Not the best of weeks

I tell myself it’s like being California. Being relaxed sunny California hit by an earthquake. There’s little or no warning. The subterranean shift is catastrophic. There is shaking and destruction for an initial few hours; then a brief pause in which I hope it is over. There are the aftershocks that come in waves, but which slowly settle to mere wobbles. Eventually the rubble is still, help has arrived, and the wearying, depressing, hopeful rebuilding can begin.

Somehow an external metaphor helps.

Last week was a really good one. One of the best in my seven years post-breakdown. All was going well: work, relationships, energy levels, happiness, writing.

Then suddenly it wasn’t. Continue reading “Not the best of weeks”

My Perfect Feminist Storm

I’m late to the party on feminism. Obviously I’ve never believed in inequality. Of course I’ve always nominally been a feminist. Yet only this week have I realised that by being born a woman I’m on the losing side of life. (Yes, I know I have other privileges.)

It’s taken me thirty-eight years. I simply haven’t seen it till now.

Largely because I avoided the issue.

In my teens I was apart from the crowd, too deep in depression to be part of the feminine stereotypes that went with being sixteen. And academically I was way ahead of both girls and boys; there was no sense that boys had it easier. Continue reading “My Perfect Feminist Storm”

OK, I’m not superhuman.

Because generally I still think that I am. Six years post breakdown I still think the rules don’t apply. And sometimes they don’t: in May I spent three nights in hospital and two days later ran the Edinburgh marathon. (Look how well I bounce back!)

This time it didn’t work that way.

I assumed it would. Last Tuesday when my brain started to shut down, I did the usual things. I fought it. I went to a self-help group. I went for a walk. I tried to notice the sunshine, to feel my feet on the ground. I warned my doctor what was going on. To no avail: cue the pattern she and I know so well. By the time I knew I had no other options I could barely walk. And yet, infinitesimally slowly, I made it to her waiting room, as I always do. Continue reading “OK, I’m not superhuman.”