Category: depression

I love you, Mumma

Ellen Thomas3 Comments

I’m still a little girl, really. I find adult life extremely hard to deal with and don’t enjoy it most of the time. I yearn for the vulnerability I could rely on when I was younger and am still in need of feeling like I am being looked after. Last year, I decided to dispose of every pair of pyjamas I owned that were not embellished with some sort of Disney character or scene. It became a thing. A very childish thing, but one that I was onboard with (the obsessiveness and intense personality lent itself well to this one). It’s quite sad really, and I know this is a life stage that I will outgrow. But in the past year I’ve felt it more intensely than ever. Depression has sucked some of my independence away and I have found that I need to be home, I need to be safe and I need to be around my Mum.

My mum is the only one who lets me live in a truly vulnerable state. I know her every ounce is committed to motherhood, and I honestly believe she finds it hard to let go of the full committal energy. Some people were just born to be Mumma’s and never really want to give even a little bit of it up. Mine is one of them.

When I became really unwell a few months ago, I know her heart broke. She was consistent in her questioning as to what she could do to help me, she bought me ready salted crisps and full fat coke when I couldn’t eat, she sat with me and stroked my hair, or my feet, or just let me hold her hand. She and my Dad, would probably say that they felt helpless, or that they felt they couldn’t do anything, in all truth… they did everything.

It must be horrendous seeing your child go through mental torture, if your child is physically hurt you can bandage it, take them to a doctor, feed them nice food and soothe them. It’s just not the same with mental illness, nothing can really be done to patch it up and fix it. However what I really wish my loved ones, my parents and especially my mum knew, is that she saved me, she saves me, every single day.

You should really appreciate the people you have close to you, maybe not a Mum in the conventional manner. But the person that keeps you afloat, that goes unrewarded and often unmentioned. Give them some appreciation, they bloody deserve it. And if you’re a Mumma, fucking go you! You’re smashing it every single day, we all appreciate you, we rely on you, our hearts, are made from and rely on you. Please give yourself a break and a bit of self love.

My Mumma went into surgery this afternoon, for a procedure that is going to change her life, for the better. It’s been a long awaited procedure, and she is in so much pain, she desperately needs this. I am and have been terrified. I hate the thought of someone I love being in hospital. I’m selfish and don’t want my Mum to not be able to look after me. I also hate seeing her vulnerable and in pain, it breaks my heart. But I wanted to kick start her recovery, for her to wake up from what I hope will be a very successful operation; by giving her this, an appreciation I guess, a thank you, for supporting me through every illness, but especially this one, for this year, and for every year. An apology for how much of her I have taken, and never given back.

I am often told that I am “just like” my mum, that I’m a “mini Maxine”. Something that I have, consistently rolled my eyes at, and at times not really liked. But I think that’s changing, I hope I am a different person, because no one wants to be a clone. But if I present myself like her, if I show the strength and resilience she has shown, and the willingness to carry on when in so much pain, I should and will take that as a compliment.

So here’s to us Mumma. Thank you, thank you so much for passing me parts of your strong willed, opinionated, kind, extremely loving, generous, emotional, naive, powerful, ambitious, approachable, devoted, punctual, honest and incredibly vulnerable and beautiful personality.

I’m just sorry I didn’t pick up the eloquence.

I love you, Mumma. Get well soon.

Hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge xx

The Mask

Ellen Thomas1 Comment

I spoke a couple of months ago about the misinterpreted face of depression. And the frustration I have with it. An extract from the post reads; “It’s easier to smile. It is easier at the time. We all know that. But everything will always catch up with us, it has too. Especially with the weight of a world that is desperate for us to be consistently happy, consistently instagrammable, and consistently consistent. It’s all too much.” And I want to write today about this a bit more. About how I cope or don’t cope or am struggling to cope, and how my coping mechanism can sometimes be… well, The Mask.

I wear a mask, one that (to most people) makes me appear to be strong and capable, cheerful, outgoing, warm. The “nothing bothers me” mask. It continues to smile no matter what is happening to the woman behind it. The mask is a way to hide my bruised self, a way to hide or disguise the feelings that are raw and vulnerable. It is safe. It allows me to attempt perfect control over what people get to see. We all wear it at times. And it’s vital some of the time. In professional settings it’s important to be able to keep some feelings controlled, that’s your job. In a supermarket, we smile and thank the person who serves us, no matter how we are feeling. When your friend needs you, you put everything aside, you put on The Mask for a little while, to help them out. Now, I need you to know that this post is not saying that we should never wear The Mask, sometimes, it’s needed, it’s appropriate. But what we must all be doing, is taking it off. And acknowledging it for what it is, The Mask.

My Mask used to fit me so well — seamlessly even — but in the past couple of years it has started to hurt a little. It feels heavy and no longer seems to fit and holding it up gets to be exhausting and occasionally it starts to slip. What once felt as though it was made from fine china, light and smooth, easy to keep in place, now feels to be roughly crafted from harsh sandpaper — it is heavy and rubs painfully.

I don’t want to wear it all the time anymore, and I am desperately trying to adjust to a life where I only wear it part time, but I am also fighting a feeling of not wanting to burden people with the real feelings I have. Truth is, I have been and am scared. I don’t like to leave the safety of my sanctuary, it frightens me. I am scared of falling apart, every single day, I am horrified at the thought that my mask might drop, without me being able to control when I take it off. I am terrified of being seen, judged or pitied. It strikes fear in my heart to think of falling apart and having people suggest it was a way to get attention, to be noticed.

I know avoidance is considered to be a poor and dangerous coping skill, but despite that, a lot of the time, I just want to be alone. I am lonely, sometimes. But not too often. I am aware of the negative presence I have at the moment. I don’t want to burden people with my presence unless I know that I am going to be able to keep the strong and cheerful me present. I do not want to be a disappointment. And right now, I’m desperately trying to work out… work out how to be me again, I’m putting on The Mask as often as I can. But I’m letting my real self, my depressed self, breathe a bit more. Sometimes I can’t face putting The Mask on just to sit for a meal at my family dinner table, I take it off in the evenings, I am aware of when I have been wearing it too long, and even more aware when it begins to slip.

Now trust me, I’m not about to even contemplate living a mask-free life. Although I suppose that’s what I’m doing with Ellen on the Edge, I don’t find it very difficult to sit behind a keyboard and share my thoughts, and for me, it’s quite therapeutic. But opening up in person, right now… let’s just say, The Mask is still in place.

Keep your mask on if that’s what you feel you need to do. I’m totally with you. But please know that you will need to take it off at some point, your real self needs to breathe. Do what you need to do, darling.

Hang in there.

Ellen on the Edge xx