April is the cruellest month, according to T S Eliot, and this one's certainly been a contender for that title.
It's been the tightest month money-wise we've ever known. I began the month in an exceedingly despondent mood (being off work actually didn't help; too much time on my hands) but as we've hurtled towards May I have started to feel in control. Which is strange because having no money to fall back on would , a year ago, have made me feel very frightened indeed.
As it happens I've been extremely resourceful. Oh, and point of order, my local Tesco - I know when you bump up a price 20p in one week only to reduce it 21p the next and claim it as part of your Big Price Drop promotion ! I'm watching you.
I've discovered that Value pitta breads at 20p for 6 are very tasty toasted. That gammon steaks are 2 for £1 and lightly grilled are rather nice. That the jars of value pasta sauce (39p) taste the same when mixed in penne pasta as the more expensive alternatives (yes, I could make my own but tins of chopped tomatoes are 36p anyway and after a long day at work I'm not in the mood). That 49p round lettuce and 20p coleslaw still tastes good as long as it's fresh. That potatoes at £1.69 for 5kg still make good roasties in 39p lard.
I'm using all that stuff I've had in my store cupboard til it's empty. The cous-cous and the seasonings and the linguine, and trying to use them inventively. It's a challenge.
These are the days when I am waving at you from the pull of the tide as I attempt to swim to the shore.
Then there are the days when I am actually drowning and no matter how hard I try to convey it, no-one realises. That's when I feel most alone.
It is Depression Awareness Week.
I first wondered if I had a problem when I was 17. I did not leave the house at that age over Christmas and New Year for three whole weeks. My mum was embarrassed by me, I know she was. I recall her telling me, Mrs Wotsit down the road asked how you were because she hasn't seen you and I said, well, she does go out sometimes ... (I didn't). I couldn't cope with my changing world. I hated my school. The security of childhood had gone.
But I had been brought up to face problems and not to circumvent them. So I soldiered on over the years, until I reinvented myself when I finally started a job after University and met my husband.
It was having babies that brought the whole damn lot crashing back down on me. I clawed it back after Teen was born eventually, even though there were long isolated lonely periods where I was at home alone and knew no-one in the neighbourhood except Maria from next door-but-one who was very very kind and I to whom I very am grateful to this day.
It was in 2001 that I finally realised this couldn't go on .
I had returned to work after the birth of Boy when he was just 20 weeks old. I was already down to size 8 by the time he was 11 weeks old. I went to a new building (old -female!-boss didnt want me back -too hormonal)a new post, new computer system, new people, new everything. On my first day there was no-one there to say hello. The boss was on leave. No-one knew what to do with me. My lovely friend Kathy (and I still count her as one to this day even though I hardly see her any more) took me under her wing and tried to explain the system to me. We were were promptly berated by a nasty middle manager for 'talking too much' when there was a senior manager in our midst. I was denied training and only received it eventually because my former manager (feeling guilty no doubt) allowed me back to the West End office I had loved being in so much, for a week, to get some.
It was two weeks before Christmas 1999. I was rock bottom. I had left the office in Shaftesbury Avenue where I had been training and passed the (now gone) All Bar One on Cambridge Circus. Through the window I saw my former colleagues gathered around a low table, drinking, laughing, a team, like I had once been part of. I stood outside the window and looked in. I willed them to notice me; to smile and wave and gesture, "Come and join us!" but they didn't.
I remember trying to put up the tree that year. Teen was just five. I am ashamed to say I literally couldn't cope with dressing that tree in 1999 and I hope she doesn't remember what a state I was in. I was a snotty, tearful mess. You shouldn't put a five year old through that.
It took nearly two years to go to my GP. He was very good. Gave me pills and sent me on my way.
A decade on I no longer take them, haven't in ages. I do not say this a good thing; it's just a decision I made. I have removed-for the time being anyway-the cause of much of my current unhappiness. I am not saying I shouldn't take those happy pills but I have identified the source of the recent depression, and taken control of my life.
And that's good.
So for the time being - I'm not drowning - I'm waving.
Susie (Both Sides Now) Sue
x
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