My mum, who died a few months ago, should have celebrating her birthday a fortnight ago. I am grieving her and her sister who died two weeks later. Ruby should have been celebrating her sixteenth birthday a few days ago. My sister nearly died recently from pneumonia and sepsis and she remains, five weeks later, in intensive care in a poor state (hundreds of miles away). My dad, in his seventies, has to cope with this too. I stopped my antidepressant medication two months ago and although the experience has been mostly positive I am always one intonation or one curt word away from tears. Always.
Like many men I have a small number of friends and, like many men, I don't really know how close they are. Of course we discuss personal matters, how we feel, all those subjects thankfully now not out of bounds as they were only one generation before us. But other people's personal friends remember dates, seem concerned about their friend's relatives, know when their friends need loving most. I am not the best friend to have- I am terrible at keeping in touch, I go on about being a loner and about not needing other people- but I have been through some very difficult times and, although I am not demanding, need genuine support to keep myself well.
I consider myself an optimist. Or as my Yorkshire mum would say, I am a "do-er", I get on with things, I try not to dwell. I consider myself a reflective person, looking into my grief, my depression, my life, embracing the potential for growth and for learning. But sometimes, thankfully very rarely, I just feel a bit shit and a bit lonely and I feel that other people around me can be a bit shit too. I know that my friends, professionals, even strangers will "be there" if asked but there are times when I don't want to ask and don't feel as if I should need to ask.
I rarely wallow, I rarely feel sorry for myself. My job as a mental health nurse supporting homeless people with complex needs means that I meet and support the most vulnerable, most marginalised people in the country so I am therefore sensitively aware of my fortune and privilege. Although I have experienced most parents' vision of hell I have met hundreds of people who have been through much worse and continue to cope, to live, even to thrive.
But today I am being selfish and indulgent and fragile and I am feeling sorry for myself. And I am thinking- what about me? What the fuck about me? Where's my random text? Where's my gift? Where's my invite? Where's my sympathy card?
Sometimes I don't want someone to ask if I'm OK, sometimes I just want someone to say "I know you're feeling shit and that's normal". And then give me pizza and chocolate.
Update: it's now the following day, I've given myself a kick up the arse and I'm feeling a little more grounded. I had been thinking of deleting this entire entry but decided not to for the simple reason that is it an honest and genuine expression of how I feel. Maybe it will ring true to someone and prove that even irrational nonsense, like feeling sorry for yourself, is perfectly normal once in a while.
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