As long term readers will be aware I've been a wee bit depressed this weather. Thanks to a high dose of the happy pills it seems to be shifting which is probably why I haven't killed someone.
For some reason or another everyone is now an expert on the state of my mental health. I've spent the last few weeks sitting watching family and work colleagues debating what 'she' should do and what would make 'her' feel better. At times I've wondered if my problems are more severe than I thought and that I may just be hallucinating when I witness these discussions.
I must be getting better because I'm starting to find it funny, though I'm trying to find work abroad to get out of the clutches of the botherers. In fact now I come to think of it I might have a legitimate claim for asylum.
Of course people are only attempting to take over my life because they care. I acknowledge that but wonder if it really is me that's mad. For example my mother thinks I should have my eyebrows shaped and attend mind body and spirit classes (fannying about with chakras and crystals) to cure my depression. People in work think I should go about starting arguments with those they hold responsible for my ill health. I've variously been advised to get a massage, eat fish, see a counsellor and dwell on past traumas. Those are amongst the saner suggestions.
It beggars belief. Do any of these people pay any attention to anything I say? Have I died and put them in charge? Is there anything more dangerous than a well intentioned friend that thinks they know best? Well apart from a community psychiatric nurse (if you're reading this Frank old girl, I'm not returning your calls because I hate you, I am quite well).
Compare and contrast the above with Mr Clairwil who reckons he's useless at dealing with these things. In the whole time I've been ill he has taped funny things from the TV for me and made me laugh. Oddly enough I don't feel depressed in his company. Similarly my good friend the Ill Man has continued to treat me like a normal person and cheered me up immensely on our days out*. Even David Duff who I've never even met has come up with a few funny army tales which put a smile on my face. Now if everyone I knew stuck to jokes I think I'd have recovered weeks ago.
The bothering has now surely reached it's peak and has rather irritatingly given me heartburn. I foolishly told my parents about an appointment I have tomorrow regarding a minor legal dispute. I didn't ask for help. I don't need help it's a very routine matter which will take all of five minutes. Or rather it was. Now mum and dad are not only attending but have been banging on about what they are going to say. Apparently I will be fed 'bullshit' if I go it alone. In other words they are going to make things ten times harder by turning up and dredging up arguments that were finished months ago. I have explained I don't want them there. I have explained that the purpose of the appointment is just to confirm some information and that the person I'll be seeing has no authority to make a decision. I might as well be talking Turkish. I am thirty one years of age, I seem to recall being allowed more control over my own life when I was five. I am starting to doubt my own existence.
I was pondering starting my own charitable organisation a while back but wasn't sure what to focus on. I think I may start a group that seeks out stuff for depressed people to laugh at and takes tough action against botherers.
*when I manage to get out of bed.