Failing Fast

As subtle as a brick

Dunno about you but for me depression comes with a frigging huge dollop of failure. The feeling of failure that is. And it's taken me bloody ages to work out why this is. I mean, I'm not ashamed of being depressed. God knows, that'd be the equivalent of feeling shame about suffering from lupus. Yet every day I get a moment of wondering whether I've been genuinely ill or just copping out. I know for a fact that the answer is the former but there's this nagging feeling that I've been dabbling with the latter.

Problem is that socially there's still a problem with mental illness and such a big bloody problem that even those of us who are genuinely ill are dealt with as if we're swinging the lead. I recall a time when I had to deal with the DWP about my benefit, having to make calls to my local jobcentre. And, by fuck, the way they dealt with me was appallng. I was spoken to as if I was taking the piss. When I was unable to make an early morning appointment because my meds rendered me too incapable, the snorting civil servant on the phone suggested they find a time that coincided with when I could be bothered to get out of bed. 
Now, this reminds me of something my mental health mole told me. Remember him? K-Fix? Well, here's what he says: "There's one human race rather than a league table of humans yet it's pervasive in society that mental health patients are at the bottom of the league table. 
"And just look at the DLA forms you have to fill in when you claim benefit because you're unable to work. Page after page you've been asked to prove how incapable you are so how do you feel when you've finished filling it in?" I can answer that. You feel a complete and utter fucking failure because you're unable to contribute both personally and professionally.
As K-Fix adds, "If you are told you're no good then you think you're no good. The messages are subtle but they're also clear."
He's not kidding. Everything from funding cuts to mental health services, benefit claiming, government messages, media reporting and even friends' reactions can carry those subtle messages that you're swinging the lead. The result? That however sick you genuinely are you've no excuses for letting down society with your unacceptable skiving. Yup, just when you feel about as shitty as you're ever going to feel, along comes society to make you feel even shittier.
I used to suffer at the hands of these assumptions but, by, fuck, I don't any more. Now I've realised that only I know what I am capable of and that this won't be dictated by idiots with generalisations. So every day I make a point of reminding myself of what I have achieved, whether it's a blog post, 20 mins at the piano or just managing a feeling of panic or doom. 
You can shove your subtle messages. I'll keep on doing things my way because, right now, my way is what's getting me back on my feet. Failing? No, I'm succeeding and against odds that could fell even the strongest of us. 

Hello? Hello?
Whoa! Look at how long it's been since I wrote a post on here. Sorry, my beloved kraken-loving gherkins. I've been all wrapped up in this 'ere blog instead which is, I admit, a doleful neglect of my depressive duties. It is, though, a spectacular form of therapy. Online ranting does wonders for my mental state and puts an inevitable spring in my step. I'm never perkier than when I've been indulging in my favoured profanities.
Anyway, I'm going to pick up the pace and will blog here a bit more often. While the effects of that vile fucking breakdown linger on - and, by God, linger they do - you can rest assured that I'll bang on and on and on about every last morsel of it. As ever, I politely request that you gird yourselves...