Can’t face the gauntlet of applying for ESA on the grounds of mental ill-health? Fear not, there are plenty of suitable job opportunites available…
*reads ESA application forms and Work Capability Assessment guidelines, weeps and hopes never to need it*
And there’s a simple solution to the Bedroom Tax too…If you can get your hands on a wrecking ball or large hammer (Miley Cyrus might have a spare)
Once upon a time I was very depressed. I say once upon a time. Actually that’s a huge lie. A lot of lies start with Once Upon a Time don’t they? Anyway, in the interests of honesty lets say I have been, on occasion, very depressed. Much of the detail of those hours, weeks, months is lost, but there are moments of it that I have not forgotten. Perhaps one day I will be able to weigh out and measure those horrors in words. But not now. The point is, the memory of those moments allows me to go easier on myself when I’m not quite the person I want to be, when I can’t seize the hour, when I retreat instead of stepping forward. Remembering that ‘once upon a time’ it was a struggle just to keep breathing makes getting dressed of a day a victory.
I want to say I’m well now, but that’s not a sensible statement to make – better to say I’m pretty steady, that I am not a stranger to contentment. But I keep the distress flares close at hand because…well, because this is the nature of the beast; It is predictably unpredictable, and it can quickly become bigger than you are. And it can be deadly. So far my curiosity, my desire to know what happens next, has just about matched the beast each time. But I don’t take it for granted.
Keeping an eye to the beast is exhausting stuff, even when the days are good. So I try go easy on myself, it’s harder than you might think. But I’m breathing, what more do you want?
Dawn; I have both cowered away from it and revelled in it. A touch of hypo-mania can make the greyest creep of day into something quite wonderful. Depression can twist an orange-and-gold sunrise and make a monster of it.
I have stepped outside into the first pale rays of sun and breathed in the light. Thirty hours awake and counting and tripped out on the beauty of everything. Jewels of light reflected in a window pane. Dawn sparkling on the river, erasing the exposed bones of supermarket trolleys, blinding my eyes to the bikes and bedsprings that breed in the brown water. Dawn and everything is a marvel and life is a wonderful miracle.
And I have lain watching the same golden light filtering through the blinds and felt flayed by it. Cruel dawn – crawling over everything, stealing the covering dark and dragging the noonday demon in its wake.
The best days for me, in the interests of rational function and thought, are the days when dawn slips past me unnoticed, without wonder or dread, and the day begins when I am ready.