Avoiding Life…

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Following in LeCraic’s footsteps from last week, I will be liveblogging the second episode of The Apprentice tonight at 9pm.  Come join me and chat away.  It will be fun.  Beer and popcorn optional, but recommended! See you then!

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I was just being semantic in terms of the definition of feminisim! :)  I worked for John McCain in 2000 and met him on several occasions.  I really liked him when he was running against Bush and up until the Palin nomination I was still firmly in his camp.  Not so much anymore.  As much as I bitch about himself not voting I guess I should be relieved as his vote would go to this crowd.  Anyways, check out T-Shirt Hell for some other hysterical and unpolitically correct t-shirts.  My personal favourite - “Slavery: Gets Shit Done!” 

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I’ve said before that I have nothing to blog about, but I think the problem is that I have too much to say.  I don’t know where to start and I don’t have the time that it would require to make it eloquent or sensical.  So  I decided to blog a few snippets of things I have been thinking about lately.  They may or may not be elaborated upon as time goes on.

• People who knew me first keep commenting on how good-looking my husband is.  It’s getting annoying.  Yeah, so I’m not a size 10 or even 14, but not all men are shallow and only with women for their perfect body.  Is it so hard to believe that a good-looking guy could be with a less than perfect woman? Ok, yeah, I guess so, because I had certainly come to that conclusion before we met. *Sigh* It’s still annoying though!

• Considering the relatively low number of internet users in Ireland and the even smaller number within that group who use Pigsback.com, statistically we should all know someone who has won one of their many competitions… or even heard of someone who knows someone.  I don’t.  Do you?  I’m beginning to think no one wins, that it’s all a big scam.  Prove me wrong, please!!

• I am very sick of Sarah Palin bashing.  Ever since the announcement it’s been all gossip and scandal.  What happened to the issues at hand?  I don’t care how unqualified she is, she’s been appointed, so lets move on.

• On the same topic I am sick of people talking about feminism beyond it’s actual definition.  I don’t like that because I say I’m a feminist (i.e. believe in equal rights for women) that people assume I embrace all other left wing policy.  They say Palin can’t be a feminist because she is pro-life, a Creationist etc., but surely if she has the potential of being the most powerful woman in the world -  she’s got the whole equal rights thing down - which in effect is the true definition of a feminist.

• My husband is American.  He has a vote in the upcoming election.  He has yet to send in his information to get an absentee ballot.  He has always been complacent about voting.  When we lived in the US, I would usually vote through him as he couldn’t care less, but this time he needs to get his shit together.  It makes me so mad that he does not take this duty seriously.  Maybe it’s because I was never entitiled to vote anywhere up until last year that this gets to me, but get to me it does and he’s so damn non-chalant about the whole thing. Grrr.

• Have an MRI on Thursday to see if steroids have been working.  They have certainly been working on making me fat. I’ve gained a stone in less than a month. Not fun. But if the scan shows results I’m not going to stress about it.

• The Irish Apprentice premiered last night.  I was half dreading it half excited.  It was definitely  much better than I expected and there are certainly some candidates to watch.  Le Craic did a fabulous job liveblogging it last night and I seem to have volunteered to do so next week with Lottie continuing the following week and Gav the week after that..  It’s great fun and certainly makes it more interesting.  So drop by next Monday if you’re bothered!

• This whole school thing is interesting.  Picking up the wee one at the school gate has become an exercise in anthropology. I am certainly the only Mam below 30 and possibly 35.  There are six sets of twins in the class.  Is buying the house REALLY more important than having the children at a reasonable age?  Already mistook one Mum for Granny. Not good.  I am now a social outcast.

• I’m a total sucker for infomercials.  I actually fell for this one*.  It arrived today.  I’m excited - anything to make floor washing easier! :P  Sad, ain’t it!?

That is all. Lots of random thoughts.  Am I losing my mind?

* Edit to add: It was pointed out that this linked to an article on Tiramisu. Oops. Corrected.

…what if?  One of my favourite comedy sketches!

The lovely and talented Alexia has a cool competition running wherein she asks about your favourite book.  I don’t have many favourite books.  I enjoyed Tolstyoy’s nineteenth century soap opera that was Anna Karenin in high-school, but that’s about it for literary classics.  I loved loved loved Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Mists of Avalon as a teenager.  It took me away from a hard time into a land of legendary knights, kings, princesses and magic.  It’s basically the Arthurian legends put together from a feminine perspective.  Beautifully told story.

But that’s not what I’m going to write about either.  After high school I went on to pursue science and was frankly quite happy to leave English Literature behind me.  I always struggled with it.  I got top marks on my IB (International School equivalent to Leaving Cert) but much like art, I always wondered if the author’s really meant so much to be read into it.  Surely they were just trying to tell a story.  So ever since then I’ve avoided books that are considered literature in favour of cheap entertainment!

Now even I have my limits here.  There is no chick-lit on my shelves, except for my Aunt’s novels, but she sends them to me, so I have to leave them there in case she comes over.  I tend to stick to murder mysteries, crime thrillers and the like.  I am a particular fan of our own John Connolly and the way his characters seem to inch their way into your life. But I’m not going to talk about him either.

I am going to talk about a book I discovered earlier this year.  It was given to me by my Dad and I was suspicious right away.  It looked literary.  It was small and thin.  I didn’t like the look of it at all.  Dad told me to trust him so I added it to my pile.

It sat there for months and it was only when I had nothing else to read that I finally picked up Sebastian Barry’s A Long Long Way.

I don’t even know where to start with this book.  I can tell you that the writing is beautiful, moving and poetic.  Every human emotion and value is touched upon in a way so eloquent you barely see it happening.

The story is of Willie, a young boy in Dublin who joins up with the British Army in World War I.  It follows him through the streets of Dublin to the gruesome fields of Belgium to a leave back to a different Dublin.  The historical aspect of the book is just as enchanting as the story and the characters.  The dichotomy of the uprising at home and the war in Europe is fascinating.

I don’t want to spoil the story, but suffice it to say some of the themes covered are lost love, war, betrayal, self-loathing, youthful naivete and friendship.  It’s truly a marvellous read that will make you laugh, make you cry and at time disgust you.

My only regret is that I left it so long to read.  I can easily see this fine novel becoming part of school curricula in the near future.  It’s comparable to All Quiet on the Western Front in terms of significance, only from an Irish standpoint.

So there you have it. My revelation. Sometimes an old literary read is just what you need!

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It was the summer of love… oh wait that was 1969 in Canada with Bryan Adams…

Well, there was a good bit of love in ‘99 too, but mostly because I spent the majority of it stoned!  I had come home after my first year of college and gotten a summer job at a bank.  I did some Gilbert and Sullivan shows over the summer and since I was the only person in the cast to have their own place in town, my appartment inevitabley became party central.  And I was ok with that.  It meant other people bought the booze!

People would line up at the bank to get my key and then head to my apartment to make vodka watermelons or make jell-o shots.  It was brilliant.  We had a blast.  Every weekend was an adventure. The pot flowed, the booze kept coming and so did the people.  I’ve always been a pretty eclectic person relating to hippies, nerds, preps and musicians alike.  My two bedroom apartment had 10-20 people sleep over every weekend.  So many different people who would never otherwise have met became friends that summer.  People from different walks of life.  Indeed one couple went on to get married.  I guess that makes me happy.  Sure, it was a time of carelessness and debauchery, but we learned a lot and made some lifelong friends.

That summer wasn’t all good though.  There was a darker side.  I began having issues with my vision.  At first I thought it was because I was smoking too much pot, but when I quit and the issues got worse I went to see my optician thinking I needed a new contact prescription.

I knew right away when he leaned back that something was wrong.  “What is it?” I asked.  “I’m not sure, but your optic nerve is swollen.”

Turns out he didn’t have the equipment necessary to see what he needed to, but he got me an appointment with an ophthalmologist in the neighbouring town later that afternoon.  I didn’t have time to go home and google “swollen optic nerve” so I headed calmly to the neighbouring town and waited until they called me in.  They did a bunch of strange tests including a visual field test, which I actually thought was pretty cool.  Eventually I saw the doctor and he had the same strange look on his face after checking out my eyes.

In a foggy blur words like tumour, MS, MRI and spinal tap were thrown out.  I didn’t know what to think.  I was referred to a neurologist.

I went to the neurologist the next day.  When the doctor came in he was the most arrogant prick I had ever encountered.  He spoke down to me, had absolutely no sensitivity.  He ordered a myriad of tests including an ENT, EPT, MRI, Lumbar Puncture and some psych tests.  It was mad.

Two weeks later I returned to his office to be told there were no real conclusions.  The MRI had shown the swelling on my optic nerve, but there were none of the lesions (deterioration of myelin, the coating of the nerves) typically associated with MS.  However my spinal fluid had elevated white blood cells.  He told me sometimes it can take time for the lesions to start appearing and the presence of the blood cells in my CSF combined with the unexplained swelling was enough to convince him that a diagnosis of MS was in order.

I was terrified.  My Aunt has MS and I knew how it had affected her in the past and I did not want to be constantly sick.  He started me on a course of steroids to treat the eye symptoms and I began to take a weekly injection of interferon, a drug which can sometimes delay the onset of future attacks.

For the past nine years I have faithfully been taking my injection and knowing in the back of my mind that I would never be safe.

A couple of months ago my eyes started playing up again.  I pretended it was a non-issue.  Then came the headaches and not being able to think of words that were on the tip of my tongue.  I knew something was up, but didn’t like the last couple of neurologists I’d dealt with here.  I finally got a recommendation and when I spoke with them they asked that I see an ophthalmologist first.

Amazingly enough, I got in very quickly to someone in town.  I knew right away something was up, he had that by now familiar look on his face after he used his scope.  I had nine years worth of MRI films with me, including my most recent from earlier this year.  He studied the latest MRI very carefully and then started going back through them.

He didn’t have the best bedside manner, but I knew he was thinking something through.  He pointed at an invisible dot on that first MRI 9 years ago.  He quizzed me on the doctors who’d diagnosed me and so forth.  He made a phone call and arranged for a CT scan at the hospital later that afternoon.  I still had no clue what was going on.

Finally he sat down and showed me the latest MRI.  I had a small tumour pressing on my optic nerve.  Questions came flying out of my mouth.  What does that mean? What about my meds? Etc. etc.

Dr. Eye won’t be making the final diagnosis, rather I’ve been refferred to a neurologist in Dublin who I will see Friday.  In his opinion though they will try and treat it with a strong course of steroids or anti-epileptic drugs.  If that doesn’t work he thinks I’d be an excellent candidate for radiosurgery.

Apparently that is brain surgery that doesn’t involve incisions, but rather a laser knife called the gamma knife.  We don’t have one in Ireland, but he’s part of a push to get the government to invest in one.  All of a sudden I could see why the excellent care and appointment times.  But maybe that’s just the sceptic in me.

So that’s it.  That’s all I know for now.  I am hoping by this weekend I will have started a course of drugs and they will work and we can get on with this.

The emotions are incredible.

Anger: At the doctors for missing this for so long.  At myself for not getting seen quicker.

Relief: I probably do not have MS.  If all goes well, I will not have to live in fear of my children taking care of me someday.

Fear: What if the drugs don’t work?  How much is this radio surgery? What if that doesn’t work?  What if I die?

So that’s me, for now.  To think, this could have been sorted back during the summer of ‘99.

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So there was some craic on Twitter the other day with people discussing strange or unspoken talents.  Sinead shared her incredibly impressive eyebrow dance. She suggested starting a meme where we all expose something silly or unknown like that.  So since no one else has, I’m instigating it.

As for me, very few people in Ireland know that I used to be a classically trained singer.  I never enjoyed opera very much but I loved show tunes, and still do!  So here is me singing a few, much to the disgust of my voice teachers:

I Still Believe - From Miss Saigon, a duet with myself, great person to work with that other me!

Evergreen - My favourite love song

Someone Like You - From Jekyll & Hyde

They are from a CD I recorded when I was about 17, back when I was fabulous as Tommy Tiernan would say! :)  Accompanied by not himself, but another wonderful pianist, Joseph Bowlby. Anyone up for blogger karaoke anytime soon???

Now, who else wants to share some crazy talent that we might not know about?

I am proposing the following people might have something to share:

Grannymar
K8 the GR8
Lottie
Sabrina
Burkie
Rick O’Shea
LeCraic
Darragh

Whadaya say guys?? :D  It can be something like singing or art or something completely off the wall.  I want to see what you come up with! Share and tag some other people, let’s see what us Irish bloggers can do!

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I want to tell you a story.  A sad story.  I’m going to follow that story up with something you don’t want to hear.  Something you know to be fundamentally true, but you rationalise your way out of it.  Leave now, if you don’t want to hear it.

A few weeks ago, I was driving home when a puppy ran out on the road.  I saw a little boy jump up and run after him.  Thankfully the little boy stopped at the edge of the road.  Unfortunately for him, he witnessed his faithful puppy being mowed down by a Landrover. The SUV kept on going, seemingly oblivious to the destruction it had just caused. 

I pulled over.  The little boy ran out and grabbed the already dead puppy with his little hands and started sobbing.  I opened my door and was about to get out when he ran back across the street with his precious puppy in his arms.  It was absolutely heart breaking.  He must have been about seven or eight and to see his dog effectively murdered was probably extremely traumatic.  My heart went out to him and it has been killing me ever since.

I have told numerous people this story in the last week and all of them were understanding and sympathetic.

As a social experiment I then rewind.  I tell them the puppy and the boy dashed out of a halting site, which they did.  All of a sudden a previously tragic incident becomes funny.  "Well, why didn’t you say it was a knacker puppy?"  That sickens me.

The Ireland I left in the eighties was a very conservative society.  It has done an about face today and has become incredibly liberal.  The younger society is extremely progressive, passionately speaking against homophobia, atrocities abroad, racism and fighting for what’s right.  However other than fat people and smokers, there is one group of people that are discriminated against constantly.  The travellers.

I brought the Yankee husband to visit Ireland shortly after we were married.  We went to lunch with my Nana and her sister and brother-in-law.  Himself just about fell off his chair when one of them muttered something about black people being the dirtiest of people.  I had to restrain him.  They didn’t mean any harm, they seriously just knew no better.  They’re in their late eighties and arguing with them at this point was not going to help. 

Himself was shocked by this for many years.  When we moved over he was also shocked at how people treat the Travellers.  How could any group of people be singled out in such a way?  He’s American.  They don’t operate like that, see.

Being just nine when I left, my only contact with travellers had not been good.  Growing up in Clonsilla, we were always told to bring our toys in at night in case "the knackers would take them."

Having spent most of my life elsewhere I too took a liberal stance when we moved back and was appalled at how they were treated.  The funny thing is, I still feel that way - himself, however - does not.  He works in retail and has seen the worst of them.  They steal, they cause fights and generally make his day harder.  He generalises and stereotypes them like the best Irishman.  I can’t fathom this change of heart.

But he most certainly isn’t alone.  I bring our old clothes to St. Vincent De Paul and have been told by numerous people that I shouldn’t because "it just goes to the knackers."

I know it’s true that statistics aren’t on their side, but the same can be said of many minority groups.  In the United States statistics show that more violent crime is committed by black people than any other race, yet that doesn’t allow people to blatantly discriminate against them, nor should it.

The same should apply here in Ireland.  I also can’t help but think it’s a vicious cycle.  It goes back to basic psychology.  If you tell someone they are bad and unwanted, they start to believe it and act out accordingly.

What really kills me though, are the children.  That little boy with the puppy was a LITTLE BOY!  He has his whole life in front of him.  Think of the things he could do with it.  But society is preventing that.  These children are not being given the same opportunities that our children are and that is wrong.  I understand that a lot of responsibility lies with the parents, but we have to step in at some point.

The main halting site here is across from the school.  As far as I’m concerned, some government official should be at that halting site everyday dragging those kids across the road to school.  We owe it to these kids to break the cycle.

I know this post is likely to bring about a lot of "But they fill-in-the-blank" type comments, but I don’t care.  We are being hypocrites.  We scream and shout about the injustices that other minorities suffer, we yell about atrocities abroad, yet we constantly abuse and bash travellers here at home.  What is human about that?  Where is our pride and dignity?  It’s time we put our money where our mouths are.  Do we really believe in liberty and democracy? Well, then surely it applies to everyone.

That is all.

So I’ve been quietly observing the shit storm that started with an interesting post by the previously unknown to me, Rosie of The Spanish Exposition. 

I’ve been thinking about commenting all weekend but didn’t quite know how to capture my thoughts.  I kept wondering if I was taking things personally, because I happen to be a fan of both Flirty and Damien, two of the blogs Rosie slammed.  I almost wrote criticised there, but criticism implies something different. 

Rosie is well written and makes an excellent point that there should be more criticism in the blogosphere.  I agree.  On my main site I have often had people come to me to say a recipe bombed or point out that I’d forgotten to add a min ingredient.  That is great, that is the feedback I need to improve my site.  If there is an issue with a recipe I love to be able to work with a reader to figure out what went wrong and find a solution.  Constructive criticism ultimately makes us better bloggers and better people.

I agree with Rosie that there can be an air of artificial bonhomie.  Personally I have not come across it on my blogs, but I’ve seen it on others.  Lots of backslapping and ass-kissing in the comments with the content rarely discussed.  It’s never really bothered me, but I can see how it would bother others.  It is evident that Rosie welcomes discerning and scathing comments alike and I think most bloggers would, it’s just that it doesn’t always happen.  There’s something about typing that just comes across cold, especially to people who don’t know you in real life.  I’ve always been a proponent of having little icons like bold or italics, but for irony and sarcasm.  Alas, Microsoft were not so amused.  In all seriousness though, it is hard to get things across on a screen and hard to make emotion come through in your words.  Things get twisted and skewed as they crawl the web.  Perhaps this is why people are reluctant to constructively criticise their peers?  Maybe it’s our own fault as bloggers - perhaps we should have a comment policy - encouraging our readers to have at us, I just don’t know.

So far, I am with Rosie.  I get it.  I think it’s a valid point.  Yet when I finish reading the post I couldn’t help but feel something was amiss.  At first I thought it came across quite petty, almost high school like.  Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, yada yada yada.  But that wasn’t it.

Was I upset because she dissed some of my blogging friends?  Nope, not really.  They can fend for themselves, and do, quite well!

Was it the awards bashing?  I admit I was a little surprised, much as I was when I read Gimme’s scathing review of the night.  I had a ball.  Sure I drank too much and probably made an ass of myself, but I met some wonderful people.  There were a few people I didn’t care for as much, but I moved on and met others.  I guess I was slightly appalled in reading posts like this - that people I had met and who had previously spoken about the good time they had there - had about-faced and jumped on the bandwagon.  It seems the hypocritical nature of commenters that Rosie is pointing out goes both ways. 

I would be a liar if I said I agreed with all the awards, but as far as I’m concerned, it was as democratic a process as it could be and continues to improve each year.  The decision was made, move on.  Same with the Lisbon Treaty.  The public has spoken, now let’s move on.  Indeed I was disturbed by some bloggers on the actual night who were sulking and making my four year old look quite intelligent, because they hadn’t won.  But that still isn’t what was bothering me.

It finally clicked with me today when reading Alexia’s thought-provoking post and resulting comments.  Nothing about what Rosie said really bothered me, except for her so called criticism.  I don’t think calling out those two blogs was constructive criticism at all.  I think it was mean spirited and slightly callous.   Posting about your distaste for a blog just because you don’t "find it particularly topical or interesting" is not criticism at all.  That’s about YOU, not the blogger in question.  YOU don’t see why so many people subscribe, YOU don’t understand what they’re on about.  A blatant statement like that is not only insulting to the blogger in question but to many of their 1200+ readers.

Criticism is going directly to the blogger whether via comments or personally and saying - "hey, I don’t agree with that" or "you’re probably not aware, but you switched tenses about thirty times in that post. It’s a tough concept to grasp, but if you’re interested this XYZ site has some great resources on that."

If it’s more than that, don’t read the blog.  Move on.  You don’t go to the bookstore and buy books that don’t interest you, you move on and pick up something that does interest you.

In conclusion, I still feel Rosie has brought up an interesting point and definitely sparked some debate.  Yes, there should be more criticism in the blogosphere, but it should be constructive.  I certainly wouldn’t list all the blogs I find boring or distasteful on this or any other blog.  Chances are if I dislike it, so do my readers, so why would I waste their time with that?   

So how do we foster an attitude of constructive criticism?  I daresay it’s not something for everyone.  For a lot of people, myself included, blogging is not all about writing.  If someone came along and criticised my writing I wouldn’t really be bothered, but I probably wouldn’t pay much heed either.  However, if someone came along and criticised the content I was writing about, I would stop and listen and engage. 

I propose that those of us who want to foster an attitude of mutual constructive criticism do so by amending our comment policies, if we have them, or by creating one if we do not.  Welcome constructive criticism and encourage your readers to give it to you.  If blogging for you is about improving your writing, say that.  Your readers might be able to point things out or give tips.  If blogging is about expanding your knowledge, say that too.  I love it when readers point me to other places on the web.  I have even been known to change my mind accordingly.  So since I’ve butted in where I have no business to, I better put up or shut up.  Here is my new comment policy so:

I welcome all comments, negative or positive.  I am always open to constructive criticism of either my writing style, thoughts or subject-matter.  I am open to alternative points of view and encourage you to share them openly.  I will not delete any comments unless they are blatantly racist, or otherwise inflammatory or libelous.   I would ask that we all be adults here.  I would also ask that if you have the tenacity to say something unpopular that you do so as you, not under the camouflage of "anonymous."  If you are not comfortable leaving a comment publicly, you are always welcome to email me.

What about you?

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When you find yourself conversing with someone and blogging comes up, inevitably the question will be asked - why do you do it?  Alexia recently answered this question and asked her readers to do the same. 

To fully answer this, I have to examine the point I was at in life when I began blogging almost a year and a half ago and unfortunately for you, this involves me going back even further.

I had a really tough time in high school.  I went to an international school in Belgium where sports was king.  If you weren’t into sports, you might as well kiss your social life goodbye.  Being a slightly pudgy, musically inclined nerd, I was not exactly popular.  Kids can be cruel, but teenagers can be worse.  Before I turned 19 I had tried to kill myself three times.  This is not something I’m proud of, but it’s something I need to put out there.  I never felt I had an issue with depression, but rather that my issues were circumstantial.  I was pushed by circumstance to do something so drastic.  It never occurred to me that there might be a chemical imbalance in my brain making me incapable of dealing with tough situations. 

I remember the last time I tried it and ended up in hospital.  I just wanted out of there, but they wouldn’t let me go without a psych consult.  This arrogant woman came in and asked all kinds of insulting questions - did I have voices in my head - and the like.  I wasn’t crazy, I was just having a rough time with life, didn’t they get that?

A year later I was finally able to move on with my life.  I went to music school resigned to being an old maid.  Imagine my surprise when I inadvertantly ran into my soulmate.  Life really changed for the better. We moved to Michigan, I got a wonderfully fulfilling and challenging job, lost loads of weight and got married.  Life couldn’t have been better. 

It was then against all odds that in 2003 I found myself pregnant.  Call me old fashioned, but I was just happy we were married!  I was petrified though.  I thought he would kill me and even told him in a public place just in case.  Of course, he was absolutely delighted and we dove headfirst into the idea of becoming parents.  I bought every book on the subject and began to really embrace the idea. 

I read everything I could on pregnancy, labour and childbirth.  Of course post-natal depression came up in many of the books, but it never even occurred to me that this could be an issue I would face, as I’d hadn’t considered the past episodes depressive.  I’d never been happier and the times in the past were, as I said, circumstantial. 

Imagine my surprise to find myself at home alone two weeks after giving birth, sobbing my eyes out.  I was absolutely miserable and couldn’t understand why.  Unlike times before, I had every reason to be happy.  We had everything we could possibly want and then some, but I was an absolute mess.  I didn’t want to get out of bed, but would drag myself downstairs and lie on the couch watching daytime tv, moving just to feed the baby and get more tissues.  I couldn’t comprehend what was wrong with me.   

I started having panic attacks when I went back to work and finally decided I needed some help.  I’m not a fan of medication, but was able to get some counselling through work and talking to someone really helped.  When I got back into work mode I found I was able to direct my energy elsewhere and began to come out from under the cloud.

9 months later we moved to Ireland and I can honestly say I was back to normal and feeling fine.   I found moving to Ireland very hard - not least because we had sold everything we owned to get here and then the purchase of the restaurant we were to run fell through three weeks after we got here  but more because when we lived abroad, I had always found it necessary to cling to my Irishness, making sure everyone knew I was from ireland, despite my American accent.  I refused to apply for US citizenship when I had the chance, out of sheer pride.  Imagine my surprise coming back to live and feeling nothing but unwelcome, an outcast in the country I had held so dear.  It was hard, but I never fell back into the cloud that darkened my post-natal days.

Six months after arriving in the Emerald Isle, I once again found myself pregnant.  It was at this point I declared myself officially immune to birth control.  Once again I threw myself into preparations and even prepared for a home birth.  Again, it never occurred to me I would suffer from postpartum depression, as I had never admit to myself that that is what happened the last time.

After my second was born, I was fine.  She was a much harder baby to deal with, but I never had any of the dark miserable feelings I had after the first.  It was only after I finished breastfeeding about 8 months later that the cloud came back, with a vengeance.  I had no idea what was wrong.  I had no energy, no emotion, no zest for life.  I did the bare minimum to get through the day and even that would leave me haggard and empty. 

I had a lovely GP at the time and went to speak with her about it.  She wanted to put me on an anti-depressant and I was in such a state that I agreed.  She also wanted me to talk to someone.  I called up the Health board and was asked if I was sexually abused as a child.  I didn’t understand how that was relelvant, but it quickly became apparent that the HSE wasn’t interested in helping anyone else.   Unfortunately I had been abused as a child, but it was something I felt had long since been dealt with.  I never saw myself as a victim and tried to move on.   However I admitted it had occurred so that I could get  the help I so desperately needed.

Six weeks later, the anti-depressants were kicking in and I began to feel better.  I finally got an appointment with a HSE counsellor and was actually sort of looking forward to it.  I went to two appointments and was devastated.  She was not at all interested in helping me now, but instead wanted to talk about the abuse, something I really felt at peace with.  I couldn’t continue, as it was a waste of both our time and God knows how many others were on the list who did need to talk about their abuse.  Not having the money for a private therapist I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I felt that isolation was one of my biggest issues and tried to get out to meet people.  It proved to be more difficult than I anticipated.  I felt that I needed to come to terms with the fact that I had given up the job I had loved and that I was but a housewife. So I bought a dreadful book that I thought would help.  The book was atrocious  - poorly written with tragically hypocritcal logic - but it led me to a forum where I ultimately discovered blogging.  I thought "Hey, I could do that" and the equally tragically named The Humble Housewife was born. 

Within a few months I had met some great people.  I had weaned myself off the drugs and never felt better.  Although I was isolated in the country with no car when himself was working, I felt like a part of a community, albeit it an online one.

Since starting blogging I have met bloggers in real life too and most of them are just wonderful people.  I finally feel like I am myself again.  Not only have I met new friends in Ireland, but all over the world.  I have received presents in the post, people have offered to have me stay and if I ever need to talk I know GTalk is just a click away.  It’s quite amazing really.

When I started to blog it was to reach out, to somehow connect with the world I felt so isolated from.  But today, I blog to stay connected.  I blog to stay focused and to stay aware of the world around me.  Blogging has allowed me not only to grow and mature in my own right, but to learn so much more about the world at home and abroad.  I have discovered other cultures, learned fun geeky facts and maybe even become a little more liberal than I’d like to admit! :)  I blog to learn about myself and others and I blog to keep my sanity.

Blogging was my light at the end of the tunnel.  It may sound over the top, but I honestly feel it saved me.  I can’t imagine where I would be right now without all the wonderful people I have met on this incredible journey.  Thank you for helping me, even though you may not have been aware just how much you did.

Sinead points out that I may not be alone either, blogging really can be a form of therapy!  I would strongly urge anyone suffering from feelings of depression or gloom to start blogging.  You can blog directly about your feelings, or blog about something that interests you, like I did.  It took a lot to get me to be this open on a blog, and indeed there’s lots more I could say, but if I can get the message across to just one person, I’d feel good.