Last week I buried my great aunt. That’s why there was no column. Afterwards we went for dinner and I chose drinking wine and watching cute boys perform at The Oast House with my mum to writing. Anyway, things were a bit raw. Relationships with that side of the family can be a bit strained and given that I’m quite the funeral goer due to all the dead relatives (cheers Cancer), I found that it was all somewhat compounded. Like each time there’s a new funeral, you tear open the wound of the previous ones.

I’m a happy person but I was knocked.

I don’t get depressed. Instead my OCD skyrockets. It’s a bit like having a non-stop panic attack which you’d think would help you lose weight through sheer nervous energy but sadly no. Weirdly I’m normally a pretty productive person and these days I’m something of a domestic goddess with keeping house. When we were waiting for it to snow I made the kids cookies while I cleaned the kitchen. If I get into ribbon craft I’ll be Martha Stewart!

Anyway, my OCD makes me useless. It’s depressive in the sense that you can’t motivate yourself to do anything because you’re too busy fretting over whether you’ll ever fix the scratches in the fireplace. You know you’re being mental but you cannot do a damn thing about it. Except drink and wait for the husband to come home. Because alcohol and sex stop the cycle instantly. Naturally, when one is waiting for these things (3pm is the absolute earliest I’ll have a glass of wine) one reflects on the fact it’s possibly time to be medicated.

I do not want to be medicated. Partly because these periods rarely last long but also because my mental illness is so tied to who I am that to be treated is to say the person I am on good days isn’t acceptable. For the most part I’ve very happy (annoyingly so and I’m sure I sometimes sound a bit smug – sorry about that) and I harness my OCD. My husband accepts it and works around it.

When I’m spiralling it’s as though the person I am is just out of reach. That elusive mojo like a shaft of sunlight. When I’m in the light it’s so obvious how to be there but when I’m skirting the edges it’s hard to catch.

Today I suddenly got there.

I wasn’t looking forward today. It began at 5.45am which is vile at the best of times. As a general rule, if there isn’t a plane (or hot air balloon, I didn’t mind my 3.30am start for sunrise in Cappadocia) to catch then I’m really not interested. But I need to get some more clients and GIN beckoned. GIN is Gloucester Independent Network and yes, I partly went along because I liked the name.

The best part of the plan was that I’d offered my friend Vikki a lift so I absolutely had to haul my arse out of bed. She was similarly motivated. Had either of us been going alone the duvet would have won. Dressing for a networking event is like dressing for an interview so as the husband slept I was blow drying my hair. I rarely blow dry my hair properly. At 6am it is vile.

But the meeting was fantastic. Suddenly I was buoyed up about what I do. Suddenly I was back in my light place where the crazy thoughts settle down and I’m back to being productive.

In case this sounds as though I’m Bi-polar I assure you I’m not. I’m happy not hyper at least 95% of the time and when I am struggling with the OCD I can still function properly. I’ve never missed a day of work because of it.

A busy day followed and this evening I went to the Cotswold Style readers event at Hobbs. I met the delightful Kate Parker who complimented me on my dress and pushed me out of my comfort zone to try some new styles. I had my hair put in a beehive by Hair Styling by Nicole and had a hand an arm massage as a taster for the new Melting Honey Hot Stone Massage from one of the lovely ladies from Clarins. What wasn’t to love?

Already I’m rolling my eyes at the self of the previous ten days. It’s sunny (Or at least it was)! The tadpoles are growing!

Four days ago
These things are so simple and therein lies the elusivity of mojo. Last Sunday I faked it. The husband and I had bought a tank and when his ex wife dropped the boys off for a few bonus hours (so we could take them to their great grandmother’s Birthday party) we caught frogspawn. I did it but I wasn’t feeling it. Suddenly today I’m getting great joy from it.

It’s frustrating that there isn’t a formula, that this is just something I have to live with from time to time. I suppose the upside it that thanks to therapy (I’m not anti-cure, I’m anti-brain altering medication) I’m better able to tread water until I’m better. I no longer get scared and while I get angry and upset, it isn’t all-encompassing rage or heartache. I know that it will pass.

And that soon, that elusive mojo will be mine again.

Look! I have an orange jacket!  

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