Things I need to remember:

The biggest fucker of a… well, right now I’m in a state and can’t think of the stupid word…

We’re told to speak, to voice our opinions, to not be afraid of telling someone how we feel; we decide to be brave, to speak, to let our voice be heard, to make our feelings known; and then we remember why we choose not to speak, to make our opinions known, or to explain how we feel.

Yeap.  In the space of two or three days I’ve severely fucked off two important people in my life, and as I sit here in tears, trying to breath properly rather than hyperventilate, all I can think is “and that is why you don’t do people, you stupid bitch.”

I feel useless, as if I don’t belong; society isn’t a place for me.  I’ve tried to be so brave, to socialise, to open up and go against every instinct in my body that tells me to run and hide.  Now I just want to run and hide more.

Why do I bother interacting and trying to be ‘normal’, when it just blows up in my fucking face?

I should know by now.

I should know by now not to entertain the thought that ‘perhaps I am better’.

One thing I have learnt on this stupid journey is that I am never going to be ‘better’, and one thing I realise now is that I should make the most of the days where I feel ‘okay’, because I think ‘okay’ is as good as it is going to get for me.

Life is never going to be brilliant.  I am never going to be the happiest, most positive person in the world.  Right now it is a struggle to be a happy person in general.

I’m typing this in our bedroom because I have yelled at everyone so far today and figure, hey, it is probably best if the only person I can yell at or be nasty to is myself.  I happen to be very good in that particular aspect.

I hoped I would start the New Year off the way I intended it to continue, but all the New Year has brought me, so far, is a lot of tears and that horrible feeling of being devoured whole by something based entirely in my own brain.

I hate my brain, at times like this.

Obviously it doesn’t help that both of my children are away, but still, I am a grown ass woman, I should be able to cope with a few days apart.

In the meantime I guess I’ll just continue making life miserable for the poor people who are stuck in the same house as me.

Maybe I CAN do this…

Lauriel got a job and began working last week.  I was worried about how I would cope because since about April 2013 she has been doing a bulk of the responsible adulting and parenting, because of my less than stellar mental health.

Prior to last week, I can’t really remember the last time I took the kids to school by myself, or went and did the groceries by myself (actually, it was Christmas Eve 2014… what was I, fucking crazy???), or did the little errands that needed to be done.  Sometimes I would go to school with her.  Sometimes I would go to the supermarket with her.  Very rarely did I do anything alone that would put me in contact with those scary human things.

Depression and anxiety do fucked up things to your brain.  The simplest of adult tasks seemed impossible and I lacked motivation to do… well, anything really.  Even eating was hard and on a daily basis Lauriel would have to force me to eat breakfast, to eat lunch.

You can understand how shocked I am that 10 days into needing to be self sufficient, and being responsible for everything relating to the kids (until 5pm), I am thriving.

I wouldn’t say I LOVE my wife being at work all day, but finally, after years and years of feeling like I am inadequate as an adult, I feel like a real adult.  I feel like a real mum.  I feel like a real wife.

I really am shocked that I feel so mentally well, because I thought it’d be the opposite.  I had images of myself crying all day while Lauriel was at work.  I had images of needing to force myself to pick the kids up, and crying all the way there.  I had images of being pissy that I had to go to the supermarket, of getting out of that place and being ready to punch a brick wall.

But no.  Being in a routine has done wonders for me.  Doing what I want, when I want is no longer an option.

I know that I have to be awake at 7.30am. 
I know that I have to have the lunches done and kids out the door by 8.30am. 
I know that I need to do x, y & z on certain days. 
I know I need to leave home and be at school by 2.50pm. 
I know I need to bring the kids home and get afternoon tea and homework underway. 
I know that I need to have dinner planned and depending on what it is, underway by 5.30pm. 
I know that between 5.00pm and 5.30pm Lauriel gets home and we spend a few minutes cuddling and talking about the day. 
I know that around 6.30pm dinner is had. 
I know that between 7pm & 7.30pm the three younger kids go to bed. 
I know that 8pm means lights off. 
I know that around 9pm Eloise goes to bed. 
I know that around 10.30pm we go to bed.

The last time I felt ‘blah’ (aka: depressed) or anxious was at least 10 days ago, and that is a major accomplishment for me.

I do miss my wife like crazy when she’s at work, but I’m also busy enough that I don’t really have time to sit and mope, or to feel sorry for myself.  For the first time in a long time, my brain doesn’t feel quite so cluttered and the world doesn’t seem quite so scary.

Except on Sunday and Monday, when my wife has days off.  By then I’m over being a responsible adult and tend to become a bit of a recluse.

 

Fuck you earthquakes. Fuck you PTSD.

I wish I had their innocence…

 

It’s 1.02am and I have been trying to sleep for… well, a long time now.  I was quite sleepy at some point, but then some process kicked in in my brain and the next thing I knew I was lying there remembering details – vivid details – of  the earthquakes that have stuck in my mind.

I went from drowsy and happily falling asleep to remembering the earthquake on Christmas Eve 2011.  I was at the mall with Mum, Gaby & Emmy when all of a sudden the world began shaking.  Again.  We were in the food court and all around us could here glass items breaking, chairs scraping, screams and cries from children and adults alike.  The lights went off the emergency siren sounded; we all made a rush to the exit.  Santa was there too.  Gaby was worried about Santa, considering he hadn’t been through an earthquake before.  Mum & I?  We were trying to keep it together, trying to be a good example for the kids; in reality it was Gaby who had it more together than the two of us put together.

Afterward we were able to go to the car – in the parking building – almost as soon as I started the car there was another god almighty shake and I lost it.  We were out of the car and back out in the open before I could even register what was happening.  A bus arrived at the bus stop across from the mall and we took it home.  There was a quake while we were on the bus; all I could think of was the people who’d died in the bus during the Feb 22 quake.  We made it home, well, to Mum and Dad’s.  Throughout the day there were more quakes and my nerves became severely frayed.

I made it home, I guess Mum or Dad dropped us off.  I remember vividly because I was talking to the woman who at the time, I considered my best friend… you may have heard of her, she goes by the name of Lauriel.  She was at her ex-husband’s for the night (as a separated parent you do all manner of crazy ass thing in the name of doing what is best for your kids) and had hacked into his WiFi password.  He had no idea we were IM’ing on Skype, and we thought it was hilarious.  Just before midnight I decided I had better go to bed, but knew there was no way in hell I would be getting to sleep unaided.  I took two codeine, knowing full well it makes me drowsy.

It didn’t take long before I felt sleepy enough to go to bed.  I logged off, I went to the toilet, brushed my teeth, walked through the kitchen and lounge to my bedroom.  I put my hand on the door frame to steady myself because I was a bit wobbly.  And then there was another fucking earthquake.  It was pitch black, the house was shaking… and there I was, a total fucking blithering idiot of a mess.  I text Lauriel and told her there had been another quake.  She text with me until I fell asleep.

My mind then took me to February 22, 2011.  THE EARTHQUAKE.  I could vividly remember the colour of the sky.  It was overcast.  Looked like rain.  It was a muddy grey colour… you could feel rain in the air, it just hadn’t quite arrived.  I can remember the terror I felt when THE quake stopped.  I was on auto pilot.  “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD” I hyperventilated to myself as I picked Emersyn up from the middle of the floor, took my keys and went out to my car.  Backing down the driveway there was another quake.  I had to stop to regain composure, or at least the last tiny thread of it that remained.

I don’t know how I got there, but I was suddenly just down the road from Mum’s work (a supermarket).  There was another shake and I had stopped the car because I was hyperventilating and bawling at the same time.  A man who was walking along the footpath stopped to ask if I was okay.  I told him I wasn’t; he told me neither was he.  Composure regained once again, I drove the rest of the way to Mum’s work.  I parked.  I found her.  We hugged.  We cried.  We couldn’t let go of one another.

There ground was wet with wine.  Red.  White.  Rosé.  Cheap.  Expensive.  The earthquake didn’t care which, bottles were thrown to the ground in the violent shake, glass smashing, wine everywhere.  I hate to think how many dollars worth of wine was all over the floor, and the ground outside.

I remembered the panic as I tried to get to Gaby’s preschool.  I had to take a lot of detours due to flooding and roads being completely fucked.  I got there.  The kids were all sitting outside in the under 2’s playground area.  Gaby cried when she saw me.  But not because of the quake… because she didn’t want to go home, not when she’d only been there an hour!  I hugged that little girl so tightly.  I told myself I was hugging her to comfort her, but I know that in reality it was her comforting me.

Then I was back at my parents.  Outside with mum, in a state of… well, there is no word for it really.  Dad arrived home.  We were all safe and sound.

“Well, I almost died”.  The first words from Dad’s mouth.  Words I will never forget.  I can remember the tone with which he spoke them.  I can remember the look on his face.  I can remember the way my gut dropped.  I can remember the look of shock on Mum’s face, no doubt mirrored by my own.  He went on to tell us that he had just walked past the CTV building when it collapsed.  That he had had an appointment with his doctor – in the CTV building – an hour before the quake struck.  That he had had to choose between leaving a seminar early to get the earlier appointment, or to go after the seminar, at around 12.30.

My Dad made one seemingly mundane, inconsequential decision… he decided to be naughty and leave his seminar early.  In doing that… he avoided dying that day.  He made sure we didn’t get to experience the worst grief possible.  One little decision, one little choice, one tiny decision that was part of whatever else was going on that day.

And he could have died.

I still can’t get my head around that one.  I can’t fathom… I cry whenever I think about it.

One.  Little.  Decision.

————————————

I snuck out here to write this blog post.  Lauriel was sound asleep and I didn’t want to disturb her.  Naturally she caught me in the act.  Rather than saying “it’s almost 1.30, what the hell are you doing up?”, she simply told me “take your time baby, do what you’ve got to do“, kissed me, and went back to bed.

That was possibly the most reassuring, loving thing I could have been told.  She understands me.  She understands my thought process.  She understands that healing doesn’t happen overnight, more importantly she understands that perhaps healing is never complete and is instead an ongoing process.  Something we develop tools to cope with, but are never truly ‘over’.

Impromptu roadtrip #2!

We can’t resist a chance to get up close and personal with this gorgeous mountain!

Lauriel’s friend is here from France and today we decided……

Hey!  Why not go to New Plymouth!

So that is what we are doing!  In our defense, the weather IS beautiful today and tomorrow is meant to be crap – there is no point going to New Plymouth and not being able to see the stunning Mt. Taranaki!  New Plymouth has always been special to Lauriel and I, as a couple, so we never turn down a chance to go for the day.

Before you ask, yes, all four kiddos are coming with… it is the school holidays in NZ right now, and we wanted to do something nice with our crew before Aidan and Eloise head off with their dad on Friday.

Know what?  It was me – little miss travel anxiety – that suggested we go!  I didn’t even think ‘noooo, we might crash and die!‘, I just out and suggested a roadtrip.  Not only is it a roadtrip, it is also a roadtrip where I am in the passenger seat.  That generally equals double the anxiety for me; not because I don’t trust my fabulous wife driving, but because I have this intense need to be in control of the vehicle I am in.

Maybe, just maybe, I am finally taking control of this anxiety thing.  It’s a lovely feeling.

I am sure I’ll be back later with photos from our day in the ‘Naki!

Unlike our first trip to New Plymouth, I do not plan on spending hours in the ER with a sprained ankle…

 

So, I found a lump.

For over 18 months I experienced horrendous anxiety, mainly focused on my health.  I had myself convinced I had cancer.  First it was liver cancer, then it was cervical cancer, then it was stomach cancer, then I was back to liver cancer – and on it went.

Then I began seeing my psychologist and after a few months that specific aspect of my anxiety went away.  It has probably been about a year now since I last thought “oh god, my ____ hurts, I must have cancer!“.  I have been very proud of myself and you have no idea how much lighter I feel without that constant (irrational!) fear bogging me down each day.

And then on Saturday I found a lump.  An actual lump that is really there.  It’s in my armpit.

Initially I had the familiar sensation of adrenalin coursing through my body as my brain yelled out ‘you have cancer!  you actually have cancer!’, and tears quickly followed.

Then I remembered that it was only last week I had routine blood tests done that included a complete blood count, and considering I hadn’t heard from the doctor 10 days later, I took this as a good sign.  Surely if something was wrong, my white blood cells would have been through the roof.  (Right???)

I also remembered that for the past few days before that my neck felt a little sore on and off, like it does when I am getting a virus or infection… it has happened since I was a kid.

I am 99% sure that little lump is nothing.  Or that it’s nothing serious, at least.  There are moments in the day that I am hit by that 1% of doubt though, and that nasty adrenalin rushes through me, leaving me feeling a bit panicked.

If this had happened a year ago I would have been a blithering mess all bloody weekend, and I have to say I am quite proud of myself for only being mildly worried.

Needless to say I am going to the doctor this morning to get it checked out.  Hopefully I get the (eventual) result I expect – it is nothing.  But in the case it is something, at least I’ll have caught it early, which is a good thing… and more to the point, if it is something, I’ll get through it – my wife will give me no choice but to!

I needed to blog this to get the words out, which is really the whole purpose of this blog.  If you took the time to read, thank you!

(now I better go and get dressed…)

“Let’s go on a roadtrip” they said…

You know how sometimes you get an idea and you know it’s going to blow up in your face, but there is a small chance it might actually work out splendidly and that small chance is enough to make you go for it?  Also known as a ‘<enter activity here> they said, it’ll be fun they said’ moment.  Well, we had us one of those on Tuesday; it went a little something like this:

“So where is the Hawke’s Bay game on Saturday?”
“Napier”
“Hmm, we could go… take all the kids, make a day of it!”
“We could…”
“We should…”
“We really should!”
“Let’s do it!”
*excited giggling ensues*

Us in October 2012, our first trip to Napier

On Wednesday ‘make a day of it‘ turned into ‘we could always stay the night‘.
This morning after a friends invitation to stay, ‘could stay the night‘ turned into ‘we will stay the night‘.
… and there is the potential for it to turn into two nights.

Yeap.  We, of [supposedly] sound mind are taking our four lovely (read: crazy) children on a 3 hour roadtrip to watch some rugby and explore Napier.  For a whole weekend.  A whole week.end. Whooooooole weekend.

Napier is a very special place for Lauriel and I – it is the first place we went away to together on a roadtrip – and I love that we’re going to have a chance to share it with our children.

I remember as a kid it was always so exciting to know we were going away for a weekend, especially if it was somewhere we didn’t often go (for us that place was Christchurch, Dunedin or Queenstown)… and I want our kids to have that same excitement!  Eloise is already extremely excited about going – and if you have a tween or teen, you’ll know what a joy it is to see them excited about something; especially something related to spending time with you!  Gabrielle and Aidan are also excited… to the extent they have decided they’re going to get up at 5.30am so we can leave as soon as humanly possible.  Emersyn is Emersyn.  As long as we are there, as long as Eloise is there, she is happy.

At the game we went to on our Napier trip

The kids don’t know that we are now leaving tomorrow as our original plan was to leave on Saturday morning.  Okay, this is going to result in tears from Gabrielle (how dare we make her miss a day of school?!) but I’m sure she will get over it by the time we are at McDonalds having breakfast *rolls eyes* (yeah, I stupidly promised McD’s as a treat for breakfast).

I’m not too sure what we’re going to do in Napier, but one thing is for sure, we’ll be checking out the Skeinz shop!  I hear there is a magical bin there that I simply have to check out!  Speaking of knitting, because Lauriel is doing the driving I will be able to do lots of knitting on the trip there and back!  Might even be able to get my niece’s Unadorned knit over that time!

Okay.  I said the kids are excited, but really… I am bloody excited.  I cannot wait to get away with my beautiful family for a whole weekend… it’s been so long since Lauriel and I went away and even longer since we went away with the kiddos.

On a more serious note: this is going to be a big test for my anxiety.  As I’ve posted before, one of my major anxiety issues is with being a passenger in a car driving long distances.  I am feeling a lot more relaxed about it than I would have this time a year ago and am actually considering emailing my psychologist to let him know just how far out of my comfort zone I’m stepping.  Sure, it might be a different story tomorrow morning, but all I know is I can do this and I will do this.

UPDATE: this is now a full weekend trip…. two nights away it is!

Keep on knittin’ on!

It has been close enough to two months since I last posted (oops).  My lack of posting hasn’t been related to a lack of crocheting or knitting, in fact, completely the opposite!  I have been knitting so much lately that I haven’t had any time to blog (that and university has started back so I’m into the swing of the academic thing of things).

I have been knitting up a storm!  To be honest, I don’t think I have picked up a crochet hook since around the last time  I blogged on here; this knitting thing, it is addictive!

It isn’t just addictive though, it has also proven to be a big internal struggle and challenge for me.  When I f*ck up it is a battle between ‘do I just put this down and pretend it never happened‘ or ‘do I keep on at it and not let it get the better of me‘?  Once upon a time the answer would have been to get rid of it and move onto something new, but that’s the old Emma – or at least I like to think it is.

Looking back, giving up so easily might have had something to do with my anxiety.  If I didn’t try, I couldn’t fail, right?  Stupid thinking really, because not trying is like instant failure, or at least that is how I see it now, anyway.  My anxiety disorder seems to be nicely under control at the moment and I am finding that has given me more confidence in most areas of my life, but particularly my study.

I haven’t stressed once over assignments, I’ve just gone ahead and done them (76% in my first 300 level assignment, thank you very much!)… I’m also doing this odd thing called planning.  I’m not sure if you’ve heard about it, but from the age of 5-ish you are told to ‘plan ahead’ for your school/uni/etc work.  After…. god, 26? years of schooling I have finally realised that planning is where it’s at.  Maybe I should make more people aware of this magical idea?

Anyway, before I leave you all to go and do some of that planning stuff I spoke about, I thought I’d leave some photos of my latest projects!

Colin vest

Zanny T jumper

Fish ‘n’ Chip jumper (little sister of the Zanny T)

Simply Soft cowl (for me, but modelled by Emmy)

Seaweed cowl

baby hat

In case any of you are interested in the patterns for the above items, here you go!

Colin vest

Zanny T jumper

Fish ‘n’ Chip jumper

Simply Soft cowl

Seaweed cowl

Done having children. It’s not easy.

When I was thirteen weeks pregnant with Emersyn I decided I was going to get my tubes tied when I had my scheduled cesarean.  By that point I had experienced four pregnancy losses and two anxiety ridden pregnancies, I knew I couldn’t put myself – and more importantly, my children – through another anxiety filled nine months or the heartbreak and depression that comes with a loss.  The high risk ob I was seeing (due to my epilepsy) was very hesitant to do this – telling me I was young and I might ‘meet someone’ and want more babies – because she clearly knew me better than I knew myself.  I stood my ground and when she asked me moments after I heard Emersyn crying for the first time, if I still wanted my tubes tied, I confidently told her yes.

And I did want them done.  I knew there were no more babies in my future, that there were no more pregnancies in my future.  I had two healthy children and that was enough for me.

Four and a half years on I am still 100% confident in my decision – but sometimes the knowledge I won’t add to my family can be a little overwhelming – and upsetting.

As little girls we dream of the day we will have our own babies.  As teenagers we try to do what we can to prevent that happening.  Then we reach the exciting, much anticipated time of our lives when we can throw away the birth control and make those baby dreams a reality.  We dream about what our babies will look like, begin compiling lists of names, pay attention to the latest in baby related furniture and on-the-go equipment, from the first day of our period we are buzzing with excitement because this month might be the month.

You have your baby.  Maybe you have another one.  Maybe you have three or four more.  Maybe more.

Then you decide you are done.  No more babies.  No more pregnancies.  That part of your life is over.

The metaphorical tumbleweeds tumble past and there are echos.

Just like that a huge part of your life is over.

So long as the decision was made because it was really what you wanted you move on with your life.  You take great joy out of the child or children you have, they grow, they change, they become their own little person – and then their own big person – they amaze you, your heart bursts with love on a daily basis.  Life is GOOD.

That is how my life is 99% of the time.  I love watching our children growing up and seeing how they change in the space of a year.  I love being able to take them places and do things that I know they will enjoy or appreciate now they are a little older.  I like that they sleep through the night, that there are no 2, 3, 4, 5am nappy changes, I like that I don’t have to sit like a zombie and feed a baby when I really need to be sleeping.  I like that they are becoming more independent the older they get.  I love seeing what they accomplish, all the new milestones they reach – especially at school – reading, spelling, doing times tables, representing their school in sports.

Everyday there is another reason to be proud of the four fantastic children we are raising.

But sometimes something switches in my brain and I feel sad that there won’t be anymore babies, that there won’t be another baby bump, that there won’t be the excited anticipation that comes with pregnancy.  Will it be a boy or a girl?  How big will he or she be?  Who will he or she look like?  What will he or she look like?  What will the birth be like?  Will she or he be a good sleeper?  What about a good eater?  When will he or she start sleeping through?  Get his or her first teeth?  Crawl?  Walk?

When my brain makes that switch I find it very hard to look at pregnant women or to look at newborns.  Each little baby I see when my brain is in this stage is like a knife through the heart.  I start to mourn the little boy or girl who won’t be entering our lives, I grieve for the pregnancy that could have started but never did.  I yearn for those first days with a new baby, I dream about experiencing all the firsts again; the first smile, the first laugh, the first time rolling over, the first time they get on their hands and knees, the first time they crawl, walk, talk.

It’s a confusing thing.  Deep down you know you are happy with the way things are, that you don’t really want another baby… but another part of you remembers all the lovely things that come with having a new baby, a new little member to your family.  You know the joy they bring, the awe you feel when you look at them, the way they continue to surprise you and surpass all your expectations.

Nothing prepares you for the myriad of emotions that come after the decision to not have anymore children or the fact these emotions can sneak up on you years later and unexpectedly.  A walk past the baby section of a store can be full of ‘aw, how cute!’ one day and a painful pang of sorrow the next… sometimes it is just too damn hard to walk past that section of the store.  It’s the same with babies, one day you see a tiny baby and  again it’s a case of ‘awwwww, how cute!’, the next day the sight of the same baby brings tears to your eyes and you have to look away.

I know we are done having babies.  I know we are both happy with that decision and know it’s right for us… but sometimes that part of the brain we have no control over switches and our maternal instincts go into overdrive.  Perhaps it’s evolutionary, perhaps it’s just another of the joys of being a woman; either way I hope that at some point along the way that switch in my brain stops flicking.

These are the days I hate the most

I need to remind myself of this

Today has been the type of day that leaves me feeling exhausted and on edge – mentally, physically, emotionally – the type of day that seems to last triple the time of a normal day.

What exactly is this type of day?

It’s the type of day when I wake up feeling uneasy and don’t really know why.  One minute I feel sad and don’t know why, the next I feel over excited and don’t know why.  One minute I’m happy and the next I am a grumpy bitch taking it out on everyone else.  I spend a lot of time in bed on these days.  Time feeling sorry for myself and picking apart every. single. little. thing. I hate about who I am.  Usually a lot of that time is spent feeling like a failure for whatever reason, feeling like I don’t deserve my wife, my children, my family, my friends.  Rather than being proud of myself for ______________ I beat myself up for ____________; usually the thing I beat myself up over is something old, something in the past, something I haven’t thought about in years.  It makes no sense whatsoever, but I can’t shake it from my thoughts.

My wife calls this the spiral of doom.  One thing leads to another, which leads to another, which leads to another… and results in me wishing I could bash my head against a wall.

And that is what I do sometimes.  Yeap.  One of my not-so-good coping mechanisms is to bang my head against the wall.  I remember doing this as a child, I remember doing this as a teen and I still do it as an adult when I’m at my worst.  Lauriel tells me off for this and pretty much physically restrains me.  I am grateful she does because the last thing I need is to knock myself unconscious.  Then there is the biting.  If I’m not banging my head against the wall – literally – I am biting myself.  Usually my hand or my forearm.  I’m not sure if this is considered self-harm but I cannot control it.  I get angry/upset/whatever, begin to shake, then my hand/arm goes up to my mouth and I bite as hard as I can.  I think it’s a way to try and snap myself out of it, or perhaps a way to let out my frustration in a way that is safer than punching a window or smashing things.

Yes, today is one of those days.  I cannot pin my finger on exactly why I am feeling this way, I think it is a combination of things.

* I had to go for a cervical smear, this triggered my health anxiety (I have myself convinced my results will come back showing something is wrong), but also some memories of the sexual abuse I suffered in my early 20’s…
* I had to see the doctor for my six monthly review for my meds and ended up coming out of it on a higher dose of antidepressants, leading me to feel like a failure for needing even more help.

Okay, those are probably the two main things that have triggered my mood today; but those things have – as happens on the spiral of doom – left me feeling ‘blah’ about almost everything else.

I hate these days because they come out of the blue and usually after days of feeling really good, and positive.  They just strike and knock me off my feet… no matter how often I tell myself tomorrow I will feel better, that it is just temporary, I still feel as if I am deeeeeep in the depths of *whatever this is* and that I’m going to feel this way forever.

I think this is the hard part about dealing with depression and taking measures to improvie it.  When everyday is a depressed day you don’t really notice just how bad you feel, but when most of your days are good days (finally, yay!) the odd bad day you do have feels 100x worse than you are used to feeling.

I guess that days like this could be viewed as being a complete and utter bastard, but a more positive way to look at them is probably to think of how far I have come and that I now have a new normal.