts currently!

There is a lot said within that last paragraph, which speaks volumes without a word. For why do I fear ridicule or judgement from Facebook? I don’t know, I feel lost, lost within my own thoughts, lost within life, lost from my friends, from spirituality, from creativity, lost in time. Like my life is dangling in permanent limbo, while the days merge into weeks, weeks into months and all that time everything is on hold.

I feel suffocated within my mind, though I still maintain that I have beaten depression in my life and that I am not currently depressed, I am, however, desperately stressed, fearful and anxious. Which are vastly different from depression and all related to current events which are beyond my control, I want to be able to wave a magic wand and make everything better again or at least back to how everything used to be, a liquid sense of normality which has been lost in recent months.

I have so much on my mind, so much I want to say, but I can not begin to express any of it into words. I want to talk for hours over a slowly cooling coffee, collecting crumbs on a fork from something tasty that I should regret. To pour my heart out freely in regards to my Mother, my love, my stagnant ambitions, recent generosity and forthcoming adventures.  I’m swimming between despair and excitement yet I am silent. For recent outpourings have fell upon deaf ears and I feel as though I have hit a staggering brick wall, one I did not expect. So I write cryptic blogs, absent in any sense of direction, skirting around issues I want to address and, as is true in life, getting no where fast.

So I will keep my troubles to myself, play with words and return to the steady foundation of work. For I don’t know where to start, if I was to share anything anymore, fear of humbling rejection has made me mute.

TBC?

Anne Harrison 25.01.16

 

 

 

 

 

How Do I Follow That?

Having re-read through what I had wrote on Saturday morning, I feel a little overwhelmed by my own words. I don’t usually post my blogs on Facebook, I keep toying with the idea, but restrain myself to Tumblr and Twitter. Which are sites I prefer anyway. So why did I feel compelled to include (then remove) the previous post on Facebook? Was it attention I craved? Had I wanted to widen my readers? Was it just the simple fact that I feel that there are so many people out there in Facebook land who openly and ‘vocally’ express their own struggle with mental illness, that it was these friends that I wanted to connect with? Or was I simply being an attention seeking drama whore that had a subtle but distinct ‘woe is me’ rant? Possibly the latter!!

See I started writing my thoughts down last year in a way to clear my mind of negative thoughts, to put into words, with pen and paper, whatever was pissing me off. I found that, by pouring all my frustrations out in a notebook, I felt relieved, uplifted and mentally clear. I discarded all the issues in my head, sometimes, most times, writing and re-writing the same shit over and over again. I realise that in some cases, words do not solve the situation. But when you have a mind which decided upon it’s own accord to create drama where there is none, where ones imagination feeds anxiety the fuel it needs to spin one possibility into a whirlpool of disaster. When in reality, nothing is there and nothing ever transpires from the first initial thought, so all following freakouts are null and void.

Amazing thing the human mind, it spirals off on a track of it’s very own, with dark and twisted thoughts, so dire that you literally forget where you are, what you are doing, your actions become animated, robot like, acting on pure repetitiveness of the task in hand with no mindfulness upon what you are doing, mind frozen in panic and fear.

Is this also the way the creative mind works?

I mean, creating disaster from an initial fear for yourself, could therefore lead to creating disaster from an initial fear for a character, situation or imaginary world facing the edge of chaos.

Why do we, as humans always fear the worst?

And why do we always appear drawn to tales with an element of tragedy that befalls our characters?

Something to ponder over in future blogs…

Anne Harrison. 18.01.16