Misfire

You would think from the level of excitement i had in my last post that i would have given you answer to the " find out or not ? " question by now. Yes, you would think that. However, the scan that i had been jumping out of my skin excited about didnt go all that well, and my enthusiasm to do an update post completely waned. To fill you in:


I went down Wednesday morning with a full bladder and an over-active, excited mind. I got called in by a sonographer who explained that she was only training in obstetrics, and that she would do the first 20 mins of the scan and a qualified sonographer(QS) would be in to do the rest. That was fine - i dont begrudge anyone the chance to learn so i had no problem with a trainee assisting. She was pretty good - she got the pictures she needed of the babies extremities and told me what she was photographing as she went along, and then she called the QS in. Thats where things kind of went down hill. For the next 45 mins i was poked and prodded ( to the point of hurting in some places ), and treated much like a lab rat: that is, the QS spoke directly to her trainee in technical terms, explaining the best way to get a good picture, how many she should take, different views etc.... but hardly spoke to me. When she did it was once to tell me that my baby has two kidneys ( hooray for that! ) and more than half a dozen times to tell me how difficult/unco-operative/stubborn my baby was being. She didnt bother to explain any of the technical jargon to me, and even when i outrightly asked a question, i didnt get much of an answer. Eventually i just shut down and lie there, like an experimental guinea pig.

As if that wasnt enough, we get to the end of an hour and the QS finally says " You're all done! "... this is despite me having mentioned four times that we would like to find out the gender. So i asked if there was any indication and she sighed, put the probe back on my stomach and said " I'm very sorry but bubby is lying with the cord between its legs, i cant see anything so i wouldnt like to hazard a guess " and then proceeded to hand me some paper towel and telling me i could clean myself up when i was ready. I near about burst into tears right there on the bed - after all the poking and prodding, all the second and third and fourth attempts to get the pictures they needed, she wouldnt even try to get a look at something i was interested in. I felt like she was telling me that what i cared about wasnt important - which of course translates to " You're not important ".

Now i know the important thing is that bub is healthy - and as far as i could tell from the tech speak and lack of telling me otherwise, Little Jelly is going great. Truth be told i would have still been disappointed if we couldnt find out, even if the rest of the scan had been great. But i just felt like i had been dismissed as a mum who has concerns of her own, and really the only point to me being there was so they had a test subject to learn on. I cried all the way back to my mums, and i couldnt stop crying for at least an hour after that ( to the point where my mum wouldnt let me take Flynn home, she just told me to " go rest ". Instead, i made an appointment with my GP for that afternoon and had a chat to her about how i was made to feel ( and how i've been feeling increasingly down in general ). She was great and gave me a referral to have the scan again, at a different radiologists. I have to pay for this one this time but because my GP is great and noted on the referral that i had already had a scan at the "competitors ", the new place is giving me a discount.

So 10 more days until we can try again. Hopefully this time the sonographer i end up with has a bit of compassion for an anxious mum, and Mr or Miss Jelly in there is a bit more happy to flash his/her bits!

Growing Comfortable, Feeling OK

I had my first appointment with the midwives here at our local public hospital yesterday ( even though i work for a pricate health insurance company, i cant afford private health insurance - go figure! ) and, as other mums may know, you get asked about a bazillion questions during your "booking in " interview. Questions about your current pregnancy, your previous pregnancies, about your medical history and the medical histories of your immediate families. And some of those questions encompass mental health, both past and present. What struck me yesterday is how comfortable i seem to have become with my mental health issues, how at ease i was talking about them.


In the past, even when talking to medical professionals, i was always a bit embarrassed to have to admit to being a bit of a headcase. Not that i was a headcase, but sometimes with all the stigma that is attached to mental illness thats how you feel - like a bit of a nutter. But not anymore. I think in the years between having been first diagnosed, then treated, and now havingt not had any type of intervention for almost 4 years, i think i've matured into seeing my depression and social anxiety disorder for what it was - just another illness like any other, and completely out of my control. I'm not exactly to the point of shouting out to all and sundry " I used to have depression! " but i'm at the point now where if i'm asked i feel no need to shy away from the truth.

Why? Because its MY truth - a part of my past that really has shaped who i am. I cant run away from it, even if i wanted to, so i'm at a point now, as a woman and as a mother, where i'm able to admit to my past darkness without feeling ashamed of it ( even if others may feel i should be, i try to use my mental health issues to make me feel bad ). Its a part of who i was, and who i am, and who i'm going to be in the future. And its the yardstick against which i measure my current happiness - as i've said previously, I believe that we need to experience the dark rainy days to fully appreciate a little bit of sunshine....

No More Stigma - A Mental Health Post, Part 3

See, i kind of, sort of, might have thought i was in love with someone ( In retrospect, now that i have Mick and we have Flynn, i know that it wasn’t ... ). I let myself feel all those happy feelings i hadn’t had, convinced myself that maybe i had found something great, finally. When i told the object of my affection how i felt, he told me he didn’t feel the same way. He thought i was a great girl, and a great friend, but nothing more.


It sent me into a tailspin – and started my second major bout with depression. Within only a few months i was back to the self loathing, the wondering why i wasn’t good enough and thinking i never would be.. Recognising what it was this time i went back to a GP, did the whole mental health questionnaire again, and got a referral to a local psychologist.

Opening up was easier this time – i’d been there, done that. It wasn’t so scary, or so taboo. What was scary was the prospect of what he was asking me to do... to get out in the world, alone. As much as i was used to being alone, being alone at home and hitting the pub on my own were two totally different things. We both agreed that my major problem this time was not so much self confidence, but loneliness – and the only way to alleviate loneliness was to find new friends. Easier said than done, right?

Making friends in Cambodia ( i'm 3rd from right, bottom row )

I decided that there was nothing to be done but give it a shot. With the help of anti-depressants ( again ) i started small – i spoke to people at the gym instead of just a nod and a smile; i went out to the movies or to lunch with my sister, just to get out of the house; i went on a trip to SE Asia and made friends amongst strangers; and strangest, and maybe bravest of all, i started internet dating.

My friends and family thought it was a bit weird, or maybe a crazy/desperate move, but little by little i got my confidence back. I had a few good dates, a few ok dates, and one particular date with the most condescending, materialistic, arrogant man i may have ever met ( blergh! ) I went on an ok date with an ok guy that i just didn’t click with, and then found out he thought i was the bees knees when he sent a friend to my place of work to talk to me a few months later ( kind of creepy.. ).

And then – i met Mick. Online. On a dating website. Our first date, a casual lunch at the pub, went for 5 hrs. We saw each other next day, and a few days after that. And the rest is history! Or, for the short version: dating, pregnant, engaged, baby, family, and getting married in 17 days! I’m blissfully happy, and despite a brief blip when Flynn was 6-8 months old ( which could have seen the onset of another episode but, thanks to intervention, didn’t ) i’ve been “well “ for over 3 years now.

And i hope to stay “ well “ for a long time to come. But i know that that isn’t a given – i have to consciously be aware of my negative emotions when i feel them, and work to keep them in check. And i feel that part of that work is also to tell my story – maybe not to just blurt it out to everyone i meet, but be open and honest when the occasion calls for it. Mental Health Month is one of those occasions. And on this occasion i’m asking you to share to – whether you can share a story, or show support for those who need it...

No More Stigma - A Mental Health Month Post, Part 2

This is part 2 of my journey through mental illness. If you missed part 1, please go here and then come back!
I went to my dad first. I was terrified that he would think i was being melodramatic or that i was a complete nutcase but he sat, and he listened, and he said maybe i should go and ask a GP. I made an appointment and i did the little checklist survey that the GP's make you do and then i was referred to a free counselling service within the medical centre.


As i was working on the one day that the free counselling service ran i decided to chuck a sickie the day of my first counselling session. At this stage, even though the GP said it was most probably depression, i still didnt really know what was going on, so i was cacking my pants at the thought of telling my employer ( or anyone for that matter ) that i was mentally ill. So i fudged the day off work and went off to see the counsellor. Even though i was nervous i felt immediately comfortable with her - she had this crazy, kicky, curly hair and she asked me questions without making me feel like i was going mad. Basic stuff like why i had been referred on, and how had i been feeling, and what happened when i felt that way. She set me some homework ( cognitive behaviour therapy she called it ) and our appointments became a weekly thing. I still majorly struggled but being able to offload in a secure environment once a week helped.

I was referred to see a visiting pyschiatrist when he came from Sydney every 2 or 3 months. He was a little intimidating and i think i clammed up a little more with him than i did with my counsellor. Regardless, he prescribed anti-depressants ( Levlen, from memory, an SSRI ) to be taken once daily, and continued weekly counselling sessions.

Little by little things became less heavy - my way of thinking started to change, and the fog started to lift. After about a year i discontinued the counselling sessions and started tapering off the meds. I started going out a little more when my friends were home from uni... and found that i actually enjoyed it. My motivation for actually " doing " something with my life started to return and, eventually, i had enough confidence to apply to be an au pair.

Me, in the orange, and some au pair friends at Six Flags theme park in Jackson NJ

I was accepted by a wonderful family in the USA. I spent a year living with them in New Jersey, making friends amongst the other international au pairs, hanging out in New York City on the weekends. I did a weekend trip to Florida to Disneyworld by myself. I took my two week paid holiday in Peru and did something i'd always dreamed of ( trekked four days through the Andes to Machu Picchu ). I even became the " go to girl " for new au pairs, the one the co-ordinator called to take new girls out for coffee, introduce her to the area and the other au pairs. Me, the previously socially anxious outcast!

I returned home in November 2005. For a while i was on a super high - i was back with my friends and family, i found a job and bought my own car. I took road trips to visit my (ex)best friend and went out every weekend with one of my other friends when she moved back to town. I joined the gym and went 5 days a week, relishing the natural high - and natural anti-depressive measure - that it gave me. I looked into becoming a yoga instructor ( but couldnt afford the training at the time ). I became a fan of a few of the early social networking sites like Bolt and Bebo ( ha! ). I made a few online friends, one of whom encouraged me to start blogging. I found it a great way to get my thoughts and feelings - good and bad - out of my system, making sure nothing got bottled up and stuck on the inside. My confidence was at an all time high.

And then - emotions that i'd never previously let myself feel betrayed me....
*Part 3 to be posted tomorrow...

No More Stigma - A Mental Health Month Post, Part 1

So as you may be aware, October is Mental Health Awareness Month here in Australia. There has been alot of talk about it here on the blogosphere, lots of bloggers taking up the challenge and getting posts out there in regards to mental illness, health services and programmes or just telling there own stories.


And it seems like a lot of people out there have stories to tell. I happen to be one of them.

If you're only fairly new to these parts you wouldnt know it - what with my general sunshiney-ness and lack of doom and gloom - but not so long ago i was in the grip of depression and social anxiety disorder. I like to call myself a " former depressive " but, as some of you know all too well, there is no such thing as a 100% , fool proof, "cure " for depression. The threat of another depressive episode is always there, lingering, that bastard black dog always hanging around, waiting to strike.

It started when i was around 14, that age where you've outgrown your childhood but your not quite sure where you fit as a teenager. Most kids have a period there where they sulk and moan and hate everything. For me, that fog didnt lift. And it wasnt that i hated everything or everyone - what i hated was me. I didnt like anything about me, and constantly worried that no-one else did either. I had a fear of being around new people my age - i was fine in the classroom with the peers that i knew, and the anxiety didnt extend so much to adults. It was just this constant nagging worry of other teens thinking i wasnt cool enough, smart enough, pretty enough, whatever. Take your pick. Whatever it was, it prevented me from being so much as able to open my mouth at parties around kids i didnt know and so, eventually, i just stopped going.

I just stayed home with my family, or sat alone in my room, thinking, pondering, worrying, crying, hating. I listened to lots of music, and wrote heaps of emo poetry. Stuff like this:

XMAS PRESENT
There is never time more lonely
Then time spent alone.
But there is never time more comfortable
Than time spent on my own.
Can't spend time with others
'Cause i spend too much by myself
They think i'm just a drag now
So they leave me on the shelf.

I wasnt officially diagnosed until i was 18, when i'd finished high school and most of my friends had gone off to uni ( which i didnt do. Depression stole all the motivation i had once had to do " something " with my life ). By that time the panic attacks had set in, that horrible creep of anxiety and fear that culminates in heart pounding, sweating, shaking breathlessness that convinces you that you're about to die. It was at this point that i was able to admit something wasnt right, that these physical manifestations of everything that lie beneath the surface well... they just werent normal. Up until then i just had everyone convinced i was the typical sulky teenager - but not even the most emo of the Emo sulky teenagers had panic attacks. ( Not that i knew what they were called at the time ).

So what did i do? Where did i turn?

* Part 2 to be posted tomorrow....

And Just Like That...

... there it was, the emotional meltdown that i knew was coming. That i predicted, 2 weeks ago, was well on its way. To be quite honest, i'm kind of glad it finally happened - i feel lighter for having got so much off my chest.

From here

It started Saturday morning - Mick had to go into work for a while first thing, and ended coming home an hour later than what he had told me. I sat waiting, Flynn alternately playing and whinging that he wanted to get up on my lap, feeling lonely and rejected.
I put on my best happy face so we could go and do the grocery shopping, hoping that if i just acted happy enough i would get myself out of  my funk.
We dropped Flynn to my parents so they we could go on the "date afternoon " that i had been looking forward to for a month. We saw the final Harry Potter movie ( which was entirely awesome, by the way ) and then went home to get changed to go out for dinner. It took me a long time to find outfit that made me feel as sexy as i wanted to feel - in the end i went for something that made me look relatively svelte, though i still didnt have that feeling i wanted so badly to feel.
We at a relatively nice resturant, although their dinner menu was very limited. I order pork belly, hoping it would be a great meal and a change from what i can cook at home. Hoping for something special to match the expectations i had of the night. What i got was two pieces of salty pork and some oily lettuce.
We went home, where i wanted so badly to crawl into bed together, to be intimate, physically and emotionally, to talk and laugh and touch each other without the distraction of a child. Mick wanted to watch a Steven Seagal movie, so i went to bed by myself at 8:45pm .

I woke Sunday in my mood hadnt lifted - it had gotten worse. I had wanted so much from our date night... a break from the demands of mother hood, yes, but also a reconnection with each other that i felt had been missing the last month or so. Preparing for a wedding, and having work stress, and still pining for a friendship that is no more has stolen my focus, and i know that i've been retreating into my thoughts more often that is healthy, and neglecting Mick just a little. ( I dont think he feels that way, thats just how i perceive my own behaviour ). And i dint get anything i wanted, not even a nice meal. I felt completely shattered and utterly exhausted by everything. I couldnt stop the tears rolling slowly down my cheeks while i cooked breakfast, or tried to focus enough to read the Sunday papers. And when we went around to my parents to pick Flynn up and my sister told me to stop whinging ( about my bad night ), i'd had the night off while she played with my son... that was it.

That was enough right there. I froze with my arm reaching up to get a glass out of the cupboard, shut the cupboard door and then walked out of the room, out the front door, hid around the side of the house behind some bushes and burst into tears. There was no denying it this time - those tears and frusturations were coming out, no matter what. My dad found me and told me to come back when i was ready to talk... which was only a half hour later. I waited til Mick took Flynn up to the supermarket and i drove slowly back to my parents house, where they sat with me on the lounge and listened as i poured every.single.worry out, let all the shitty words and hurts and frusturations stream out of me. And my mum hugged me and my dad squeezed my hand and they told me how they had the same worries as a young family, and how they could help me now.

All i can say is thank fuck for parents. The AMAZING parents i have, who support me and hold me up and love me when it seems like there is hardly anyone else who will ( excepting Mick and Flynn, the loves of my life ). Thank the Universe for parents like mine - i feel so much better for being to offload, and so much better for knowing their love...

Going Under

So it turns out last Sunday was no mere emotional hiccup.

Sadly, i've spent the majority of the past weekend in a funk, at one minute on the verge of tears and at the next finding myself easily irritated by the smallest of things. I pity poor Mick - i would have been no fun to be around.

And, yet, i find i still cant talk about " it ", whatever it is. The " it " that is the anxious, bitter feeling of emptiness, of not feeling " good enough ", of being worried about the little things that are out of my control. The " it " that is determined to bring me undone, the subtle creep of depression.Lets face it - i know these feelings for what they are, and what they are are the precursors to a depressive episode. You dont come out the other side of depression without knowing what it feels like to slip under its murky darkness...

But i wont let myself this time. I know what triggered the feelings, and i know that situation is so much beyond my realm of control that its not even worth dwelling on. Yet i do - and all that worry, and jealousy, and sadness spreads into other thoughts until it blankets everything i think and feel. And so, because i know that, because i FEEL that ( while i'm still able to feel anything other emptiness ), i'm going to swim against that tide for all i'm worth.

And if that means i have to talk about " it " to Mick than thats what i'll do. If it means i have to cry and sob and shake and smear myself with snot in front of him, if means baring the weakest parts of me, if it means letting the usual happy/funny/strong facade slip a little - if thats what it takes to escape the darkness this time, than thats what i'll do. It may be all i can do...

Find Your Peace

Image from here

I made my way out of the darkness once, fighting through thunder and lightning til i could ride the winds of change all the way to the safety of shore....

Some people arent as lucky. I recieved news yesterday that a school friend has taken his own life, after a struggle with depression stemming from a relationship break up. He's left behind two small children and, presumably, a broken hearted family. This boy(man ) was always so confident at school and, truth be told, i had a little crush on him. We werent great mates and we didnt share any classes, but he was the cute-but-naughty boy that all the girls thought was a bit of a hottie.Even though we were never close friends, it really hits home how lucky i am that i found the strength and courage to fight through my depression and break free of it.

I wish he could have done the same. He is the third classmate of mine to commit suicide. Three young men, all dead at their own hand, in 10 years. As far as i'm concerned, thats three too many over the course of a lifetime, let alone three missing before we've even had a chance to have a high school reunion. And what for? What struggles were they fighting against? What support was lacking? Its too late now to answer these questions but i cant help but wonder.... if they had the support i had, the family to rally around, to understand the mental health issues or emotional battles, would they still be here?

If i am able, i will attend his funeral next week. Like i said, we werent close friends and i wouldnt know his family if i tripped over them, but i feel its the right way to pay tribute to the fun, cheeky, bright spirit i remember from school and put to rest the broken spirit that has hopefully, in death, found some peace....



The Making of Me : A 10 Year Retrospective

Just so we're clear, this meme was originally started by Sheena and even though i wasnt officially tagged i've decided to do it anyway. Basically its a quick rundown summarising the last 10 years of my life. And so, seeing as i'm 24 this year, we start way back in 1998, at the tender age of 14....

1998 ( 14 yrs ) - If i remember correctly, this is the year where i first started to feel a little dark inside. Not that i want to make out everything was doom and gloom, but it was around this time i first started to listen to those self-loathing thoughts in my head. It was also the year i got my first mobile phone and we had internet on our home computer for the first time. And so started my addiction to the Inter-Web.

1999 ( 15 yrs ) - The tenth grade of high school. This is where things started to become serious - important end-of-year exams, getting to invited to parties was almost the be all and end all, and friendships were tested. I got drunk for the first time ( on Stolichnaya Lemon Ruskies .... so old school ) at my friends Brads birthday party. I felt ridiculously cool but was terrified of my dad busting me. Thankfully he didnt and i spent quite a few parties that year ( and all the years following ) getting my drink on. Also, despite being released the previous year, this is the year i started my love affair with " Dizzy Up The Girl " by The Goo Goo Dolls - to this day, one of my top 5 favourite albums.

2000 ( 16 yrs ) - I wrote a lot of poetry this year. You know, the world-sucks, i-wish -i -were-dead, emo kid kind of poetry. I carried a notebook of poetry in my school bag, so that everytime i was upset, angry or plain old bored i could write. Words have managed to sustain me, in some form or another, ever since then. The memory of good times that sticks out in my mind is from my two day biology camp. I sang - the one and only time that i have ever had the guts to sing by myself, in front of other people. What did i sing ? " Slide " by the Goo Goo Dolls.

2001 ( 17 yrs ) - Final year of high school baby! Thank the freaking Lord, because by this point in precedings i was well and truely sick of the place. I loved getting to hang out with my friends, i enjoyed being able to debate intellectually in class discussions, i even enjoyed some of the assignments I had to do - i just hated the institution. I disliked most of the teachers and thoughi dont have a huge problem with authority, I hated being told what to do by people who were, quite frankly, total douches. I hated my English teacher and i'm pretty sure he hated me too. Two months before end of year exams, i walked out of his class never went back. Screw you sucka! The only good thing about gthe final year of high school was the end of it - that is, our Year 12 Formal ( thats a Senior Prom, for you North Americans ). My Formal was pretty ace. The graduating song we chose ? " Higher " by Creed - yep, we rocked much.

2002 ( 18 yrs ) - No more school meant starting work. I've never been to university, not because i'm stupid or lazy, but because i had ( and still have ) no solid idea what i wanted to do with my life. I also did not have the money to waste on some random course that i might drop after a semester or two. So i got a job working retail and tried to save some money. It was in the first few months of this that i was officially diagnosed with depression and social anxiety disorder. I had to watch one of those horrid public service type videos- you know, like if my life were the Simpsons, the film would have starred Troy McClure . Hi, I'm Troy McClure, and you may remember me from such films as " So You're Having a Mental Breakdown! " or " Parties? Who Needs Them ? " ...... I had to break the news to my family and my immediate bosses at work that i was, ahem, " mentally ill ", and started a course of cognitive behavioural therapy with a counsellor. In short, this year was not my best.

2003 ( 19 yrs ) - All that counselling was doing me some good. I wasnt cured and i was still on meds, but I started to develop interests again ( beyond napping - i'll always be interested in that ). I started thinking about a possible career path and i thought i might enjoy working with kids. I started volunteering at my old primary school on my days off, working as a reading tutor with the kindergarten kids. I did that till 11am, and then in the afternoons i'd do a volunteer shift at a childcare centre, just helping out. I enjoyed it, but i still wasnt ready to make a career commitment. I kept working retail and basically just concentrated on getting mentally healthy. It was hard with my best friend moving away this year, but i managed to stay alive.

2004 ( 20 yrs ) - I'd always wanted to go overseas and this year was the year to make it a reality. I figured that because i didnt have the money to just holiday, i could work for my trip. I applied for a position as a camp counsellor and, after many months of waiting, was knocked back because i only had experience with kids under the age of 7. Once upon a time, this news would have knocked me on my arse, but I decided to keep on trying. This proved to be the best decision I ever made - this time i applied to work as an Au Pair in the USA, and was accepted by a family living in New Jersey. I packed up my shit and moved to the US in early November.

2005 ( 21 yrs ) - 2005 started in Times Square, New York City. Fabulous start to a fabulous year, i'd say. I learnt a lot about myself, and who i had the potential to be, whilst living overseas. I loved my family - my three boys, M, T and H - and i made friends with some gorgeous girls from all over the world. I did a four day trek through the Andes to Machu Picchu in Peru ( where i was possessed by mountain spirits - long story.... ) and tested my mental and physical toughness; i went to DisneyWorld on my own and got to skip to the front of the lines; I did 4th of July at South Street Seaport, Rosh Hashanah in Conneticut and Halloween in my local neighbourhood. I joined a gym and fell into being a gym junkie, losing 10 kgs ( about 25lbs ). I returned to Australia a new person, and to be greeted by a new person ( my neice, D.O.B 18.11.05 ). 2005 was a good year, perhaps the best thus far.

2006 ( 22yrs ) - I started the new year with a new job and a new outlook. The previous year had proved i didnt have to live under my bed covers, that if thrown in the deep end i did, indeed, have the ability to swim. I started hitting the pub every weekend, not drinking ( again, anotyher long story ) but just dancing and living it up. I lived for Saturday nights and Sunday morning sleep ins.I definately looked good and i had never felt better.I had a brief relationship with a guy a year younger than me. He was, sadly, so immature that it eventually felt like dating my younger brother, and i broke it off. This was also the year that i i lost my blog virginity. I didnt write poetry much anymore, and an old school journal was just, well, so old school. My bloga attracted the readership of two awesome internet buddies, both still readers now, and our three way conversations became the stuff of legend. By the time Christmas rolled around, i was completely addicted to blogging and had already been to meet with one of my other readers. I'd like to say it wasnt an excuse for a dirty weekend, but that would be a lie :)

2007 ( 23 yrs ) - Ah, the year of living dangerously. Well not technically dangerously, its not like i was running with a gang or anything, i just lot a lot of my old inhibitions. Yes, in THAT way too ( perverts ). I become a fan of local rugby players, and a fan of drunken midnight texts. I maintained my internet buddies friendships and even got the pleasure of meeting up with one of them. Last year felt like a golden year, save for a few small mistakes - things i said but didnt really mean, things i should have said but didnt, things i missed and things i really wish i hadnt have been there for. Most of 2007 was an adventure of sorts, thats for sure....

2008 ( 24 yrs ) - Which brings us to present day Amy. This year has had its ups and downs. Finishing my optical dispensing course = UP. The Mary Incident = DOWN. My best friends wedding and subsequent joy = UP. Slipping back into depression and having to see a pyschiatrist again = DOWN. Getting a payrise = UP. NOt hitting the town for a record 6 months straight = DOWN. Waiting to be an aunty for the second time = UP.

With two months left to go, who knows what could be in store ?