Other stuff

I wonder how many people coping with depression find an affinity with knitting? I've just read Franklin's latest post and realised that he and I are in the same leaky boat (although his paddling skills are far superior to mine!). When stressed and trying to clear my mind of worries, concentrating on a project soothes me. Searching for beautiful yarns is a real pleasure and finding the perfect pattern brings small, perfectly formed moments of calm. Knitting is such an accurate emotional barometer too. I know when I'm super stressed because I get a bit OCD about it, when I'm really struggling the frogging rate triples.

I indulged in some retail therapy yesterday with a good friend who's also on sick leave at the moment. I found this wonderful bargain (£10) in a charity shop, it weighs a ton!:I've given it a clean but it could do with a proper going over. Today I plan to buy more brass polish and some new heads for my electric toothbrush - a combination of the two should get into all those little crook and nannies!

beam me up Scotty

5 fecking times the phone went this morning before 9am. I knew it was mum. I had been intending to have the day off work to give my eye a rest but the insistent ringing and heavy breathing on the answerphone persuaded me that going blind amongst friends was preferable to going mad on my own. Before I could leave, the phone rang again. Mum, most dischuffed that I hadn't answered before. I fibbed and said I'd been in the shower. She's run out of bread and knows I won't be coming tonight. Yet oddly she didn't remember my being there last night when she could have asked me to get some bread from the shops. Its not as though she'll starve, there's plenty of food to last her today before we hit Morrisons tomorrow. I have said I will take her a loaf at lunchtime. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I fucking hate this.

I debated about removing the last sentence, now that I've calmed down (its 17:40) but I guess if no-one's offended, leaving it in is a truer reflection of how I felt this morning. I went to mum's at lunchtime. I took 2 loaves of bread - her usual white and her favourite brown, a packet of jaffa cakes for her sweet tooth, a gazette for something to occupy her and fish and chips to make sure she ate something. 'Thank you'? Don't be silly. More doom and gloom. Clippy you're right. The time is fast approaching when I'm going to have to broach the dreaded retirement home plan.

more doom and gloom

Tuesday night at mum's. After two hours of Mistress Hyde, Dame Jekyll made a welcome appearance and hung around for an hour before I left. I reminded mum that I wouldn't be coming on Wednesday (I rarely do).

Wednesday night at home. Mr Lily has prepared a feast in honour of his wife's rare appearance at the dinner table. I pick up my fork and the telephone rings. Mr Lily answers and attempts to explain to mum that I'm not going tonight, he's cooked a meal for me. At some point she puts the phone down on him. My heart sinks. What should have been a relaxing evening is overshadowed by anticipating mum's displeasure on Thursday.

Thursday night at mum's. All seems well at first, if you ignore the usual 'take-me-to-live-with-you heavy hints. Finally she asks "where were you last night?", "at home", says I. "No you weren't" says mum. "Yes I was, Mr Lily made tea for me and lovely daughter" I reply. "Well why did he answer the phone?" "Because he was nearest!" "I don't like talking to him, I'll just phone you at work in future." As the evening wore on she threw in a few mean comments, describing Mr Lily as "ignorant" and referring to some make-believe incident where I'd put a note saying 'keep out' in my purse to stop him going in it!?! (In the past she's also claimed that he gave beloved son 'a good hiding' when he was young and that's why he never came home from University??!!) It occurs to me for the first time that these stories, for that is all they are, link back to tales she has told me of her father's behaviour towards her and her brother in their youth. Is she confusing Mr Lily with her dad? Over tea she suddenly says "its a good job you don't want me, I'd be miserable living with him (Mr Lily). I bite my tongue.

The retirement flats we went to see at Nunthorpe some time ago, just opposite her sainted doctor and a row of shops, are advertising a £27,000 reduction in price until the end of July. She is considering taking another look. I'm not holding my breath, she didn't like the look of them the first time and the built in kitchen includes a microwave set far too high up.

The new cardigan hasn't left the hanger yet.

Its my birthday on Sunday and right on cue to celebrate the occasion, a massive cold sore has appeared on my top lip. It gave me a rather attractive pout before it got to the yellow alien invader stage. Shoot me now. Please.

oh-oh

There's something definitely not right with me. I tried to get on with Mr Lily's business books early this afternoon but within minutes my brain was whimpering 'I can't do it, its too hard, I'm closing down'; exhaustion and anxiety drove me to my bed around 1pm. I slept and slept until 9pm. I feel restless and like last night and the night before, I'm putting off going to bed until I'm so tired that I can't keep my eyes open any longer. The house is a tip but I can't be bothered to tidy up, I just want to knit. Knit and sleep.

Maybe I'm wrong to blame the usual suspect, but it doesn't help that without fail, no matter how well the day has gone with mum, when she sees me getting ready to leave she always, always, starts on the 'I shouldn't be living alone, its too much for me, its the loneliness that's the worst' (if you were a good daughter you would be taking me in to live with you) guilt trip that sits on my shoulder all the way home and for ages afterwards until topped up at the next visit. Sometimes I even think I should try it and then I imagine all the things she would find fault with and having to play piggy in the middle between her and my husband and I just can't face it. Maybe I will try a counsellor but when would I have the time to go?

how it is

I'm still tired, more so maybe. This morning I thought "5 more minutes" after Mr Lily got up for work and woke up two hours later. I was half an hour late for work. The woman with whom (!) I share an office seemed to be talking uncomfortably loudly today, unusual for her. I can't get out of second gear at work. All I want to do is knit. My mother is losing no opportunity to drop heavy hints about no-one caring/shouldn't be living alone and is clearly aggrieved when I fail to take the bait. I'm feeling powerless in the face of her dissatisfaction.

I think my underlying depression is cranking up a notch.

groundhog daft o'clock

Mum saved her poison arrows until I was about to leave on Saturday, then it was "I shouldn't be living alone, this house (bungalow) is too much for me to manage, its the loneliness that's the worst, I hope you never shove me into a home - that would finish me off, what I need is a one bedroomed flat (one room less = a doddle to manage?!), I'll never forget being left alone the first night out of hospital........."
The short version is I'm a terrible daughter for not asking her to live with us
and climb the stairs to the loo and her bedroom
and avoid tripping over our black dog on the charcoal hall and stairs carpet
and be on her own all day while we're all out at work or out with friends
in a house that could never be warm or tidy enough for her
in a village full of strangers and no shops
and a son-in-law she hasn't had a good word to say about for over thirty years.

And just to put the record straight, ok, maybe I should have stayed with her that first night in January 2008 but I collected her from the hospital and stayed with her all day and put her to bed and was exhausted from daily trips to the hospital for a month and just wanted to go home to my own bed. And despite what she might tell you, she DIDN'T ask me to stay - if she had, I would have stayed.

Felt rubbish Saturday night.
Sunday woke at 6.30am and couldn't settle so got up and knitted and watched Sharpe and Heartbeat and Some Like it Hot. Felt headachey and heartachey by the afternoon so went to bed. Still feeling gloomy when I got up at teatime. Just after 1am abandoned sleeping husband as I was itchy and restless so here I am again, on the voyage of the dawn typer.

Not looking forward to work tomorrow. Loads to get done and have slowed down lately due to feeling low. Unexpected tasks send me into a silent panic and I turn into a zombie in the early afternoon. Life is weighing heavily again. Maybe I should ask the doc for stronger Prozac?

Urrrgh

I've been feeling a bit down lately. I think the cardiogram on Monday set it off. I've no idea what any of it meant - the technician didn't explain any of the screens, just told me when to change position or take a deep breath. Every now and then she took a snapshot of bits of my heart, usually when there were a few different colours pulsing. I won't find out the results until I see the consultant on 24 March. I'm resigning myself to hearing 'everything's perfectly normal' and a lifetime of knackeredness.

I have to drive to Runcorn for a meeting today and the fuse has blown in my car's cigarette lighter so it won't power up the Sat Nav. I'm charging it up on the computer and will try to get another fuse before I set off but I've written directions as back up. It's a 266 mile round trip. If I don't post again, I fell asleep at the wheel.

I nearly did but I made it home in one piece :-)

Bumhug

Got the results of my chest x-ray yesterday. Apparently everything looked normal. Feh. The 'good' news put me on a downer for the rest of the day. What the hell IS wrong with me? I'm still knackered etc. but with no definite explanation yet. If the cardiologist doesn't find something, don't know what I'll do. I have wondered about depression but surely the Prozac is treating that? It's certainly getting me through the mum minefield without meltdown. And then there's the loud heart murmur which must be due to something amiss.

Maybe its all in the mind. Maybe I'm sick of looking after everyone else and just want to be cosseted for a while myself. Maybe I want to escape to a hospital bed and do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AT ALL without feeling guilty about it. Its 08:57. Maybe I should go to work now.

still here, just.

My dog got me up for the second time in ten minutes at 04:30. As I would only lie in bed with mum filling my head, I may as well be here, with a cup of tea. Nothing has changed. Actually its getting worse.

Monday. Mum rings me at work. Someone has phoned her from the surgery saying the doctor wants to see her. She told them she couldn't get there. They told her they would collect her at 07:45 Tuesday morning. I tell her it sounds unlikely but I will check with the surgery and tell her what happened when I see her after work. The surgery asks round everyone but no-one has called my mum. I phone the FAST team. No-one there has phoned. Mum phones me at work. She thought I was going to phone her back. I try to tell her the results of my enquiries. She can not hear me clearly. Everyone at work within 100 yards can hear me. Monday night. I tell her over and over again the surgery didn't ring. She must have misunderstood what was said. Was she sure it wasn't one of her carers? No. Definitely the surgery. I promise to be at hers for 07:45 on Tuesday to see who turns up. Same old, same old. I go home at 20:30.

Tuesday. I arrive at mum's at 07:30. She is already in her winter coat, complaining about having to go to the doctor's. Time passes. Nothing happens. I phone the surgery a number of times but get the 'closed' message. I tell her I will take her to the doctor's if it turns out that she has an appointment. 08:15 - mum's carers arrive. Mystery solved. One of them had phoned her yesterday to say she would be coming earlier to do her breakfast. Took a while to get the message through to mum. Gave the carer my contact details and instructions to phone me in future with any messages. Went to work, collecting my prescriptions from my doctor's on the way. I wonder whether I should ask for a stronger dose of Prozac? I'm obviously not looking my best - at the morning meeting my lovely boss says she might have to send me home if she thinks I'm taking too much on. I'm glad to be at work with something to distract me. I manage to get through the day in first gear, completing a number of tasks. After work, mum's. This time she remains in misery mode all evening. All the usual lamentations and "there's no love". Of course she's right, there isn't. How can you love someone who all their life has made you feel like a huge disappointment? I'm not totally heartless. I recognise that she is unhappy and afraid on her own and I feel sorry for her, as I would any 89 year old widow in poor health. I just can't be what she wants - a surrogate husband, someone there 24/7 to keep her company and take responsibility for everything. I do my best, I go round day after day, I make sure she takes her tablets and doesn't run out, I encourage her to eat, I rub Vick on her chest to help her breathe, I help her bathe and wash her hair, I do her laundry and make sure she has food in the house, I take her to all her doctor's and hospital appointments, I listen to all her stories as though they were new to me, I sit there quietly accepting of all the veiled insults and complaints she directs at me. 57 years of conditioning as a doormat have worked well. I leave at 20:30 and join my husband and friends in the local pub. We don't stay long.

And now its Wednesday. I don't usually go to mum's on Wednesdays - I'm either doing a late shift at work or off to the pictures with my best friend. I shall have to go tonight or face the wrath of she who must be attended. I told her last night that my colleague will do my late shift tonight so that I can go to mum's. She clearly doesn't believe me, she doesn't understand why anyone should have to work late in an "office job". Which just goes to show how she demeans what I do for a living. She often says "you shouldn't be working now" and pulls a face when I say I'll retire at 65. She thinks I should abandon my career/salary/pension to look after her full-time. I intend phoning the social worker today. I need to tell her how impotent I feel in the face of mum's emotional blackmail. Will she be sympathetic or disapproving? I'm beyond caring.

deja vue

The usual Pavlovian reaction to my appearance at 11:30 but thankfully the gripes did not last too long. Mum had half a small tin of soup and half a slice of bread for lunch. Also the tablets she should have taken on the morning. The carer arrived. Mum had told her she had already had breakfast when she came earlier. She hadn't. Mum couldn't be bothered to get dressed today, she spent her time resting on the settee, never quite falling asleep. She seemed to be very weak but in a much better mood than recently. With hindsight I think it was just that she didn't have the energy to be antsy. After tea she started on the poor me monologue again. She was considering stopping taking all her tablets (to prevent future strokes) - I advised against it. She asked me what I would do in her place, I said take good care of myself, keep taking the tablets and eating well. What I would have liked to have said was find a nice care home where I'd have plenty of company, no responsibilities and no housework. I explained I had to go home around 17:30 - to get organised for work tomorrow. (Actually, I couldn't take the misery any longer.) I would see her tomorrow night, after work. What time? The usual, about 18:15. What? I'd be at work all day?! Yes, its what I do, work full time. So she'd be alone all day. The carers will come. Sulky face. Didn't come to the window to wave me off. Sigh.

second verse, same as the first

Well not quite as bad, a slightly watered down version of yesterday. But still over seven hours of purgatory. I am exhausted. How the hell am I going to keep this up? I'm rather looking forward to total breakdown and an end to having to fulfil expectations. Going to bed now.

nine and a half weeks hours

"Moan, moan, poor me, poor me"
(showered mum and washed her hair)

"moan, moan etc."
Found a note in the door from the carer - she'd called at 7.30am, mum's bedroom light was on but she wouldn't answer the door. Mum says they do it deliberately (knock and go) to save themselves a job?! She is going to tell them she doesn't want them to come again. She dozes for 2 hours on the settee.

"moan, moan....shouldn't be living alone.....your dad will be weeping over me...." Poor bugger, I bet he's been dancing a jig for the last 9 years. I keep asking him to call her up but he's ignoring me.

Carers come - ooh, transformation - canny old lady doing her best, smiling in the face of adversity, oh yes, see you again ....

Permutations of the above. Eats minute amounts. Coughs, hawks and inspects the tissue EVERY TIME. I too am coughing, so much so that I am losing my voice and can only croak. Does she notice/care? Does she (provide your own expletive).

I turn on the TV to provide some stimulus/distraction. She turns it back off - she doesn't like the zoo programme (ugly animals), she doesn't like Shrek (ugly cartoon characters). I pick up the crossword and sudoku again.

6pm and the cavalry arrives in the form of lovely daughter. Mum reverts to Dr Jekyll. I take my leave just after 6.30 pm with a promise to return around lunchtime tomorrow. Thank goodness for Prozac.

Happy New Year?

Thanks again, everyone, for your support and kind comments. They are a real comfort to me, all the more so because I know you all have your own difficulties to deal with.

I debated about writing this post, seems as though I've done nothing but whinge for days. Still, I feel the need to document what has been happening, it saves burdening my poor family. I'm seriously thinking about seeing a counsellor to help me deal with mum. This is the story so far....

Mum was due to be discharged on Tuesday. I went to work and waited for the call. Hours went by. I phoned at regular intervals, each time being told they had to wait for the latest blood test results to be ok'd by the doctor before she could go. At 4pm she finally got the all clear. I left work, called at mum's to pick up some clothes and went to the hospital. She was furious. In her deaf person's loud voice she told me and the rest of the ward that she had been "heartbroken" all day, she thought I had abandoned her, if she had had her house keys she would have phoned someone to take her home and so on. No amount of my explaining that I'd had to wait for the hospital to give the go ahead, mollified her. I asked the ward sister to confirm this but mum didn't believe her, apparently she'd spent all day telling her that I'd forgotten about her.

Long story short, took mum home. Rode out the accusations and agreed to spend the night. I was quite happy to curl up on the settee but this infuriated mum. I was all the unnatural daughters under the sun for not wanting to sleep in the double bed - the one she and dad used to share that has a plastic cover over the mattress and is soooooooo uncomfortable. In the end she made such a fuss that I gave in. I kept hearing her mooching about during the night and a couple of times she came into the bedroom, I'm sure she was trying to wake me up. Eventually I thought it was light enough outside to be a reasonable hour - I rose and dressed. It was 5.30am.

Shattered, I just wanted to doze on the settee but mum complained constantly about the "deadly silence". I didn't know what to say. The hours rolled by. I made breakfast (half a slice of toast and a 30ml build up drink for mum), gave her her tablets, washed up, made beds and tidied up. Finally, mum curled up for a cat nap and I took the opportunity to do the same. She spent the rest of the day nodding off like this, no wonder she doesn't sleep at night! She seemed to have calmed down. The care team came and installed an alarm thingy - I doubt she'll keep the emergency button on the cord round her neck. Then the Fast Team carer arrived - mum is to have 10 days of free calls - breakfast, lunch and tea. After making mum some lunch (a spoonful of Cumberland Pie and two sprouts) and giving her a second anti-biotic, I went home for a shower and to do some shopping for mum before I went back to see how she'd got on with the tea-time carers. She hadn't - they'd been but she hadn't answered the door - asleep? deliberately awkward? Who knows. Could only get her to take her tablets, eat half a clementine and one chocolate. She was still curled up on the settee, nodding off every few minutes. I explained again that I had to go because we were going to a New Year's Eve party but I would be back again the next day.

Tired, but looking forward to an evening with friends, I was getting ready when the phone rang. Mum. "Never felt so lonely, considering getting a lodger to stay for free, had rung her cousin (who can see her daughter's house from her flat and has a son who does all her little jobs), what had I been doing all day(?!)" and on and on and on. Guilt descended like a millstone dredged from the depths of an Icelandic lake. I tried to enjoy the party but had to keep blinking away the tears. I couldn't wait for midnight to come so that I could go home and yet I dreaded it, in case the phone rang again.

My dog woke me up at 8.30am, so here I am.

It's 09:03. My mother has just rung. "Is that 'Lily'? Well I need help now, not at tea-time". She sounds in a foul mood. Wish me luck.

back on the treadmill

Mum is a lot better and is probably going to be discharged today. I have asked the hospital to send someone from the care team to see her this morning, can't remember the proper name, in the hope that it won't all be down to me to make sure she eats/drinks/takes her tablets once she's back home. I'm exhausted. I still have a cough and the thought of several days sitting around at mum's listening to all the old gripes fills me with despair.

I know its a dreadful thing to say, but when mum looked at her worst before going into hospital this time, I hoped it was the beginning of the end. For selfish reasons, yes, but also for mum - she has constantly said she wished the stroke last year had finished her off, she doesn't enjoy being confined to the house with only my four visits a week to break the tedium, she does nothing to distract herself and is bored and lonely and doesn't want the responsibility of running a home but is adamant she won't go into a care home. She can't live with us - couldn't manage the stairs to the loo and doesn't want to be around my husband, to mention just a few reasons. She says she wishes she'd had a bigger family. Me too. Me too.

ok. So I'm a crap daughter, a crap wife and now a crap mother

My lovely thoughtful daughter made the tea for us tonight and said she'd bought Xmas pudding and brandy sauce just for me and her dad. After the main meal I went to the fridge and found the pudding next to the brandy sauce. It was toffee pudding - I assumed (yes, I know) she had mistaken the packaging for Xmas pud. I nuked it, doused it and served it.

Daughter quite rightly outraged. The Xmas puds - 2 small ones - were on a different shelf in the fridge. She doesn't like Xmas pudding. The toffee pudding was for her. It must have felt like such a slap in the face and there was nothing I could do about it but apologise. It wasn't accepted which made me feel cross as well as guilty. (I have re-apologised and I think we're friends again. Phew.)

Do you ever have days when you can do nothing right? Sometimes life feels like such hard work and more and more I am thinking what a relief it would be to be out of it. Its ok, I'm hanging in there, but I can't help wondering whether I would ever get so low that I'd be beyond caring how it would affect others.

The best laid plans....

• Never got round to watching Ladies in Lavender, thanks to the computer's siren call, but was disciplined enough to go to bed at 10pm. Was woken up somewhere between 1 and 2am by persistent itching so I applied moisturiser and made myself a cup of tea. I had intended watching LiL but when I turned on the TV there was a subtitled Spanish film on, 'The Sea Inside', which turned out to be mesmerising. (I love foreign films but can't abide dubbed versions. I much prefer to hear the original actors' voices, even if I can't understand everything they're saying.) The actors gave moving performances of the true story of a fisherman who was paralysed from the neck down in a diving accident and who, after spending years dependent on others to take care of him, decided to fight for the right to die. His legal challenge failed but he ended his life by taking cyanide. I went back to bed when the film finished at 3.20.
  
  
• Up itchy again at 6.30, determined to tell my doctor I wanted to come off Prozac because of the side effects. He kindly but firmly advised me against it, explaining that such a course of action could take me right back and possibly to worse than I had been in the past. He was certain that my itchiness and skin problems were not indicative of a drug-related rash but the discoid eczema flaring up again (linked to stress/depression) and has given me another short course of steroid tablets and some heavy duty steroid cream. He has booked me in for a fasting blood test on Friday to check whether there's anything else going on that could cause my tiredness, eg underactive thyroid or anaemia. I rather hope the tests find something that can be treated and cured.
  
  

Called in at work on my way home this morning and relayed above to my lovely sympathetic boss who saw beyond my I'm-ok-just-a-bit-flat facade - I had to admit I did feel quite low. I have decided to take the rest of the week off as I'm too dull-brained and tired to cope with work. LSB has offered to arrange independent counselling for me, I'm tempted.... what do you think? I'm nervous of sharing intimate secrets with a stranger.

Lol, I've just re-read the last bit and realised that's exactly what I've been doing in this blog! Of course, there are some some sensitive issues I don't write about and I suppose those are the things I'm wary of bringing to a counsellor; I've never been keen on worms, in or out of the can.

Putting the training into practice ;-)

Well, on my own cycle of change I guess I've motivated myself to move from the contemplative stage (I'm feeling physically worse as time goes on and it seems to be linked to the medication), to the decision making stage (can't allow this to go on any longer, must do something about it), to the action stage (made an appointment to see the doctor tomorrow). The galvanising factor was how exhausted I felt today. I'm walking at a snail's pace everywhere, could fall asleep at the drop of a hat (where does that expression come from?) and felt quite light-headed this morning. I waited until after the free lunch to make my apologies (I may be poorly but I'm not daft!) and went home to bed, dropping in on mum on the way to take her a loaf of bread and some milk.

Mum seems very concerned by my wilting flower impression. The cynic in me says it's due to self-interest - a while back when I had a breast cancer scare that turned out to be something completely different, she said "I'm glad you're ok .... I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you" and today has been listing the tasks she has lined up for me. However, I have to say she does seem genuinely caring and has twice offered to come and look after me, ahh bless. (I used to quite like being ill as a child, confined to bed with lucozade, dad's home-made jigsaws and plenty of books and comics to read.) I haven't told her about the depression - she wouldn't understand and she would probably find it hurtful, that I believed looking after her is probably the major causal factor.

Right then, having had a good sleep this afternoon, I'm going to have a relaxing evening and hopefully a good night's sleep. Lovely daughter has bought me a magazine and licorice and I plan on finally watching Ladies in Lavender. Fingers crossed the doctor can sort me out tomorrow.

Prozac - unlucky 13 weeks?

Things are definitely getting worse on the tiredness, eczema and itching front, it's really getting me down. At least my distressed skin was hidden under clothing before, but now the rough patches are spreading, including onto the back of my hands. I can't bear the thought that it might spread to my face - I know, I'm vain. I've checked the extensive side-effects list for Prozac and it includes lethargy, rash, itching and dry mouth (frequent thirstiness is also something new for me that I've noticed recently). I have to go to the surgery this morning to collect my repeat prescription so I'm going to try to book an appointment with a doctor asap to discuss changing to a different anti-depressant.

In memoriam

My dad died on 11 October 1999. I was at mum's today for the usual Saturday shopping challenge; she was oblivious to the significance of the date. I didn't remind her, I couldn't face the inevitable conspiracy theories directed against the doctors/hospital - she's convinced that if he hadn't had his triple bypass operation, he would be alive today. He wouldn't, he had a heart attack the day before he was hospitalised and another the morning of his operation. It was heart disease and arterial sclerosis that killed him but mum's convinced it was the kidney infection that saw him off or that the bypass operation was botched. I miss him. Hope he thinks I'm being a good (enough) daughter.

Still weary 50% of the time, to the extent that I sent my boss an e-mail on Friday, apologising for not having got round to writing a report she needed for next week. Must mention it to my GP as I think it may be a side-effect of the Prozac. Alternatively, maybe the medication has just taken me back to how I was generally before things became really difficult, like the time a phone call from mum after I'd just returned home from her place tipped me over the edge and had me on my knees, screaming and pounding the wall. (I had a sexy, husky voice for 3 days afterwards!) Lovely daughter to the rescue - she went off to mum's, leaving strict instructions that I soak in the perfumed bath she'd run me. It must have been scary for her, seeing me in such a state.

Dysthymia

Is this me? - 'In dysthymic disorder, depressive symptoms typically begin insidiously in childhood or adolescence and pursue an intermittent or low-grade course over many years or decades; major depressive episodes may complicate it (double depression).' I certainly remember feeling an almost constant melancholy from childhood onward and am wondering whether, despite a promising start with Prozac which seemed to banish the blues, dysthymia was the reason why this weekend I felt detached and unable to fully enjoy life, often retreating to my bed with bouts of weariness. And I'm still bargain hunting! Today I found a lovely touch table lamp in palest green etched glass in a charity shop for £5 that goes beautifully in my back room.