Bad Day at Black Rock

Some days just suck. There's no getting away from it - trying to maintain a positive outlook isn't always going to cut it. But we can learn from the bad as well as the good, maybe better.

I've been signed off on the sick for 6 weeks now, and I've been trying to sort out some benefit entitlement. The good news is I should be able to claim. The bad news is there's so much form-filling and red-tape it's no wonder those that end up homeless are often the 'woolly minded' - there's been more than a few days these last few months where that option has seemed preferable to dealing with yet another government department. Still, I'm sure traipsing from one side of the city to the other, clutching various documents only to be told I need to provide more documents before my claim can be assessed (this is despite being helped by a housing support and advice caseworker to fill in the form) is good for the body if not the soul.

Not having made any kind of claim before, it is reassuring that there's help out there, but the system can be so confusing. All I can say is stick at it. I'll post more on this subject when I finally know where I stand.

What's it all about..?

Why am I adding another blog to the millions already out there? Well, firstly, because I think it will help me. Secondly, and more importantly, because I hope it might help someone else. Even if it's only one other person. That would be fantastic, pay it forward and so on..

I have depression. It's taken me many years to be able to say it so bluntly. I can trace it back, way back, to childhood. I'm 31 now and I'm only just starting to face up to it and be determined to get my life in order. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't been 31 years of total doom and gloom. But it hasn't been easy, either: what life is? I'm not writing this out of self-pity - though there will be more than a few moments of that, no doubt - I'm writing to attempt to document what I am going through, and hopefully make sense of some of it. My thoughts can become somewhat disordered, so it's good to have something to bring focus.

I'm writing under an assumed name, not because I'm bothered what people might think of me, but in case I inadvertently say something which might cause pain to someone else. I'd rather not have the fear of someone I know stumbling over my words without expecting it, I can write that much more honestly this way. Likewise assume that any other names mentioned have also been changed. My pseudonym and my Twitter tag are to pay homage to the American writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman, who wrote a short story The Yellow Wallpaper which had a profound affect on me the very first time I read it. As Wikipedia helpfully states: "The story depicts the effect of confinement on the narrator's mental health, and her descent into psychosis. With nothing to stimulate her, she becomes obsessed by the pattern and color of the wallpaper." It's an uncomfortable read but worth it.

I feel like I've embarked on a very long and lonely journey, this is my trail of breadcrumbs in case I lose my way, or others need to follow.