Erm, hello.

So one day maybe I’ll get the hang of writing regularly. I’ll be the person who updates people every week and has others waiting for the next post to drop. For now though I will write when I remember. Which this time took 3 years.

So what’s been up with me? Hmm. All sorts really. My kids grew up, my dog is still somewhat anxious (but loads better than before), I became a Camerado – more about that another day.

But mostly I’ve been trying to work out if there is a way of fighting the dual demons of anxiety and depression. Part of this involved me giving them names. So now my anxiety is called Horace and my depression is Bertha. I don’t know why – those names just seem to fit.

2020 has been interesting hasn’t it? None of us were expecting that!
Those bush fires at the beginning of the year were a bit mad eh? No really, they were this year – go and check if you don’t believe me.

As the Covid 19 crisis hit the UK, many people I know suddenly became overcome with anxiety. Suddenly they were hit by the generalised terror that is my everyday life. Everything was difficult, the world was a strange and unknown place.

For me, the world slowed down to a pace that was manageable. Horace and Bertha went away. My mind was clear for the first time in as long as I can remember. I got so much done. I finished projects I’d had sat around for ages. I made plans. I can’t remember when I last made serious life plans without worrying that I’d not be able to do it. My world, though physically constricted, had opened up. There were so many ideas and things I was going to do once I could get out and about again.

I made plans!

Then “lockdown” started to lift and one morning I got up and realised that Horace and Bertha had come back. My mind grew foggy, the weight of them returned. It felt heavier than it had before because I had got used to not carrying them about. Slowly the darkness wrapped its tendrils around me.

Those plans, they feel like distant memories. The things I want to do have been torn from my grasp. Now I mourn the loss of the me who could plan. I just have to reign in my world and not try to do too much so than my brain or my body don’t hate me. It’s so much worse at the moment because of those months during “lockdown” where I knew what I could do. When I foolishly made plans. I hoped beyond reason that this time it would be different, that the demons wouldn’t return and yet they always do.

I made plans.

I’m trying to hold on to the fact that for a moment I was someone who could make plans. I thought that I’d be able to put them into action and see them through. I have to hold onto the idea that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be that person again one day.

Until then, I’m here, in lockdown in my mind, wondering if there will ever be a way out of this mess.

I made plans…