Going round in circles

Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever learn.  My spiral into my most recent depression was accelerated by having a lot on at work, feeling stressed and just taking on more and more work in order to prove to people I could do it.   In the end I just couldn’t do everything, I worried about letting people down, I worried that they would think less of me, they would realise I was as rubbish as I knew I was.  So I just had to keep working to hide the fact that underneath I was rubbish.   In the end I would work all day and all evening.  I had to take an hour out to put my daughter to bed, I would then lie on her bedroom floor crying because I couldn’t work out what to do next and how to get out of the hole I was in.   In the end I got out as when I got signed off work, and finally quit my job and took what is meant to be a less stressful role.  Severe depression called for some drastic steps.

So now to the present day, I’m in the new job.   I can see the cycle repeating, I am volunteering to take on lots of work, I want to show everyone I can do well.   However, I’m starting to reach that point where I have too much to, I’m not quite sure how it’s going to get done in the time I have available.   But this time I am conscious of the cycle and I can see the way its heading, so I can try and stop it before the problem beyond repair.   I’ve been reading about mindfulness, so I try to stop and think about what I am doing and how I can get out of the circle.  Unlike last time, I now ask for help.  Other people want to be involved and are happy to help, so it might not be a negative mark against me to ask.   I beginning to realise I don’t have to do it all on my own.  Maybe at times I can learn.

Judge, jury and executioner

I never used to think I was a judgmental person.  I like to think I’m a nice, liberal, open-minded, Guardian reader.  But I worry continually that people are judging me, they judge me on my weight, on my hair, clothes, what I say, how I sit, what car I drive…………………  Do I think they are judging me because I am judging them?

Mostly I worry that people think I’m stupid and useless.   I’m pretty convinced that that because I’m fat, people automatically think I’m stupid and lazy.   If I’m dressed badly then I’m lazy and slovenly.  Everyone on the tube judges me, everyone at work judges me, my clients judge me.   Or at least I think they do.

But talking this through I might not be being completely rational.  I don’t judge everyone like this.  I’ll be honest, I make some snap judgments, but even when I do I’ve forgotten about them moments later and they are of no consequence.   Therefore maybe not everyone is judging me, they’ve probably got better things to think about.   People may not equate fat with stupid, badly dressed may not equal lay and if I’m really looking on the bright side, I may not even be badly dressed anyway.

I need to stop worrying about what other people think of me, and start focussing on what is more important and what I want to do.  But that can be easier said than done.

An open letter - bullying in the workplace

It’s been a while since I’ve written.  It’s because I’ve been busy and life is generally going well.   I’ve started a new job, which seems good so far.  However, it has made me reflect on a previous job that didn’t go so well.  I was bullied in the work place, I ended up in a very bad place, on Prozac and thoroughly destroyed internally; it took a lot to get back from that.  I have discussed this with my therapist, she suggested I write a letter to perpetrators to tell them how I felt, how they made me feel.  I’ve not been able to do this to date, but I’m feeling stronger now so here goes.

Dear M&M

You will never read this letter, you will never know how you made me feel.  I doubt I even cross your mind, and I’m sure you are not aware of how you destroyed me.  You both think you are good and decent people, and I was just a hysterical woman who was bad at her job.

It has taken me over 7 years to get over this.  Everyday I hated going into that job, I used to spend Sunday afternoon’s on my bed crying because I didn’t want to go in.  I seriously considered crashing my car so I could be signed off work for a few weeks and not have to face it.   The only reason I didn’t do it was that I couldn’t work out how to crash the car and break my legs, but not be more seriously injured.  I didn’t want to die, I just didn’t want to go to work.   That was a ridiculous way to work and live, especially when it got to the point that I used to cry in the toilets at work.

Looking back,  I think we all just entered into a vicious downward cycle.  You criticised me; you always told me what I was doing wrong; you treated me like an idiot and talked down to me when it wasn’t necessary; you disappeared off for meetings without telling me what was going on.   The more you undermined me, the more I lost confidence and then the worse I started to perform.   The criticisms you made started to become valid, I doubted myself, I worked more slowly, I questioned the work I did.  

And then you all stopped speaking to me, I found that to be the worse thing.  I was in work for days on end and no-one spoke to me.  Literally no-one on my team would even say good morning or goodbye, I had to ask why you didn’t like me, what I had done to turn you against me.  To this day I don’t know the answer to that.  You seemed like decent people, slightly geeky and awkward, but decent.

In the end I complained about the bullying and I got fired.  No-one ever believed me, I started to wonder if it was all in my head, I agreed that I must have been rubbish, which is why I was ignored and why I was fired.  You thoroughly destroyed my confidence, until that point there were many things I doubted about myself, but my intelligence and ability to do my job wasn’t one of them.   The one thing I thought I was good at was job.  I’d always thought I might not be sporty, I might not be good at art, I might not be thin, but I am clever.   You convinced me I wasn’t clever, therefore I was nothing, I had nothing, I had no positives. 

You ought to know that in the year after I was fired, it often took a lot of strength to get out of bed, to talk to people, to face friends and family, because I was a big fat failure.    I have to thank a friend to whom I am eternally grateful, after I collapsed in tears all over her in the pub one evening and she as good as frogmarched me into the doctors for a diagnosis of depression and subsequent treatment.   But I was no longer me, I lost my confidence, my sense of humour, I was even unable to order from a menu for fear of making the wrong decision.

But what I have now learnt is that you were wrong, I’m not stupid, I am good in my job.    In the last 7 years, I have been promoted, I have significantly increased my salary, I have had consistently good feedback and reviews from managers, peers and more recently from teams I have managed.    Sometimes I still don’t believe them, sometimes I still worry that secretly everyone still thinks I am rubbish.  If I get called into an unexpected meeting with my senior management I still break out into a cold sweat, start shaking and worry that I am going to get my marching orders.   But I really should look at the statistics, I’ve once been hauled into a room unexpectedly and fired, I’ve been in a room with a manager countless times and not been fired.

It has taken a long time to get me back, and there have been blips, but I am back, you have not beaten me.  I don’t think that was ever your intention, I’m not sure you ever had any deliberate intentions in any of this, but there were just a lot of unintended consequences of your behaviour, which was thoughtless, ignorant and at times cruel.

I’ve no idea where you are now, or what you are doing, but if I’m honest I don’t wish you luck, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, but let’s be frank I don’t want you to have the most amazing life ever, just managing like the rest of us will do me fine.

In the mean time, I’m back, I’m stronger and it will take more than 2 weak men to break me this time.

Me

Story corner

This is short story I wrote, it's the first time I've ever "published" my writing, I'd love to know what you think.

At last, everyone’s gone.  I’m on my own.  I have to go upstairs and get out of this uncomfortable suit.  I’ve always hated wearing this kind of thing.  It’s too hot, too scratchy and I hate wearing black.  Having said that I wear black a lot, it’s smart and appropriate, just what I’m meat to be.  

It’s been a long day finally, I have a few minutes to myself sitting in my armchair.   The chair dominates the bedroom, it doesn’t match anything else here, but I love it.   It’s the one thing I own that really reflects me, as it’s a little bit too big, a little bit scruffy and not smart enough for its surroundings.

Everyone’s been lovely today, I’ve got great friends who would do anything for me.  I feel so ungrateful for just wanting to be on my own.  I could just stay within these four walls here on my chair and never see any of them again.  Never swap recipes; compare notes on that fabulous place in Tuscany; gossip about the cheeky wink from the new tennis coach at the club.  I know their lives are as imperfect as mine, but you must never let it show.  Like I said they would do anything for you, Sarah lends her husband to Rebecca for after dinner entertainment.   Rebecca reciprocates with a steady supply for class A drugs.  Harry will give anyone the number of his stockbroker, gardener or favourite hooker in Mayfair.   David loves, I mean loved his friends.  He always said he like living here because the neighbours were our sort of people.  

“David, beloved husband, friend and neighbour,”  I’m sure that’s what they said in the church today.  They said so many nice things about him.  Thinking about David makes me cry.  Crying is good, it’s want I’m meant to be doing, it’s a proper emotion.   Finally the emotions I’m supposed to feeling are coming through.  Feeling relief, feeling safe wasn’t right, I wasn’t meant to feel like that.   David would be please I’m being appropriate again.  He didn’t like it when I broke the rules of suburbia.  I never quite knew what the rules were meant to be, but somehow everyone else did.  To start with David loved the fact I wasn’t an average suburban housewife, as he always put it.  But over time he started telling me I should be more like Rebecca and Sarah, they knew how to behave.   He seemed to think that I was wrong deliberately and just wanted to annoy him and how him up.  I tried to be proper, I really tried to right in and do as he wanted, but it seemed as if the rules kept changing.   My skirts became longer, my shoes became lower and more sensible, lower heels meant I was less likely to fall over if I had annoyed David.   The cardigans meant I could cover up the bruises and be appropriate.  The bruises on my back always seemed to take longer to clear. Sometimes my make up wasn’t right, but it’s hard to put on mascara with a broken wrist.   He used to tell me he didn’t mean it.  He wouldn’t do it if I hadn’t done something wrong.  If I had got things right in the first place, then he wouldn’t get angry.  His anger, at last I’m free of his anger.   The feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach is slowly disappearing.  I’ll never forget the look in his eye when he lost control, the moment he changed from David, the upstanding pillar of the community to David, judge, jury and frequently executioner. 

But now I’m free, I can be wrong whenever I want, or whenever it inadvertently takes place.   I can feel a difference inside, I wore my red shirt yesterday. I didn’t go out, no-one saw me.  But I knew I wore it and nothing bad happened.  This house is now my sanctuary, not my prison; it is free of anger.  I always knew the anger would kill one of us, but I’d always assumed it was going to be me.   This is the irony of my story, the final moment of justice.   Ten days ago, he was angry, I’m not quite sure why, this time it wasn’t my fault, it was something to do with his work.  He couldn’t cope with getting angry at work, as he couldn’t work out how to deal with it.  He couldn’t deal with it like he did at home.  Like my grandma always said if you get too angry your head will explode.    Turns out she was a wise old woman, well it wasn’t really his head, but something to do with a blood clot in his brain, I don’t think his blood pressure helped.

So here I am, sat on my chair.  My appropriate black suit is on the floor, the bruises on my arm, on my stomach, on my legs are fading.  I think I’m going to wear my jeans this evening, I’m going to relax and be comfortable in my own home. 

What was it they said about David today, he was a good man, loved by his wife, family and friends.  He will be missed by those who knew him.   There is no reason to change to official version of history.  Mr David Adams may be dead, but Mrs David Adams has been reborn.

Moving forward

Well I've made some big decision, and life is moving forward.  As I've talking abut previously life was stressful and I had to do something about it.  I quit my job.  This is scary, it was very well paid, I was good at it, and I had a lot of friends there.  But it was a tough job, and involved a long commute, something had to give, and that coudln't be my health any longer.  I was tired of spending evenings crying, of having to pull myself together just before I walked into a meeting.  I want to be me again, I want to have a laugh and a giggle; I want to be a little bit scary in meetings, without literally shaking under the desk; I want to get that bounce in my step back.  I can't do that while exhausted and I can't do that when I have no self confidence.

I do have a new job, so I'm not opting out of the world completely, but the plan is it will be less demanding.  It should be a shorter commute, and give me some of my life back.  But given my lack of confidence, it is very, very scary.  I don't know anyone in the new place, I don't have any friends there.  I don't know who is nice and who is nasty, who to trust and who to avoid.  I don't quite know what the job involves or if I can do it.   But I have to make this leap if I'm going to get me back, here goes..........................................

What does success look like?

I deal with a lot of projects at work, as well as running them, I have to challenge those that other people are running.  One of my key questions is always "what does success look like? how will you know when you have achieved what you set out to do?"

So being logical, I'm asking myself how I will know when I'm feeling better, and more importantly what am I going to do to enjoy it.    During my visits to my GP I've had to answer a depression questionnaire in order to diagnose the severity of my depression, if anyone reading this thinks it could help them, here is a link to it on NHS direct.     http://www.nhs.uk/conditions/depression/Pages/Introduction.aspx  The first time I did the questionnaire with the GP I was diagnosed as severely depressed.

So now I'm trying to write a questionnaire for what good looks like, based.  Like the depression questionnaire it is based on how you have been feeling in the last two weeks, and the answers should selected from:
 - no, not at all
 - on some days
 - on more than half the days
 - nearly every day.

I should highlight at this point, this is entirely made up by me.   It has no basis in science, but I find it useful.

1) have you laughed several times a day?

2) have you found yourself feeling content, satisfied or happy?

3) Do you feel well rested and not drained of energy

4) are you able to sleep through the night and wake up in the morning?

5)  do you look forward to what the day to come might bring?

6) do you enjoy spending time with friends and family?

7)  Do you get enjoyment out of watching a film, reading a book or other hobbies you used to enjoy?

8) Can you hold and enjoy a normal conversation?

9) Are you able to treat yourself and enjoy it?

I'm not sure what score denotes success, I'm still working on the MI.  But it helps, if I can answer positively to some of these then I'm heading in the right direction.

Happiness at the bottom of a biscuit tin

Well the exercise programme and diet I talked about before is not going well.   I just don't seem to be able to stop eating.  I don't know what's wrong with me, I'm always hungry and all I'm eating is biscuits, crisps, chocolate, toast, cake................

I've not been exercising, I did it for a few days, then the depression came back.  Other than dancing I've not been able to get off the sofa and jog,cycle or anything else.  I don't think I can blame this on the depression, I'm not actually feeling too bad, work is going well, family is good.  I feel quite good about my mental self, it's my physical self I don't like.   It's like sabotage, one thing goes well so I have to scupper another, or at least that's what it feels like.  I always have an excuse for eating too much, and then an excuse for not exercising.   

I don't know how to get out of this cycle.  Well in theory I do, stop eating and get off my arse, but I'm not doing it.   I have done it in the past, I don't know what was different then, but I need to get back to that place, so I can start to like my body again.

I was once asked how much I like my body out of 10, I gave it a 3, I have to try and at least get over 5.