Monday, 3 April 2017

On approaching Easter

I went to church last night.
It was the first time since mid-February.
Depression hit last September and hasn't lifted significantly since then.
After months of trying to manage it;
To work my way through it;
To pretend it wasn't really that bad;
I was signed off with clinical depression.

This blog post isn't to gain sympathy.
More, it's to be real about an illness I have had for most of my life.
It's not an easy thing to live with.
I have to constantly remind myself I'm not weak, but sick.

Lots of people don't understand.
I answer the same questions over and over about what I'm doing to help myself.
I try and smile as I answer, while inside I'm crying.
Imagine the injustice of being ill and people leaving you feeling it's somehow your fault?
You'd be better if only you would....

So my friends
This is me raising my head above the parapet and saying

Yes I have a chronic illness.
No, nothing seems to help at times.
Yes I'm on medication and in therapy.
I walk,
practice mindfulness, 
look for things to be grateful for,
watch what I eat
and rest.
No, at the moment it doesn't make any tangible difference.

But I'm hanging in there.
People with this illness are often very good at that.
I'm hopeful for better days.
I wake every morning in the sure and certain hope that Resurrection Day is on the horizon.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But soon.