Cloudy with a Glimmer of Sunshine

Some days I could write all day, about everything. Other days I find it hard to begin at all. I’ve had a few days like that recently. I’ve noticed that my interior weather has become a bit bleaker in the last week. On the outside, things have been pretty good. On the inside, not so much.

I sat here every day waiting to start writing and something has stopped me. Something internal and dark, something sad and complicated that can’t be fobbed off with doing.

I’ve done all the things you see. All the things that you’re supposed to do. I’ve been to stretch class. I’ve been to an art class and painted a passable chicken (the chicken is optional in terms of well being, the art less so). I have been on long walks. I met a friend for lunch, and more friends came to the boat. One friend was so delighted with the boat she insisted on running up and down on the roof, which was, it turns out, a great compliment. I’ve eaten good food, both good for me and also delicious because it’s important to cover all your bases. I’ve been on dates with Jason. I’ve worried less about Oscar. I’ve done some good work that might lead me to becoming fiscally responsible. I’ve lived, laughed and loved like all the best inspirational art tells you to.

And yet, when I came here to write about it, I couldn’t find the words, because other words got in the way and I have been putting off writing them, because it seems wrong? Selfish? Unfair? Ungrateful? I don’t know what it seems except that if I want to go back to writing silly posts about meeting a man at art class who kept telling people about his ‘current godfather’, who is ninety and still plays golf, I need to find a way to write the non silly posts.

The non silly posts that talk about how low mood can creep up on me even when to all intents and purposes my life seems pretty sorted. The sadness that comes even with better antidepressants. The anxiety that flitters at the edges of my consciousness despite everything.

There are, of course, reasons. One reason is that my brain is a bit broken, so my low moods are less predictable. If there were valid reasons for them, my brain would not be a bit broken. I don’t take antidepressants for shits and giggles.

Another reason is that just because things are getting better for me now, for a long time they were not. They were getting a whole lot worse. On top of having a broken brain, I have endured a few years of quite tremendously awful things that would break even the most normal of brains. That stuff leaves its mark and doesn’t just disappear because you discover that you live next to a farm park or that you love living on a boat. Those things help, obviously. Who wouldn’t find solace in living near a troupe of small bantams who think they are a conquering army?

And then there is the ongoing tweaking of the meds. There is something I am taking in the short term, which I was afraid would be a bit of a nightmare. It is not turning out to be as awful as I thought, but I do wonder if the low mood may be related to that. I only have to take it for another week and then we will see what happens. I’ve had such big changes to my meds in the last few weeks that it would be almost impossible to predict what thing is doing what at the moment. I can confidently say that it was definitely the whacking dose of blood pressure medication that caused me to topple sweatily to the floor in the banana aisle of Waitrose. How the mighty have fallen. Quite literally in this case.

So I have the sads. I’m wrangling them in my usual fashion. Sometimes talking about them, sometimes writing about them, sometimes ignoring them in favour of eating biscuits and watching the David Beckham documentary.

I was out on a long walk with Jason yesterday morning. We were exploring another cranny of the Isle of Dogs. We walked down the Thames Path to Saunders Ness and then came up into Mudchute, walking through the farm and onto the nature reserve. We ducked under a railway bridge and came up into a small park. Walking through a stand of trees we found we were at the side of Millwall Outer Dock. The wind was causing small waves to chop across the surface of the water and boats from Millwall Boat Club were scudding about in the sunshine. I felt so grateful to be alive and in this place, with these people that I love that I promptly burst into tears. So I may have the sads, but I also have the glads.