Black dog

I'm fed up. So fed up that I haven't been to work for the past two days. I have had a nasty headache both mornings but not the migraine I told my boss. Well, that Jim told my boss as I was too stressed to call in sick. I really wish my depression would just bugger off and leave me alone but it's just there, following me around like Winston Churchill's black dog, crapping on my life. I've been depressed for over seven years, on and off, and very much on for the last two years. I know that I'm a lot better than I was and I don't want to kill myself any more (which is always a bonus) but I never feel fully better.

I have my good days and my bad days and I suppose I've just had a couple of miserable days which haven't been helped by not sleeping and having the sniffles and cystitis. And I'm so scared about not having a job from the end of this week that I'm beside myself with worry. I've only been back at work for seven weeks after being off sick for over a year and I can't face the tedium of sitting in the house all day watching pap on the telly. I know that I could get a temp job but I also know I'd hate it and get even more depressed and I don't want that to happen. But we need the money and there are no TV jobs in sight so I may not have much choice.

And all this doesn't help my diet. I've put on so much weight from comfort eating and hating myself. Okay, I put on four or five stone from eating the wrong things and drinking too much at university but I was 'only' about 17 or 18 stones before the depression kicked in, not the 27 stones I ended up not too long ago. Depression makes you so down, so apathetic and so self-hating that you don't give a monkey's what you put in your mouth as long as you stop hurting for a little while. One of the worst times was when I first moved to Manchester and lived away from Jim for 18 months. I was sad and lonely despite a job I loved and my best friend was the Iranian man in the kebab shop. I'd call in on the way back from work and get a chicken kebab and garlic bread then go to the off licence for a bottle of wine to drink in bed on my own. And the McDonalds, chippy and KFC nearby didn't help. Or the Blockbuster, from where I'd get a family-size bag of popcorn to go with my film, plus a bag of sweets and a tub of ice cream.

And the last couple of years have been a nightmare weight-wise. I was too depressed to cook and didn't want the healthy meals Jim would vainly attempt to cook for me, opting for Domino's pizza (large Full House, chicken strippers, dips and sticky dippers pudding) or a tandoori mixed grill or spare ribs, chicken satay and special fried rice or, my old stand by, fish and chips. Which I really feel like tonight. But he's just come home with steak, oven chips and broccoli, bless him so I'm safe from the temptations of the chippy. For now anyway.