Tag Archives: depression

Moody Blues

My Blogger’s block has morphed into Stitcher’s block. Dammit.

I’ve been trying to frame a post for ages now… months. A post to try and explain how I’ve been feeling this past year.

I haven’t felt fully ‘engaged’ with my life, for some time. That sounds odd, I think. But I’m not sure how else to put it. Looking back, I think things fell of the rails somewhere back before last October. About the time I realised Niamh wasn’t going to just start sleeping anytime soon. Suddenly, all the things I had to do/wanted to do were mounting up, and just the feeling of having a never-ending ‘to-do’ list was having a ‘don’t do’ effect on me – I began to feel paralysed with anxiety. By the feeling of not having enough time. As a result, I began to achieve very little at all. The lead up to Christmas was the worst, I remember feeling as if I would never make it – in hindsight, I did a bunch of Christmassy/crafty stuff with Finn, and maybe the problem was feeling like I had to do more, instead of actually just sitting still to enjoy what we did have time for.

I did wonder for a while whether I had very mild postnatal depression. Possibly I did(/do). I don’t think I’m particularly alarmed by this, or consider that intervention was(/is) necessary, rather it just feels like a downturn in life’s rollercoaster. A fairly long, drawn out downturn, I grant you.

Some weeks this year have been better than others. Niamh has been sleeping much, much better now since March/April. But still, many weeks, I look back over and can’t recall doing much other than clothing, feeding and entertaining two hard-to-please kids. My enthusiasm for stitching/sewing/gardening/blogging waxes and wanes with the good and bad weeks. (This week is not a great week for another reason – I started it out with Strep throat, and the antibiotics I’m on are treating me to some less-than-pleasant side-effects :yuk: )

So, uh… that’s my cards on the table, as it were. This is not something I would ordinarily throw out to the whole www-iverse. It has just reached the point where I was either going to say something or pull the plug on the blog, and I decided I didn’t want to lose the blog. Not just yet. Also, I apologize to my friends on whose blogs I have been seen less and less lately. I have been reading, not always with my full attention, and I don’t always manage to come over and comment. Sorry ’bout that. I’m still around, I still love you 🙂

PS. The pic above? That’s something I did achieve this week – my first attempt at the no-knead bread recipe that swept blogland earlier in the year. Not bad looking, huh? The inside was not as perfect as the out, but still, it disappeared in a day.

Forewarned is…

In her book “On Death and Dying” in 1969, Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross proposed these ‘five stages of grief’:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

Apparently it is not unusual for patients diagnosed with chronic illness – not just terminal illnesses such as cancer – to progress through these stages (not necessarily separately or in order).

I believe it. It became apparent to me sometime early last week that I had progressed neatly from ‘denial’ to ‘anger’ over this whole diabetes debacle. I don’t recall any ‘bargaining’, but that could be because I don’t subscribe to any Higher Power with whom to bargain? Regardless, these last few days, I seem to have landed squarely in ‘depression’. Despite my best efforts of the last two weeks, I seem to be headed straight for the insulin, probably by the end of next week, would be my best guess.

I know, I know… technically I have not been diagnosed with a chronic illness. Technically, gestational diabetes mellitus is most often just that – gestational, therefore a transient problem. I think the main problem I have is that I tend to over-educate myself about anything that’s going on in my life. And all that I’m reading points to a fairly huge risk of me being diagnosed as a Type 2 diabetic in the next 10-15 years. As in, a 30-50% risk.

So the changes I’m making now, to my diet and exercise regime, must be made for life, in reality. Knowing I must do this is not really the same thing as feeling like I can do it. Knowing something is only for the next 10-12 weeks is entirely different, and entirely doable. (And for the record, I am doing it – I’m eating well, exercising, and have been losing what little weight I’ve put on through the pregnancy). Changing my habits for the rest of my life involves overcoming years of poor eating and exercise habits, and years of the crap self-esteem which lurks beneath. It strikes me that forewarned is not always forearmed. Sometimes, to be forewarned is to be burdened with excess stress and anxiety, both of which add their own little risk factors to one’s health.

Right now, I’m having a hard time coming to the ‘acceptance’ stage 😥

Meh. Must stitch…