The Other Side of the Depression Coin

For sake of clarity, I wrote this in October 2015. On the very same night it happened... She made a full recovery.

...

Ring ring. It's 8:30am and Dad is calling me. No big deal it may seem, but my Dad never calls me at 8:30am. Especially when he knows I'll be asleep. I'm on the late shift, 12 until 8. No need to wake up before 11.

"Hello?" I answer, tentatively. The man on the other end of the phone isn't the man I know. The strong-willed man that I adore. He is a quivering wreck, tears audible around the noise of sirens.

"I don't want to panic you", he stifles. (I'm already panicking. My Dad doesn't cry.) "It's your Mum. She's had a fall". The last time I heard the phrase, "she's had a fall", my Grandmother had tripped over a loose slipper. My Mother is 51 years old and her tripping over a slipper wouldn't make my Dad cry. Before I can say anything, I've learnt she's jumped off a cliff, 100 feet above the sea.

Numb. It's the only word that can fit the bill of what I felt. What I still feel. I've cried few tears today when I feel like I should have cried floods. As I speak, she's still alive, 8 hours of surgery and counting. We have no idea how she is. It's supposed to be me being the one in the family with major issues, not Mum. My Mum is a constant. The flashes of thoughts I've had today have showed me this could change. Yet, five minutes later we're talking about pizza, the rugby and the village of Elstow. Mindless small talk to distract us from this pure hell that we're experiencing.

...

We're back at their Torquay home now. None the wiser of how she really is apart from the (very important) fact that she's alive. Five minutes away from the hospital this afternoon, 'Something Inside So Strong" by Labi Siffre came on the radio. I'm not usually one for omens, but I'm prepared to believe on today of all days.

The day after, we get to visit her. Barely recognisable, drifting in and out of sleep. The words she mutters make little sense as I wonder what is going on inside her head. She was supposed to die but she didn't. It's a blessing, but one wonders whether Mum wanted it this way. My Dad and my sister talk as if they are blind to the most obvious of truths. "Broken limbs heal" my sister claims, for that is true, but what of broken minds? What of the state that brought us here? Not a whisper. No recognition of the fight against the brain that is coming, just broken bones and crutches. How much more has to happen for them both to realise what is happening? A small part of me, rather cruelly, wants Mum to stay in hospital, where she can't do anything. She feels like I once did. I can see it in her eyes. The emptiness and the despair, choking on her words because she fears they won't make sense. But they would to me.

They would to me.

I'm not scared of the immediate future. My family are right, broken limbs can fix themselves, but what happens when Mum can walk by herself again? Will we sit here, playing dumb, believing that history won't repeat itself? Can Dad see past his own belief that no one could possibly suffer from depression in this world, as we have it good. Nothing is unbeatable without a bit of good old-fashioned stubbornness and the "get on with it" attitude. I don't think he can. And that scares me. For my Dad feels guilty about leaving her alone, by driving her to this spot where she jumped off. For the few weeks preceding, she had spoken of taking her own life. How could he not see? How could he not put two and two together? After all that I went through, how can he still not believe that things like this don't just happen to other people?

I don't want to blame him. He'd never do anything to deliberately hurt anyone, for this is just a lack of education and awareness. His hugely optimistic mind cannot tolerate any thought of negativity, or that anyone else can ever have a negative thought. Admirable in many respects yes, but it blinds him to some obvious truths that I still don't think he has grasped. My sister is of a later generation, thus brings with it a clearer understanding and level of education about mental illness, but she was blessed with Dad's optimistic ways.

"It will never get worse than this", she claims. My Dad nods in agreement. I sit there in silence, looking deep into Mum's empty eyes and think this is merely the beginning. My job here is to awaken them to the mind of the depressive. Get them thinking in a way they've never thought before. I have to take myself back to my own dark days to convey the feeling of sheer horror that Mum is going through right now, because if I don't, events will go back to square one. Without intervention or professional help, my Mum will deteriorate again. Feeling guilty from what she's put her family through, like I once (and still do) feel guilty about what I did, it will eat away at her and there will be days where she will be too vulnerable, with just my sun-is-always-shining Father for company.

The risks are too high to just do nothing. Without my intervention, I believe that this will happen. I have to stand up and be brave and be strong, all on my own for no one else in this family knows what my Mum is really going through. No one in this family can look past the broken bones and the sling.

Merely a week ago, I was simply thinking that 2015 would be the first year where no drama had taken place. Nothing major or life-impacting. How wrong I was.

The Cafe de Paris - Eurovision Style!

Last year, I bought a VIP ticket to the London Eurovision Party; a preview show for the contest itself that was held in Vienna in 2015. Sitting up in the balconies of the Café de Paris, with my good friends Chris and Pam, we enjoyed a brilliant show and then, somehow, managed to get backstage thanks to the wonderful hostess, Nicki French. Meeting 2014 winner Conchita and being served drinks by eventual winner of 2015, Mans Zelmerlow was as good as it gets.

This year, again buying a VIP ticket, I didn't expect history to repeat itself. I am now going to say a phrase that I tend to say a lot in this blog.

"How wrong I was."

We'll begin at the start of the night, as we were directed to our seats front and centre on the balcony. We realised we were slap bang in line with the stage, but also the large chandelier which blocked our view slightly. We had to wait an hour for the show to start, as we mingled with the distinguished guests, including Paul Jordan who used to give expertise analysis on the semi-final shows on the BBC, but now works for Eurovision. It allowed us to get suitably tipsy before the festivities began.

Act after act, mostly from this year's class of Eurovision but also some old faces returned to give us a three-hour spectacular. First up was Nicky Byrne of Westlife fame, representing Ireland this year with his song 'Sunlight' and then 18 more faces from the Class of 2016, intertwined with witty hosting skills from Paddy O'Connell and the mighty Nicki French. The show was truly superb and very enjoyable. My favourites from this year are 'Minus One' from Cyprus, 'Amir' from France who got a very good reception and, after seeing her performance last night, Zoe from Austria.

Halfway through the show, chatting along with the other guests in our booths and dancing along to the acts, a young man sat down next to me. I merely said, "Hey!" cheerfully, receiving the same in response, but after doing a double take, I realised it was the Swedish entry, Frans.

Sweden LOVE Eurovision. They have an eight-week contest to choose the entry, called Melodifestivalen and the guy who just nonchalantly sat down next to me was the guy who won it. His song, 'If I Were Sorry' has received a mixed reception, but I personally like it and he and his family were really nice people. This was the first surprise* of the evening, with many more to come.

*Name Drop

Frans & I, catching him after his
performance at the Café de Paris.

He didn't stay for an awful long time, as he was due on stage but he came straight back up afterwards and was mobbed by die-hard Eurovision fans who wanted photos. (Yes, that does include me!)

The show continued, as the audience grew louder and louder as the more popular acts performed. Amir from France got the loudest reaction of the night, with his song being one of the favourites.

The show finished with a rendition of 'You're Not Alone' by the UK act, Joe & Jake, who had got through their own (much smaller) selection show a few months ago. They were joined on stage by a drunk Scott Mills, and they received great cheers to cap what was a marvellous event.


Afterwards, the party continued with a Eurovision disco as we immediately joined everyone else down on the dance floor. It was at this point last year where Nicki had summoned us backstage and the crazy memories ensued. I had told myself that it was a one-off; that we wouldn't get invited back there again, so I got on with dancing and more drinking and put that thought to the back of my mind.

That was until a gentleman called Jody arrived, carrying an ice bucket to take backstage. Chris is good friends with Jody and after not much persuasion, we were following him back to the same room I was amazed to be in 12 months earlier. Some of the acts had left, as the time was ticking on, but the first people I noticed as I walked in through the doors were Joe & Jake, drinking a couple of beers and looking generally laid back. There was also Justs (the Latvian entry), and all of Minus One from Cyprus. After a brief stay, Chris & Pam followed Nicki back out to the dance floor, but there was no way I was leaving.

Selfie time with Joe & Jake (both in black)

I have to admit, I am a complete sucker for celebrity hunting. I just love the feeling of brief importance it gives you for that small period of time, and being able to say you met the people who millions will be supporting in May. After a chat with an Icelandic delegate at the bar, I found myself standing next to Joe & Jake and simply started chatting with them. It was as if they were my mates; so laid back and down to Earth and after they got their (free) drinks from the bar they invited me over to their corner.

Once again, I was in that zone. I felt extremely honoured to be there, and it was a great experience. There was another chap called Matthew, who had found himself backstage after an exchange with Greta from Iceland who was more star struck than I was.

Jake (nearest the camera) told me all about his experiences on The Voice and Joe, all about his own journey on the show. They are both so passionate about doing well in Stockholm and they are desperate to do well for the country.

As they both drifted off at about 01:30, I stuck around to chat to a few more of the VIP's backstage, helped myself to a couple more free drinks and called it a night, with the same smile from ear to ear I had walked out with a year ago. I never thought I would get to experience the high life again, but it goes to show the generosity of the inner sanctums of the Eurovision circle. Everyone just wants to make everyone else happy.


So once more, I come home with special memories and a VIP badge to show for it. Thank you to Chris & Pam for sharing the memories for me as well as Jody & Nicki for their generosity in opening up a whole new world. Two years of Eurovision parties, with two years of stunning memories.

Bring on Stockholm!

Relapse

Looking back on the past month, I should have seen this coming.

I was still naïve to think that I would never come back to these days. The sleepless nights, the tears with the only road possible being towards treatment. I thought I'd be able to get through a few tough days here and there, and then carry on towards the road to perfection.

How wrong I was.

Many of my friends were alarmed at some tweets I sent in the midst of the mayhem that was last night, and reading back on them I can see why. My own mind was a complete minefield. One wrong step at this point, and I'd have been in serious trouble. Ringing 111 was the option I chose, at about 2am and many tears and garbled words later, I had been promised a GP appointment via what they said was a "call report".

Today, I dragged myself over to my surgery, a 10 minute walk that felt like a marathon. Completely exhausted from all of this, I was scared I was going back to square one. It hasn't quite reached that stage yet but the next week is pivotal. I have to make the right choices otherwise all of my progress will have been for nothing. The result of sitting in with a locum GP was an increase in meds and a referral to CBT, which I value more these days than the first time I had it as a teenager.

I have also been signed off work for the week, which I'm nervous about. There's no way I can face the ward at this time, but the longer I stay away, the harder it will be to go back. Come Monday morning, I'm going to have to fight through walls.

This locum GP questioned whether working on an acute psychiatric ward was a trigger. I am fairly confident in saying that it isn't.

I type this at 22:00, a time where I'd be wholly involved in my lucid dreaming, but I'm scared of going to bed. Lying in darkness with nothing but my thoughts fills me with dread and I sense another rough night coming. I can feel the tension in my chest and the anxiety flooding me just thinking about it. Sleepless nights will only make going back to work the next morning harder.

But through all of this recent hardship, a monumental truth has reared it's ugly head. A realisation that I'm going to be like this for the rest of my life. However well I manage it, or deal with the situations that depression can bring, I'm always going to be fighting against the elements. In the back of my mind, however positive I may feel, for however long it may be, I will know I am one wrong move away from recurrence. Do you know how that feels?

I resent it more than I can put into words.

Do Not Get Your Hopes Up

I met a guy tonight. I've heard many stories about guys meeting girls in clubs and the relationship blossoming and they end as one. My mind tells me to be apprehensive. It's two drunk guys meeting in a club and it's going nowhere. But this guy seems genuine.

It's obvious he has a kind heart and he laughed at my drunken "straight" friends and he was just so cool. But we were drunk. We talk about going out for a date and so on but my mind automatically defaults to 'drunken mishap'.

I have zero confidence in myself.

And I can't fight past that. In my mind, I don't get why anyone would want to date me. My confidence is so completely shot that I feel like I'd be a complete burden to anyone I got close too.

Do you know how painful that is?

I'm now at a stage where I'm waiting to hear whether I'm more than just a one night fling. Even if I am, I have to go through the awkwardness of dates and signs and rigmarole. I'm not sure my mind can deal with the pressures of it all. I know I have to if I want to find love but I am TERRIFIED.

I'm terrified.

Why does it have to be so difficult?