Remember me? I'm the one who had your baby's eyes.

Blimey.  It’s a while.  Tara’s blog of despair and anxiety.  Here’s more rambling on anyway…

So, as some of you know (mainly folk I have on Facebook) 2014 has not yet turned out to be The International Year of Tara Court as I predicted in my final blog post of 2013.  In fact, the first three weeks saw me plunged into more work based drama and despair.  The Union got involved and all kinds.  And I’m still not really free of it as there’s one issue that’s still rumbling on.  But do you know what I learned?  I learned not to care.  I learned to not give one single flying fuck about it all because, quite simply put, there’s more to life.  

Yeah I had meetings where I had been in floods of tears and had had to ask them to leave the room instead of just sitting and watch me break down. 

I’ve also had meetings where I’ve been berated for the most insignificant thing that if I told you, you’d go ‘What the fuck? Are you kidding?’ (to which I’d go ‘I know right.  Fucking STUPID’).  And all through it, my resolve was getting stronger and stronger until I’ve now got to the point where nothing really matters where this is concerned anymore.  If only I’d felt this way back at the start of my depressive episode in February of last year…to be able to laugh at the ridiculousness of some situations, but then I guess everything we go through in life we learn from.

I learned from that last depressive episode that I absolutely do deserve my place on this earth.  Yeah, I might still have self esteem issues and be hung up about how I look and my weight etc, but that’s what the human race do.  We’re never happy with how we are and are always seeking to look and change ourselves in some small way (dyeing our hair) or some big way (changing jobs, retraining, getting surgery because you’ve never liked your nose).  Sure, I’m not necessarily comfortable in my own skin, but I’m coming to terms with being comfortable with who I am.  And how I am.  And my funny ways that wind up the people I love.

It was said to me last week by someone that sometimes you have to hit rock bottom to claw your way back up, and in some respects this is quite true, although given that this was one ofthem who gave me a hard time over the past six months (the one who decided I didn’t need my psychology sessions anymore), I declined take it the way that this person had intended it.  But in my anxiety and despair, my suicidal feelings, the whole blackness of my condition, I’m hoping I’m clawing my way back up, cos I’m sure I hit rock bottom… I had to have…there can’t be anything more.

BLEEP BLOOP

A few curious things happened last week, and dear reader, I wish to share them with you.

Over the weekend, three complete strangers told me that they loved me…apropos of nothing…

On Tuesday at work, two consultants at work both remarked on my appearance (one male, one female – both incredibly positive comments).

On Thursday on a jaunt to Sainsburys, a lad of about 17 tried to flirt with me…that was seriously weird.

And Friday morning, a wonderful friend of mine told me how wonderful I looked.  Yeah, he could just be paying me lip service, but I know him too well and if I looked terrible, he’d sugar coat it a little, but still tell me.

Now, these incidents are complete coincidence and, I’ll admit it, they made me smile and feel okay.

On the other side of this, my arch nemesis declared to my colleagues (not to me, she’s ignoring me still despite everything that’s happened) that her daughter is being bullied at school and how horrible it is.  Cue the colleagues (some of whom stood by and did nothing as I was victimised and bullied) voiced their opinions on the subject:

“Oh it must be really stressful for her”, “I bet she doesn’t want to go to school” and my favourite “this really needs to be sorted out, and hopefully the head will sit them both down to do this”….

No-one could seem to see that this is EXACTLY what happened (and, to some extent is still happening) to me.  I’m being ignored on purpose by this woman, over something that wasn’t my fault.  I admit, now that I’m feeling a little better mentally, I’m finding it really quite comical – what a difference some medication and therapy can do, huh?  Whenever the two of us are in the office together and someone else comes in, she makes a beeline to talk to them, regardless of who they are or whether she likes them or not.  It’s pathetic but laughing at how ridiculous the situation is is helping.  WHY could I not have done this all those months back?

So, what I gleaned from this is they perceive that bullying of a child is WORSE than bullying of an adult.  I’d argue that bullying of any human being is pretty shit, in all fairness, but there we are.  As for me and her sitting down and sorting it out, in the early stages of my spell off work, (signed off on the Wednesday, called to a meeting ON SITE the following Wednesday – I was terrified and burst into tears on the bus because I didn’t havethe correct change) mediation was offered to me.  I accepted, not because I wanted to, but I wanted to show willing.  It seems to have been forgotten about now, and if I’m honest, I’m relieved.  I am feeling stronger, yes, but I don’t think I’m strong enough to sit in a room with someone who treated me so appallingly, who had (and continues to have) some sort of power hold over me and my emotions.  So, for the time being, I think I’ll just stick to sitting here, listening to my iPod, joining in the occasional conversation when its general nonsense chit chat, playing a version of myself that is Work Tara Mk2. 

Work Tara Mk1 had a major malfunction back in February, but it’d been on the fritz for about six months previous.  

BzzZZzttZtttttt

The replacement model seems a little happier, a little quieter and less sensitive to office atmospheres.  It seems to be doing well, although I’m sure there’s room for improvement…

 

BLEEP BLOOP

With thanks to David for the robot pictures.

Tara on: Manning up

It’s the second week of my phased return to work.  Last Mondays ‘having a whole bottle of water poured on me as I got off the bus’ incident is still actually quite raw for me.  Yes, I’m well aware that it could’ve been anyone but feeling so fragile, low and depressed, it just seemed that things like this are destined to happen to me.

Anyway, enough dwelling on that: pull yourself together woman!  Actually, for the first time in my life, after suffering several bouts of depression since my early twenties, during this episode (which has been by far the absolute worst) not one single person has said that to me.  A result?  Well, sort of.  I don’t know if its because society’s attitude to mental health is changing for the better (albeit very very slowly indeed) or possibly that the few folk who had said this to me in the past have since had depressive episodes and have gleaned some empathy for my plight. 

Last week was a challenge for me, mentally and physically.  Having to get up out of bed, knot still in the stomach although not a knot of dread now, more a knot of anxiousness, uncertainty.  Luckily the individual who had caused the atmosphere in work wasn’t in on Monday, so I felt I could breathe.  The clinicians and nurses all seemed genuinely pleased to see me back, asking how I was and if I ever needed to chat yadda yadda.  But, you see, I have this thing inside me that means I can’t really accept compliments…ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you.  I’m more adept at handling insults because being a fat, ginger, glasses wearing, braces wearing, guitar playing, quiet bookish kid garnered me so many insults, many of which have carried through to my adult life – the water incident last week, the way my mind works, even though I was upset by what had happened, I felt that somehow I almost deserved it.  You see, during counselling for another bout of depression, I discovered that I can accept insults and the most vile name calling from people (strangers included) because basically, as I have such low self worth, that’s what I think of myself and so if they call me something horrific, it somehow means I’m right.  Does that even make sense?  And yes, I know how fucked up it sounds.

This is why I am so thankful for the psychological input I’m receiving through work.  I’ve really clicked with him and after two sessions, we’ve worked through quite a bit.  When I’m depressed, the self esteem side or ‘my dark side’ is a lot stronger.  She comes out and sabotages any good feelings that I have.  On a trip to Skye with friends back in April, she appeared to me when we went on a walk along some hills and crags.  She was trying to persuade me to jump…I was almost persuaded… it was horrible.

So, anyway, I’m progressing.  The mixture of psychological input, the right dosage of medication and the support of so many wonderful human beings, family and friends, here, overseas or online is doing me good.  I’ve been so completely overwhelmed by the amount of support I’ve received from people…so many lovely comments and invitations to stay with people, so much support.  All this is very slowly making me think, I can’t be that bad, can I?