So I swore on Radio 4. Sorry wimmin. I'm a bit of a curser.
My hands are still shaking, though I wasn't nervous beforehand, but I realised afterwards the hand tremor is from the coffee as much as it is from outing myself as a saddo on National Radio. But I’ve always wanted to do Women’s Hour and if that was the price I had to pay, then I was happy to cough it up, along with my angst.
I’m not so lonely these days, but I feel the specter of it, always, lingering there, just as one does with depression when one has suffered from that, which I have too. But as the women on the program before me were saying, depression is a symptom, and often a result of real sadness. To those people who think – oh you’re not lonely, you’re depressed, well yes – because loneliness is bloody depressing. It’s horrible feeling isolated, horrible feeling that nobody is holding you in their mind, and that you’re one of the ‘forgotten’ despite being surrounded by people. I often think of that poem – I wandered lonely as a cloud, and think it should read ‘crowd’.
I gave the woman who spoke about taking Citalopram which I also take, a big hug, when she came out of the recording suite. I’ve felt too, exactly as she described, and maybe if more of us hugged those with whom we empathised, we’d all be less sad, less lonely, less isolated with our troubles.
And to the woman who said you have to learn to (and I quote) LIKE YOUR OWN COMPANY.
Well, I DO. But, frankly, I’m not that much fun to be with 24/7. I actually love my own company, but in response to not having to endure it all the time. It’s wonderful to be alone, to loll in bed, to get on with things without interruption, but as a way of life, it’s a bit one dimensional. I like people. I like being liked. I enjoy being enjoyed. I love laughing with others. Laughing on your own is a bit of a one way ticket to the loony bin, and I’ve been there. It’s not funny.
And there are a lot of people in there talking to themselves. Not a great place for conversation. Though they are generous with the drugs
.
My hands are still shaking, though I wasn't nervous beforehand, but I realised afterwards the hand tremor is from the coffee as much as it is from outing myself as a saddo on National Radio. But I’ve always wanted to do Women’s Hour and if that was the price I had to pay, then I was happy to cough it up, along with my angst.
I’m not so lonely these days, but I feel the specter of it, always, lingering there, just as one does with depression when one has suffered from that, which I have too. But as the women on the program before me were saying, depression is a symptom, and often a result of real sadness. To those people who think – oh you’re not lonely, you’re depressed, well yes – because loneliness is bloody depressing. It’s horrible feeling isolated, horrible feeling that nobody is holding you in their mind, and that you’re one of the ‘forgotten’ despite being surrounded by people. I often think of that poem – I wandered lonely as a cloud, and think it should read ‘crowd’.
I gave the woman who spoke about taking Citalopram which I also take, a big hug, when she came out of the recording suite. I’ve felt too, exactly as she described, and maybe if more of us hugged those with whom we empathised, we’d all be less sad, less lonely, less isolated with our troubles.
And to the woman who said you have to learn to (and I quote) LIKE YOUR OWN COMPANY.
Well, I DO. But, frankly, I’m not that much fun to be with 24/7. I actually love my own company, but in response to not having to endure it all the time. It’s wonderful to be alone, to loll in bed, to get on with things without interruption, but as a way of life, it’s a bit one dimensional. I like people. I like being liked. I enjoy being enjoyed. I love laughing with others. Laughing on your own is a bit of a one way ticket to the loony bin, and I’ve been there. It’s not funny.
And there are a lot of people in there talking to themselves. Not a great place for conversation. Though they are generous with the drugs
.
