Guest Post: On The Bright Side … of Depression?

by Spencer Bruford

I’m @AdadcalledSpen. Not a journalist or a writer, just a dad to 2 amazing children. I was a SAHD for 3 years and now I’m not. I’m divorced, love cheese and got the moves like Jagger. I blog at http://adadcalledspen.wordpress.com/, have had written stuff published in books, and recently won an award for blogging.

I’m honoured to be asked to write a guest post for Samantha’s blog.

Well, I kinda volunteered myself but let’s gloss over that. The point is I’m writing for this blog, and I’ve been asked to write something about the brighter side of Life.

And so I’m going to write about depression.

No. Don’t run away. I’m going to attempt to write a positive and uplifting post about depression. About this thing that can cripple and debilitate people, and bring them to their lowest points. I’m no expert on the subject. I’m no guru or plastic philosopher, sending out inspirational tweets or posting inspirational quotes on my FB feed, I can only speak from my experience, and so it is from this standpoint that I’m writing this post.

First positive thing.

You see, I’m writing this post.

Me.

I’m writing it.

This means something.

It means I’ve suffered from depression, and may well have a moment or two in the future where something knocks me for six, but the thing is I am writing it.

I’m not dead. I’m here.

Hello. *Waves*

My gran always said, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. She also said never eat anything bigger than your own head, so she wasn’t always Yoda. But she was right. Man alive I’ve felt ABJECT in the past. Low, suicidal, and I’ve attempted that twice, but I AM here. I’m alive.

Guess what? It didn’t kill me. I sought the help I needed, got the counselling I had to have, took the meds for a bit, changed my way of thinking and, while that Black Dog does lurk round the corner sometimes I now feel able to look it straight in the eyes and tell it, BAD DOG. Go away.

Some recent counselling has taken me out of a funk I was in due to circumstances beyond my control. Did I do my best? Yes. Was I honest? Yes. Did it work out how I wanted it to?

Sometimes things DON’T work out but I did my damned best and really, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s something to be proud of so, why feel down?

Good point. But by feeling down I got the help I needed. The weapons in my armoury to be able to deal with this and any future disappointments in a positive way. This is good. This is positive.

Positive thing number two.

I’ve written a lot about my depression, and I know others have too. Encouraging people to talk about this subject is a good thing. Many feel ashamed to do so or maybe feel that, if they do, others will see them as wallowing. Ach, we all have a wallow from time to time but we’re allowed to.

For me, writing is a release. I was recently talking to someone who went through an episode of self-harming, wishing to cut out and let out the physical PAIN the depression was causing them. Very brave of them to tell me that and, while some may frown upon this, the fact that they were talking about it, and we were conversing in this way, and the fact that they said they got help and won’t feel like that ever again is a GOOD and positive thing. I have so much respect for this person it’s untrue, for their bravery, honesty and strength.

So, by talking about it, communicating about depression we can see a side to people we never saw before, and people can get to understand us, and perhaps take the stigma away from this bastard of a disease so perhaps WE win the battle. We know more, and we can be there for them in the future when times get rough.

This is good, right? This is positive thing number three?

And back to me writing about it. Guess what? Depression makes me very creative. I blog sometimes to get it out of me. Put the feelings into words and then… wow. People respond. And always in a supportive and caring way. This I never expected. This I never thought would happen but it does because SO many people know what you’re talking about, have been through similar, know people who’ve been through similar and are willing to hold out a hand of friendship and say ‘It’ll be okay. We’re here for you.’

So this is good too. This is positive thing number four. These are the bright sides of depression.

I can never, and would never say that depression is a good thing. Whatever causes it, be it bad times or something more physical and long lasting, it ain’t good. It kills people and can affect people around you. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. On them I’d wish trenchfoot, Tropical Monkey Ooga Booga virus and a plague of inspirational tweets and pictures on the Twitter and FB timelines.

But being depressed can make you makes those changes in your life, reach out for friends, allow you to see it in others and be there for THEM,

And so, really, through the dark clouds, and although it may not feel like it at the time, there can be a glimpse of the brighter side.

Go forth, be strong my friends. Much love.

And thanks for reading.

adadcalledspen

Holy Crap!

Since when did the word ‘crap’ become an acceptable and commonplace part of the English language? I hear people saying ‘crap’ left right and center and fully expect that any day now, I’ll hear this ugly – but apparently tolerated – word coming out of my kids’ mouths.

Don’t get me wrong: I am no prude. I have a filthy mouth. I’m just trying to delay the inevitable moment when my kids repeat explicit words and I have to react with the requisite  levels of discipline and feigned horror (while hiding my giggles.)

Flashback to the 70s … upstairs in my big brother’s bedroom. He was complaining about how crap his math teacher was in hushed tones so the parentals wouldn’t hear. I, at the tender age of about six or seven, had no clue what this word meant. (Shit, now you can work out how old I am … ) Anyway, later that evening over dinner, Dad was asking us about our school day. I excitedly offered up this new tidbit of information I had recently acquired: “Dad, did you know that Jonathan’s math teacher Mr. Agnew is crap?” (Side note: apologies to Mr. Agnew, I’m sure you were a fine teacher and my brother was just an extraordinarily large pain in the arse.)

Silence at the table. Uhoh.

Without going into the details, what followed involved soap, some chasing around the living room, my mouth and lots of crying.

(For which, I have never forgiven my brother.)

Hence, my friends, you can understand my sensitivity about the word ‘crap’. This punishment also applies to calling someone an ‘old bag’, I also discovered.

Kids, you’ve been warned.

Kids and Shoes and the Empty Wallet

As previously noted, I’m not a big fan of feet. The only exception being babies and little kids’ whose feet  have yet to become marred by age, ill-fitting shoes, ingrown toenails, hairy toes, and general ugliness and stinkiness.

But the real screw-over when it comes to kids and their feet are … shoes. The reality of this great rip off is you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

Your options:

  1. Spend an extraordinary amount of money on well-made, nicely-fitted shoes like Stride Rites. Only to have your child grew out of them in roughly 8-10 weeks.
  2. Spend as little as possible at Payless or Target on questionably-made but OK-fitting shoes. Only to have them fall apart due to wear and tear in roughly 8-10 weeks.

Given that I naturally err on the side of being cheap, I usually go for option 2 but always regret it as the day inevitably and all-too-quickly arrives when there’s a huge rip in the toe or the insides fall out or the fasteners no longer fasten.

I was mighty impressed when the new – cheap – sneakers I bought my kids back in June survived the 8-9 weeks of summer camp. Yes, they were filthy and worn but they still worked. But a week at Disney pushed them over the edge. Perhaps it was the 4-5 miles walked each day in 95 degree heat and humidity that finished them off. Or maybe it was the soaking they received on our final day, followed by an hour spent in the drier so they’d be dry enough to wear on the journey home.

Either way, one pair came home with rips and holes. The other pair more or less survived – except for the fact that I managed to leave them behind in our hotel.

So today both my kids are proudly sporting nice new sneakers. Bought on the cheap. Should last us till – oh, Halloween if we’re lucky.

Exhibit A

Exhibit A

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