If

Rudyard Kipling wrote in his oft quoted poem If,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
    And treat those two impostors just the same

This was to have been a post of triumph, that I had finished my Dad's Fair Isle sweater, that it fitted, that he loved it, a photo or two of the jumper, if not of him wearing it - he wants to get his hair cut first!  But... it is finished, it is photographed, it does not fit.  I have not blocked it properly (meaning that it is still a little tight all round) and the top of the arms is all wrong, big and puffy.

After four months of working more or less solidly on nothing else my first reaction was devastation.  That set back set off my tendency to catastrophize, triggering all of my worst, blackest thoughts of myself and my fear of failure and fear that I am a failure.  Inside my head has not been a pretty place this afternoon Everything felt overwhelming and hopeless and I simply could not see how I could ever sort it out or face trying to sort the jumper out.  I felt angry with the jumper and with myself, angry that I had wasted four months, that I had not been able to knit anything for me in that time (what a horrible selfish thought that one is), angry with the world.  At one point I even considered taking the scissors to the thing: not in a cutting a steek manner either.

It took most of the afternoon, good friends, some good Christian music, a nap and a particularly good edition of Just a Minute on radio 4 to help me to climb out of that particular sink-hole.  All of this came on a day that was not a particularly good day anyhow, I felt tired and headachy, the weather was vile again and life seemed dull again.  Now that I have calmed down I can see a way forward.  There is not actually that much that needs re-doing, just the two sleeve caps, which in the light of an entire jumper's worth of Fair Isle is fairly minor.  I think, upon reflection, that I am going to unpick the sleeve caps, having put life-lines into the arm stitches, knit down from the armholes in the traditional manner and then graft the sleeves back on again.  I have plenty of yarn left to do this with and hopefully it will not take too long.

And if that fails?  I'm going to dust myself off, pick myself up, take off the sleeves and knit ribbing around the armholes and he can have a tank top and lump it!

Meanwhile I will try to learn from my mistakes and try to be less afraid, sometimes this fear of failure leaves me completely frozen unable to try new things in case they go wrong.  Rational self knows that this is nonsense and that my first attempts to walk or talk or write did not always go right and needed lots of tries to get right, so why do I not see that this needs to be the case with learning new things as an adult?  Designing a Fair Isle jumper from scratch is a big undertaking, I could not expect to achieve it without making mistakes and wool is a fairly forgiving medium.  I have dealt with other things going wrong with it such as getting the v-neck in the wrong place, so why the melt-down today?  Mental health recovery seems to be a process of two steps forward, one step back, probably best to see today as a one step back and a learning experience.  One day I will be able to keep my head.

Time to look up

When you cannot sleep for at least two hours after going to bed
And then wake up over an hour early,
After bad sleep, so tense you are almost rigid
And then a concrete cutter starts up in the street outside

When you feel worse than usual
And life seems bleak, painful and pointless
Problems overwhelming
The past haunting and shifting

When you want to cry but you cannot

Then it's time to look up; I am so glad of music, of the reminder to turn again to God, who does not shift or change, in whom there are no shadows, who understands and cares, who listens and grants peace, who is all powerful, strong and loving.

Then for a while I can focus on the truth and on how loved I am and how one day all things will be new, no tears, no pain, then everything falls back into its proper perspective.

Then I am so glad that I put the worship CD in the kitchen yesterday, so it was there when I needed it most, when the music broke the blow as the newspaper headlines hit.

Thank you Father, help me not to lose your perspective and your love.

This is a simple song, but it never fails to remind me of what matters.

Come on my soul... let down the walls... it's time to look up.

52 Weeks of Happy - week 6

Six weeks into this 52 weeks of happy, goodness me, never thought I'd last this far.  It has not been a bad week, not too bad anyhow, although I have been struggling to relax and sleep.  I keep meaning to write other blog posts and they keep not happening.  Today I do not feel especially positive, so coming up with four things to be positive about is a good exercise, hopefully it will help my head see that there are positive things going on, help me not to miss them.

1. A kind thought and a great quotation - a kind friend sent me a lovely cotton bag she had got on a weekend away in Sheffield, with the following quotation on it "It is impossible to be angry when looking at a penguin", from of all people, John Ruskin.  I would love to know what the origin is of this statement, I had always associated Mr Ruskin with serious matters, not penguins.  The bag has two rather gorgeous penguins following in one another's footsteps and it put a big smile on my face.  Naturally it already has some knitting in it.



2. Cabin Pressure - the radio 4 show, which each week keeps me in stitches, laughing so hard the whole house can hear, if not next door as well.  John Finnemore is a brilliant writer, mixing wordplay, situation and plain silliness into a superb and closely packed half hour.  Go and listen on iplayer while you can - the last in the series is next Wednesday at 6.30.  I realise now that I should have mentioned this sooner, before the series was nearly over, however, you can catch up with the previous series on audible most reasonably.

3. Continuing promise of spring - the buds on our wild cherry twigs are breaking and gorgeous green leaves emerging, hopefully there will soon be flowers.  They are rather hard to photograph though.



4. Prayer - I would not have made it through the week without prayer, both mine and other people's.  Sometimes it is talking things over, sometimes sitting in peace, with some liturgy in between.  Prayer helps me to keep my stress and anxiety levels manageable, my mood more stable, and helps me and others in so many ways.  I am so grateful to God for this gift and that He cares about us and our daily lives, that He is interested and wants to hear from us, no matter how small or big the problem.  Through prayer God is teaching me to rely on Him and how infinitely gracious He is.  For example, if I cannot find something I try to remember to pray, before tearing the house apart looking, as I find searching for things so tiring and they do generally appear after I have prayed, sometimes almost at once, sometimes a little while later, but they do.  Through watching Him answer prayers on a small scale I find I can learn to trust Him more for the big things.

Prayer also helps me to feel less useless within the church - I may not be able to do much else for my church and for the wider church, but I can pray.  It is so good to have others pray for me too, sometimes it is easier to pray for someone else than it is for yourself and in the past a good friend and I have arranged to pray for one another that day rather than struggle with prayer for ourselves.  I love how God equips us to help one another and love one another.

Time to try to relax and get some sleep now I suppose.

52 Weeks of Happy - week 3

This has been a slightly strange week, during which the admonition to "Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn" (Romans 12.15) has never seemed more apt.  For my friends there has been great sorrow and also some joys and I have had the joy of my birthday, it has been quite emotional at times.

Nonetheless there have been joys this week, life at its essence is a sharp mixture of joy and sadness.  The biggest joy has been my birthday so we shall make that number one.

1. My birthday, which I managed to approach with the minimum of trepidation and soul searching about "achievements" and which my family and friends combined to make special.  I had a great many cards and generous presents and messages and feel thoroughly spoiled and humbled that so many people value me.


Birthday banana cake

2. Wonderful new yarn that my sister gave me for my birthday, hand-dyed in stripes, in the colours of the London underground lines, from Trailing Clouds.  I am most excited about knitting this, I still find self-striping yarns exciting, knitting away, wondering which colour will come next and when.  Additionally I am in awe at the hard work that has gone into dyeing this yarn to create approximately six round stripes in so many colours, by hand.



3. Coffee with a new friend and her little boy who is about a year and a half.  A delightful and refreshing combination of a good chat and some play with her little boy, who is very sweet and well behaved.  To be repeated soon I hope.

4. Beautiful snow, which has been falling steadily for most of the day, giving us more light than we have had for a while and muffling noise, creating a quiet, bright, cold world, although I feel terribly sorry for the birds.


A goldfinch on its way to the bird feeders

And so on we go through the year, hopefully I will be able to shake off the threatened depression and accompanying lethargy and "what's the point" feeling more this week.  I think the weekly discipline of looking at the good things that have happened is helping though.


A cyclamen flowers on

Radio silence

I haven't posted for a while because there hasn't been a lot to say. It's just more of the same, more feeling awful, more waiting for appointments, more impromptu trips to the doctors', more things I need to do piling up undone, more depression, more antibiotics, or antibirockets as a fellow raveller put it.

I feel truly pathetic for getting so down, other people have things far worse than I do and manage to live with far more grace, although I know depression doesn't help me to do this. Life is just so hard, unrelentingly so and I'm trying so hard to hope. Being so isolated doesn't help either, particularly spiritually, being an isolated Christian with depression isn't easy, I'm trying to believe, trying to keep communicating with Jesus, keep worshipping, but not succeeding very well.

At least I've got an appointment later in the week to see Father Andrew, a lovely retired vicar or priest (he wears a dog collar so he must be something like that?) who is wonderfully understanding and one of those people who is so Jesus-like. Crucially he is also easy to talk to; I find even when I do see people that it's really hard to open up. I guess you're never sure how people will react and it's rare that any one's got the time and inclination really to listen. And I don't know how to start or what to say and I don't really have the energy to socialise anyway. It's that catch-22 situation of being lonely but not well enough to see people.

However, before this all gets too depressing for words, there have been a few other things going on. The loaf of bread I made overnight in the bread maker has come out very nicely, a light wholemeal loaf. But I have had to undo ten days' hard work on a cardigan I have been working on because of a simple mathematical error that means it was working out far too small. One of this afternoon's tasks will be to start the cardigan all over again. Such is knitting I suppose, one blessing is that the yarn doesn't seem overly bothered by being undone, some of it for the second time. It is a bit disheartening to see ten days' work reduced to a pathetic huddle of bundles of yarn.

I am going to go outside into the garden now, since the weather has changed once again, from November back to proper August weather.

Oh and while we're on the subject of the radio - Radio 4 has just started another of its modern production of lost Paul Temple serials, past ones have been superb, truly the BBC at its very best - you simply must listen!

Red Mittens of Happiness

I've been knitting a pair of child's mittens in bright red Drops Karisma Superwash wool the past couple of days and they have been making me feel so very happy. It seems to be a combination of the cheery red colour, the delightful soft sproingy wool and the magic of mittens. Mittens are somehow soothing, reminiscent of my own childhood, they represent warmth and being well wrapped up and cared for and snug despite the cold all around. They are a frosty winter's morning with everyone's breath emerging as mist on the cold air or the riotous fun of a snow ball fight or the careful construction of a snowman.

They are also a fun thing to knit, fairly quick, especially in a child's size, following a definite rhythm and pattern all of their own. While cotton, silk and even alpaca have their merits there is something satisfying about a good smooth, soft, classic wool yarn, the ribbing has a distinctive springy stretch, the little "v"s of the stockingette stitch have a neat uniformity and definition to them. I think I am going to have to make myself a pair.

Now I will return to knitting the second mitten and hope that whoever eventually owns these mittens is as happy wearing them as I have been knitting them.

Shaking off the black dog

I've been meaning to write a less "heavy" post for a while now, but haven't quite got around to it as I've been feeling a bit down and apathetic and lethargic, which is not me: I hate it. So I'm trying to shake it off, remember the good things.

Spring and early summer are particularly easy times of year in which to find good things to celebrate, even when it's been raining constantly as in the past few days, especially as we have needed the rain so very much. There have been plenty of birds in the garden, yesterday a wren was making a disproportionate amount of noise for a bird so tiny while feeding its young and a fledgling robin has been making his fluffy first attempts at solo life and visiting our bird feeder. So birds and their song: there is good thing one.

Then the plants, oh the plants, coming up in merry profusion and confusion, self seeding, growing back from apparently lifeless twigs, we have had a baby cherry tree, several cow slips and a single rogue daffodil coming up in the middle of the lawn, plenty of nasturtiums growing from last year and flowering gloriously, with a golden colour that looks like condensed sunshine and roses, so many roses. Around the roses, which are past their first flush of glory, are two flowering Jasmines, which are smelling heavenly - I go out into the garden and stand by them and inhale! Our garden is starting to look like a garden and less like an untidy patch of ground. The vegetables are coming along nicely too; the runner beans in particular, appreciating the rain and having astonishing growth spurts. Bees of many varieties (hard to identify as they do not stay still long and are very small!) are busy all through the day on all the flowers, particularly around the Hebe hedge by the front door.

Inside there have been some good plays on the radio lately, including some on the Plantagenet kings and a Terrence Rattigan season celebrating his centenary. Some good books, though the only one I can remember having read recently is Dorothy Whipple's High Wages, an engaging and interesting novel about life in a Lancashire in the early twentieth century. The protagonist, Jane, is a very likable character with real spirit, at times when reading I found myself 'cheering her on' as she took on the attitudes and set ways of the community around her.

Naturally I have been knitting still too, socks, baby items for the ongoing population explosion among my friends, hats, a cardigan, the usual things. But my heart is not quite in it just now, I am not sure why, but I can't quite settle or focus. My concentration is not good, yet I am bored of simpler patterns. Though looking through my recent photographs I have finished a couple of major projects recently, including a baby blanket, so I should perhaps expect a bit less of myself?

Were I physically well the depression would be so much easier to shake off through keeping busy and doing new things, changing things, exercising. I can do so little of any of that and it does get to me sometimes. I am trying to keep going and battle on, keep trusting Jesus and staying positive, but goodness me there are times when it is hard!

Day seven (extremely belatedly) - your knitting and crochet time

Sorry for the delay in this post, still better late than never? I wasn't quite feeling up to blogging.

I do have an extraordinary amount of time available for knitting and crochet, although often very little energy - mental and physical - for it, which means that my actual output is not a great deal higher than many prolific 'well' knitters out there. Most of my knitting and crochet time is spent at my desk, where I have a big comfy chair, ravelry open on the computer, something from radio iplayer such as comedy from "BBC Radio 4 extra" (the artist formerly known as BBC Radio 7) to listen to, a glass of cordial to my left and vital items such as tape measure, scissors, pencil and tapestry needle close on hand. My desk, due to a mixture of exhaustion and "creative working practices", is much, much too messy to photograph. You may think you know untidy, but I tell you, you would be genuinely shocked.

My second modus operandi is knitting on the sofa in the sunny bay window of the living room, with or without the television or a DVD to watch. This bay window catches the sun brilliantly and is a delightful spot on a sunny day - had we a cat this would be where you would find him or her - instead I bask alone. There are a variety of flowering plants here, including my beloved poinsettia, a nice big cushion to lean against, a blanket for colder weather and the vital kit of tape measure, scissors, pencil and tapestry needle on hand.

Since the weather started to improve I have begun taking my knitting

and crochet out to the garden, to bask in the sunshine, without the hot house effect of all that glass, and enjoy the relative tranquillity. I say relative since our proximity to the centre of town and in particular the police station can make it a little loud at times, but it's mainly a low hum in the background and happily drowned out in birdsong. Outside, without the distractions of the computer, or downstairs on the sofa, I do tend to get more done, than at my desk. In particular I will often take a dull bit of knitting, or one which does not seem to be getting anywhere, downstairs with me, to get it done while occupied with a good film.

Likewise I often use meeting up with people, either at knitting group or just out and about in general as an opportunity to get simple garter or stocking stitch done, enjoying the process with my hands while my brain is occupied socially. Indeed I have found it folly to take anything more complicated with me to knitting group, as it inevitably leads to disaster. As women have done through history I keep my knitting with me most of the time to fill in those little gaps in the day - while the food is cooking, in the doctors' waiting room, on the train etc. - which would otherwise be idle and dull. The sheer portability of knitting and crochet is a major factor in my adherence to these crafts rather than others involving more setting up and preparation.

My knitting and crochet time is of infinite value in my life, it gives me interests beyond the bounds of myself and my illness to think about and an occupation, something that gives me something to do while consuming little energy. Through knitting even the worst day can have its achievements, however small, I can learn new skills, meet new people and gain a sense of purpose. It is something positive to think about and means that the days are not entirely empty, there are small goals to achieve, the turning of a heel, another inch on a jumper, another granny square. The very act of knitting or crocheting is positive, distracting me from pain, calming me, cheering me, distracting my mind from dismal depression.

Thank you to the wonderful Eskimimi for organising this week (or several weeks in my case) of blogging, it's really great, has been wonderful seeing the knitting and crocheting world from so many different perspectives and coming across new blogs. It has also been a great incentive to blog more: hopefully I will keep this up.

An inauspicious start to February

Today I reached the point in the crash from going out for dinner on Saturday night with some church friends where I was wishing I'd not gone. At the time I did enjoy myself and was pleased I'd overcome the anxiety about it sufficiently to go, though the meal went on for longer than I expected and involved all the usual stressors like noise and uncomfortable chairs. Now I'm utterly fed up, with it always being the same story, with always having to pay so heavily for so little fun, with myself for letting it get me down, with the world for there being so little sympathy or kindness in it, with myself again for feeling sorry for myself... I could go on, but I won't bore us all to tears.

To compound matters I got stressed about a discussion I was having with some others about sickness, work and whether one should just "tough it out" or stop. It's an area in which I am incredibly sensitive; I loathe that I can't work, I feel guilty about it, all the things I wanted to achieve that are not happening and that may never happen. I tried the "toughing it out" or "pushing myself" approach and did myself terrible damage. So getting into a discussion on the topic on a day when I already felt awful and low, was not the wisest decision. Getting into this discussion on-line, where all nuance of voice, expression and body language - was an even worse decision. Naturally being very physically stressed and unable to relax lead to the inevitable migraine. Mercifully the migraine tablet (once located, in the waste paper basket, to which I had consigned the box thinking it was the empty one), worked its miracle and I feel largely better except for the usual weird aching joints that accompanies them.

So what to learn from this catalogue of misadventure? Not to get into argumentative discussions because I simply do not have the strength to deal with them. To try not to be so over sensitive to every nuance of what someone is saying. That everyone is different, every situation is different, therefore what is right for one person is not necessarily right for another. That I still have a lot of things I need to straighten out. That no person is utterly reliable and that Jesus is still very much the one to turn to and cling to and trust. All the storms of this life seem to blow me in His direction, thankfully. Therefore repentance and receiving His forgiveness, love and understanding awaits and I'll try to learn from my mistakes.

Phew, quite a lot of moaning there, sorry. Got to "talk" to someone though and it has helped getting my thoughts in some sort of order and out of my head, instead of buzzing around inside. I'm going to listen to Ed Reardon's Week now, his curmudgeonly grumpiness will be just right to help me relax before bed!

The anchor of my soul

A few weeks ago I watched a sermon DVD by Louie Giglio lent me by my lovely friend Becca and in it he was talking about how Jesus is the anchor of our soul (Hebrews 6). As he was talking about this I looked down at my knitting, sitting untouched on the sofa beside me, and the anchors worked in fair isle in the scarf I was knitting caught my eye. That 'God-incidence' made me smile, especially as the anchor motif and its surrounding peeries had caused me more trouble than any of the others put together.

Over the past few weeks, which have been full of ups and downs (mainly in my mood) and felt turbulent and difficult, I can really say that although I feel like I am thoroughly at sea, Jesus really is the anchor of my soul. Throughout, no matter how difficult things have been, no matter how horrible I've felt or how angry I've been towards God over the past few weeks, He has never let me down or left me alone or abandoned me.

"When my heart was grieved
and my spirit embittered,
I was senseless and ignorant;
I was a brute beast before you.

"Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever" Psalm 73.21-6

He is always there, always with me, always patient, always loving, always kind, always ready to listen, utterly reliable. He answers prayers, He does not leave me, does not grow short of patience, even when I run out of patience with myself! He is true, faithful, unchanging, unshifting in a world full of shifting shadows. I can see why the Psalmists so often called Him "my rock".

Don't assume from this that everything is absolutely fine and sorted in my life, it isn't, not by such a long way. I'm still ill, still depressed at times, though my moods are gradually regaining some sort of stability. I still get scared for the future and anxious and bored now; I still feel terribly sad that I can't be at church. But somehow Jesus brings into this situation, when I allow Him, inexpressible love, utter forgiveness, complete acceptance of me the way I am, comfort and some glimmer of hope: a promise that things won't always be this way and I know that He keeps His promises. I suppose that's what faith is?

Of course there are times when I don't feel this way, when I don't feel remotely positive and praying feels like beating my fists against a brick wall and I feel a million miles away from God. But these are only feelings and hopefully by writing down the truth and by reading the treasury of truth - the Bible - I can remind myself of this, remind myself of the facts.

"Because God wanted to make the unchanging nature of his purpose very clear to the heirs of what was promised, he confirmed it with an oath. God did this so that, by two unchangeable things in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled to take hold of the hope set before us may be greatly encouraged. We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf. He has become a high priest forever, in the order of Melchizedek." Hebrews 6.17-20

News from another world

Tonight I achieved my dearly held wish to make it to church for at least part of the prayer week. I'd forgotten how big our church building is - it has magnificent wooden roof beams on a scale that would today be prohibitively expensive.

God was deliciously, gloriously close and I really felt His love and Him with me, especially during the singing and the time of corporate prayer. Though I'm not sure I really know how to worship with others any more, it felt a bit strange, I suppose just from lack of practice, I'm not used to other people being there too.

I suppose I'm feeling so down and flat now because for a while I dared to dream and be part of another world that I don't usually have much contact with, then I got home and realised that I still wasn't part of that world and everything is still the same. It is like when you watch a movie and get caught up in the world of that movie; then it ends and you come back down to earth. For a while this evening, before fatigue, fever, panic and the tiles on the chancel floor making me feel seasick and weird brought me back down to earth, I dared to dream that maybe I was well enough for church. For about 15 minutes I felt fine, great even, I managed to stand through two whole songs and for a little while after that! But before I'd been out of the house two hours I was struggling to focus and stay awake and feeling physically bizarre (there is no other word for it).

The glimpse of the lives other people live didn't help either, I'm finding that the more I compare my life with that of other people the worse I feel about myself. It was yet another reminder that the church doesn't seem to have a lot of use for the ill or disabled, in order to serve in the church you need not only to be well, but turbo charged. And yes, I know how bitter that sounds. I know I need to stop comparing myself with others, for a start it's not comparing like with like. If I take life slowly and focus on each moment at a time, on the things I can do, then I can sometimes achieve some sort of contentment.

Sorry that there has been so much soul-searching on here lately: I've been having a very confusing time, quite turbulent inwardly and I don't have anyone to talk it over with, who I know and trust well enough and see anything of to talk about such things. And there has been so much inner turbulence and instability of mood that it wouldn't be fair to inflict it all on one person (though Catherine has stoically put up with plenty of it!). I think I shall start a private diary for matters spiritual, but still share some of what goes on here, partly to encourage and partly to educate anyone reading this about what it is like to be trying to survive as a sick Christian, or to make any fellow travellers feel less alone.

In the meantime I'm trying to salvage the good from the wreckage of tonight, wishing my mood were more stable and trying to ignore how much more of 'an ill person' the experience made me feel. Most of all I want to focus on God and how good He is, in spite of what a mess I am.

Wish I were there

Right now I'm feeling torn to pieces inside because there are all these wonderful things happening at church - prayer, communal meals, worship, fellowship in so many different shapes and forms - and I'm stuck here, out of it, hurting all over and so tired the ground feels like it's dragging me down. And I want to yell at God because He could make me well enough to go and He isn't and I could just cry and cry but I've got, somehow, to find a way of accepting the situation and keep on trusting Him.

The alternative is to keep hugging the anger and hurt to me and not do anything positive and keep on wallowing in negativity. After all there's nothing to say that you have to be in a particular place or even with particular people to pray for your church (or for anything else). So not being able to make it to church isn't such a disaster, true the fellowship is better there than in an empty room, but God's always here, He never goes away and we don't have to go to a particular place to meet Him.

Bizarrely just the act of writing this down, getting it off my chest, has made me feel significantly better. Letting things get pent up inside doesn't help, I'm becoming increasingly aware of that. Of late I've been so angry about things, just about being ill and my general situation and I don't know how to handle it, what to do with it, how to be less angry. Hopefully it will pass or ease soon as the side effects from those pills gradually wear off and my mood settles down again, but it could take some months to restore equilibrium - it was only a very delicate equilibrium in the first place and one that took years to achieve. In the meantime I suppose I just have to put up with the sheer instability of my moods and their tendency to plummet to the depths of despair in minutes. Sometimes I worry that I must look or come across as utterly mad.

I suppose tomorrow I've just got to find a way of glorifying God within the constraints He has put upon me, rinse, lather and repeat the next day and the next and the next. Walking (or more realistically limping) with Christ and trying to learn to trust Him.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8.28*


*please note: although I've quoted this verse here do not think that quoting it to a Christian who is going through hard times is a solve all. Having it quoted at you when things are tough by all and sundry without thought or any other form of encouragement can get extremely irksome.

Again it's been a long time since I last blogged, I must get into more of a habit of it. Life has been hectic lately, at least by my standards, lots of appointments with doctors, nurses, therapist, legal advisors etc. caused partly by a rather nasty infection and partly by my benefits appeal, which is next Thursday.

Next Thursday at 4pm hangs over me like a dread weight, a little like the anvil waiting to drop like in an old fashioned cartoon. Having to justify myself and defend why I need incapacity benefit and how I'm ill enough is horrible, I hate having to do it. I hate the 'game playing' that becomes involved and the need to bend the truth to fit their guidelines. I hate the rigidity of their system that makes no account of the things that really affect my ability to work - like how tired I am every day, day in day out. The 'fatigue' is what stops me from doing so much I long to do but I struggle to communicate this to the professionals who are trying to help (or hinder as their role entails...). Increasingly I'm being asked what job I want to do, am I going to continue any study, work related activities, volunteering and all the rest. But I don't currently have the energy to get a hair cut, or see my friends, or even go to church group, so where am I going to get the energy to do all these other things?

I am trying to trust God, because I know all things are in his hands, but I am struggling. I don't even know if the benefits are part of his provision for me or if he has some other plan. Another point of the benefits appeal that worries me is the truth; I've been told what to say - but some of it isn't 100% true, or is a blurring of the truth or being economical with it. To some extent some of this can't be helped - a system that judges you fit for work if you can watch tv for 30 minutes and follow what is happening means that sometimes you do need to be careful what you say. Some of this is also remembering what a worst day is like and talking about that, which is something I'm very bad at, I'm used to playing down how awful I feel, so this is all very counter-intuitive. But I do not want to lie outright, because as a follower of Jesus I want to be honest.

After I had been thinking about this yesterday I read that day's entry in Spurgeon's Faith's Chequebook and the words seemed to spring out of the page at me:

Let the reader never for a moment attempt to help himself out of a difficulty by a falsehood or by a questionable act; but let him keep in the middle of the high road of truth and integrity, and he will be following the best possible course. In our lives we must never practice circular sailing nor dream of shuffling. Be just and fear not. Follow Jesus and heed no evil consequences. If the worst of ills could be avoided by wrongdoing, we should, in the very attempt, have fallen into an evil worse than any other ill could be. God's way must be the very best way. Follow it though men think you a fool, and you will be truly wise.

So I'm doing my best to prepare, praying, trying to trust, trying not to go to pieces completely. These benefits have such a negative impact on my mental health, which is infuriating because I was just beginning to feel like I was getting somewhere with the CBT, beginning to feel more positive about myself, feeling pleased that I finally felt like I was recovering from the depression.

I don't know if I want to win this appeal, although it would bring a little bit of money into my life, which wouldn't be unwelcome, but it would also bring back all the 'pathways to work' interviews and extra demands. Additionally there is talk of how I should be applying for more benefits, including Disability Living Allowance, which I can't stand even to think about. It makes me feel like life isn't worth living, what's the point in all this? The sheer amount of stress, on top of feeling so ill makes life seem very unappealing. This is so bad for my mental health, the DWP make me feel worthless, guilty, useless and a fraud on a number of different levels (for example, for being able to knit and knitting so much). I hate this system, it feels like being kicked when you are down.

I feel like such a wimp making all this fuss.

Frustration

Tonight I'm feeling incredibly frustrated, that wanting to hit out, lash out, stamp, throw myself on the ground and kick and scream and beat my fists against the earth in an attempt to express some of the tsunami of feeling rushing over and through and out of me. None of it is helped by the feeling that it's all such stupid small stuff that is causing this huge volume of feeling. The new "pain killer" (lyrica/pregabalin for those interested in technicalities) is a) not doing anything for the pain and b) causing massive brain fog which means I'm struggling to understand anything, especially my knitting. As I am on a very low dose this may explain part a, I am prepared to increase the dose if that is what my GP considers wise, if it means that it deals with the pain levels. However, side effects without any intended effect is truly frustrating. Admittedly as one of the listed side effects is heart failure I could be said to be getting off lightly.

According to the friendly leaflet that accompanies the pills the side effects I am experiencing are "uncommon", in the "more than 1 person in 1000" category. Aren't I the lucky one? I do have to confess to being sceptical when my GP assured me that most people don't experience any side effects; my body is rarely this co-operative, if there are side effects it generally does its best to experience at least some of them.

I am feeling particularly frustrated because this is affecting my ability to knit and as knitting is one of my main coping mechanisms this is not good, not good at all. Today I spent most of the day recovering from how awful I felt when I woke up, a fun occupation. Yet again that burning pain in my neck and all around my head and the same pain in my legs and at times arms and across my shoulders. Distraction is the best ploy for when feeling like this, because the more I think about how much it hurts the more it seems to hurt. Oh and before any of the Christian mafia leap out and ask, I did pray, I cried out to God and all the cliches. Maybe the Sims, comedy on BBC radio 7 and my cuddly hot water bottle cover Frank (and more specifically the hot water bottle inside his tummy) were God's answer? Well let's just say I'm thankful for them.

As a Christian and knowing other Christians who don't own TVs and go on about how computer games are a waste of time and knowing that we're meant to use our time wisely (the parable of the talents in Matthew 25 and Jesus talking about the harvest is plentiful but the workers few Matthew 9 are the only references that come to mind right now) I struggle with the Sims2. I enjoy playing it, no question of that, but is it the wisest use of my time? In trying to answer this I come back to the general questions of what I am supposed to be doing now, to me it feels like I'm going nowhere, though I know God has His plans and knows what He is doing. But then if playing the Sims 2 (or watching tv or knitting or any other similar past-time) helps me to cope, mentally and with managing pain, is it so bad?

Sometimes I feel like I should be spending all my time growing in knowledge of God and pursuing Him. Certainly spending more time with Him would be no bad thing, but although I try to live in His presence (work in progress - believe me!) sometimes I just need some time off from life. It comes down to trying to survive in the time between now and Jesus' return/being healed/getting better/dying. But we all need recreation and rest, that's something it took me a while to re-learn after becoming a Christian and being incredibly intense about it all. Giving myself permission to relax, to stop, has taken a long time and in the meantime I did myself a lot of damage in terms of the ME and pushing myself.

Anyhow, yet again I feel better for 'talking' this all out; I haven't got many people around to talk to right now, hence a lovely long post. Time to fill another hot water bottle (yes in August), until next time.

I'm feeling rather fragile and vulnerable tonight. The parents have gone to visit a cousin and it seems like all my friends are someplace else. I haven't seen any friends since Thursday night, except for seeing Sheila from next door briefly today. Well that counts I suppose.

For some reason rather than being able to enjoy the time alone I'm feeling down and isolated and lonely. Lately I've been feeling very bored and generally fed up with life in general, not the sort of bored where you have nothing to do, but the sort where you have done everything you physically can do, and some things that stretched you quite a bit and now are fed up of all of them. This feeling has not helped mood and now having three empty days stretching before me seems like a miserable prospect. All the bad things, nasty thoughts, horrible things that have happened are coming back to haunt me. Suddenly I really miss Amy again, when I thought I was coping so well.

I'm feeling pretty alone and deserted and like everyone's gone away. I'm trying desperately hard not to feel sorry for myself, really I am, it might not sound like it. But I am. And before you ask, I'm praying too, or trying to, don't have many words to pray. Unless you count these ones, as a written prayer.

I've got to be able to cope by myself - my parents are going away again for most of next month and most of the month after. Perhaps things will look better in the morning? I do hope so.

A long day

Today has felt like a long day, partly because it has contained a lot of emotions, some of them almost uncontrollably strong ones. I woke feeling fairly cheery and not too bad, but unfortunately my mother hadn't. She has been in a bizarre, touchy mood all day and I have found this incredibly hard to deal with. You try to help and she bites your head off or lectures you. I've several times retreated to my room, with the door closed and the music on loud, bunkering down. Before I go on, let's get this clear, I do love my mother, I really do, deeply, I hate it when I see her hurting. I hate it even more when I see her hurting and not taking steps that could make a huge difference to this, like dealing with any mental health issues.

I wish she could understand that mental health isn't a taboo, or shouldn't be, that it isn't a sign of weakness, that it is often normal after trauma to the brain (she had a brain tumour ten years ago), that she doesn't have to hurt like she does, that it can get better. Even hurts from years and years ago, from her father, from her mother's death, can be dealt with, can be healed, can be acknowledged. Acknowledgement of problems is a huge issue in this house; she will not acknowledge the impact her illness had on her and on the rest of us, in the immediate family, the four of us, individually and as a unit. It's not her fault. I don't blame her for getting ill, none of us do, it happens, she didn't choose it. But I do feel angry that she's never allowed it to be voiced, that it was a difficult time for us all, that it has had difficult repercussions, made more difficult by their silence. I can understand not wanting to worry your children, especially when they are small, but I was part-adult - helping care for her - and treated as child - never told anything. But not being told is far more terrifying and uncertain.

Partly perhaps she doesn't want to admit her own weakness, that she, who is so proud of self-sufficiency, wasn't able to be, and isn't as able to be as she once was. No one is entirely comfortable facing their own mortality, especially when it becomes real for the first time. The echoes of her mother's illness and death must have been huge, terrifying, breaking like waves across her conciousness - she died aged 54 of a brain tumour that was discovered very suddenly. I have been aware for many years of the devastation her mother's death wrought on my mother and of how our relationship has never quite managed to recapture the closeness she enjoyed with her mother.

The word 'repression' is one you would associate the nineteenth century and with early twentieth century psychiatry, but it has resurfaced here. Nothing is acknowledged, nothing talked of openly, only ever in occasional snatched whispers, if at all. My mother's behaviour is at times erratic, she will begin things then forget them, move something then forget where she has put it, she shows signs of intense frustration with her physical limitations. It is something I understand deeply, but she never allows me to empathise. Instead any discussion of health becomes a competition - you have a doctor's appointment, she has those, lots; you ache, she aches more and more thoroughly. So I keep quiet. I say nothing. I pretend to be ok. The end result is that I find it incredibly hard to talk about how I am feeling, physically, emotionally, mentally. It is far easier with a blank page than a person, with doctors it is near impossible.

Another thing that frustrates me about her, because I love her, is the way that she rarely does anything to minimise her own suffering, it is almost as though she prefers to wallow in the feeling awful or the problem than to deal with it or face it. Often it takes very little - an ibuprofen - to help. There is an element of hopelessness in her sometimes, that there is no point taking an ibuprofen because it probably wouldn't help anyway.

There is a less pleasant side to all this, she is a master of the "poor mes", the sulk, the audible sigh, the posture, the flounce, even hysteria and tears. I have never known anyone sulk as she does, even thwarted toddlers in shopping centres could learn from her. She shares that same need to control, to dominate, to be in charge of every situation. There were seeds of this behaviour in her before she was ill - I remember particularly around map reading on holiday - but it has become far worse since. Personally I believe that some of this underlies her inability to get on with her own father, they were just too similar and vying for control. But her behaviour has deteriorated. The last counsellor I had could not see why we didn't just stand up to her, but this would be disastrous, it would push her further away, into the land where she believes that no one understands her or loves her, she would simply see it as a personal attack, no matter how tactfully or lovingly phrased. In fact I don't know what the answer is.

From all this you might be gathering that my mother is generally not a terribly pleasant person - she is, or can be, lively, with a real zest for life. She has many friends and when other people are around is a totally different person. And as I've said earlier, I do love her, very very much and I want her to be better and to be happier. She is a person who is hurting. I want my dad to have an easier time of it too, to be able to have his own opinions, his own life, his own interests. I want my sister to be less stressed by being at home, to be able to have a relationship with our parents again. I want to be less monumentally stressed by everyday living, or surviving. I want simple things like cooking a meal to stop being a huge emotional battle. But I don't know how.

Part of me thinks that I can't change my mother, or my family, all I can do is learn to live with them and control my reactions to them. But then on days like today when I've ended up in tears and exhausted by the violence of my emotions (and I do find the violence in how I feel scary at times) I feel like that can never be the answer or even a useful way of surviving. Anyhow, surely life is about more than that?

Answers on a postcard.