WHAT TO DO WHEN HAPPINESS STRATEGIES FAIL.

As you may know, on this blog I have written my own personal suggestions, developed out of necessity, in order to help you find the best chance of reaching a happy state. I am not an expert in anything but living the life I have been given and playing the hand of cards fate has dealt me but I have suffered both from physical disability which is still with me and includes total blindness and mental illness in the form of depression so maybe as a lay person I can be of help. I certainly hope so because the unbearable sadness and weight of severe depression is destructive to the spirit, painful to bear and maybe avoidable altogether in the future or at least not so severe if it does return.

It will be impossible in some cases for you to realise how ill you have become since your thinking powers and ability to see yourself clearly and to reason properly will be affected. Therefore it is essential that you do not let pride stop you from seeking medical help even if that help includes taking drugs to alleviate and cure the symptoms. You must have the same attitude as you would to the wearing of glasses or a plaster on a broken leg. Depression is a normal reaction to an abnormal load of human suffering or misfortune, often carried alone and without appropriate support or even any support. The dangerous and damaging English attitude to: “Keep it all in” and adopt a permanently stiff upper lip is probably responsible for the terrible feelings of shame you may feel about being depressed in the first place. This may seem as if I’m contradicting my earlier statements about there being people worse off and all of us needing to count our blessings. While I stand by those statements, this is only possible once you have accepted that you are ill, sought and accepted treatment and then returned to health again. While in the throes of your depression, these maxims will sound like trite and meaningless rubbish which you will, in your negative state, dismiss just as I did.

It is essential too that you must learn to cry; feel sorry for yourself without feeling guilty and learn to love yourself because unless you do this you will never be in a position to love anyone else or to empathise with them or even to laugh with joy again. Just how do you learn to love yourself when for years someone has told you that you’re worthless and inadequate; hopeless and have no redeeming features? You sit down and think of all those who have had time for you. Few of us have gone through life with absolutely nobody to care for us or have been unfortunate enough never to have been told that someone loves us. Even if you have to go way back into childhood to find them, I bet someone once told you they believed in you, that you were good at this or that at school and even perhaps that you had a lovely smile or nice hair or skin. Start from there. Then think of a reason why there was a constant person in your life who devalued you all the time. If, as in my case, it was a parent, ask yourself why this happened and tell yourself that although it was because you were told it was due to your innate worthlessness, whether in fact it was because they were transferring their inadequacy to you or whether they needed to feel better and could only do this by making you feel worse. Tell yourself anyway that they were wrong, even if at first you don’t actually believe it. Say that today, although you are feeling miserable you will get through to nightfall, having perhaps achieved the small act of eating a little something or briefly smiling at someone who speaks to you even if it takes all your effort of will and then say to yourself: “Would the worthless person I was told I am do that”? Answer: “No”. At first this will seem stupid and pointless but from this small beginning greater steps will be taken believe me.

We were not meant to live alone, cope alone or be alone. So why are we? There are lots of reasons for this. Some have to do with the fragmentation of society; our over dependence on and value and even worship of material things and possessions; our writing off of weaker and more vulnerable people as worthless and insignificant; the structure of our cities which have enormous concrete tower blocks in which to house people and the transient nature of our physical relationships and an ever faster pace of life. We are taught that to be unable to cope is a sign of weakness and moral inadequacy and failure. We are conditioned to strive for and laud physical perfection and mental stamina and wholeness and that anything which does not match up is thought of as “uncool” so it’s no wonder that we fail, fall and need help. What would be the first thing which you would do if you saw me, a blind person, trip over something and land on my back on the pavement? I’m sure you would rush to my side, give me an arm and pull me up; always assuming I hadn’t broken a leg. You need, and so do I, a mental “hand up” when the weight of our unhappiness causes us to fall spiritually and mentally.

Depression is not something to be ashamed of. Deep and heartbreaking unhappiness and feelings of utter despair and hopelessness are feelings to be admitted and not denied for fear that people will ridicule you. Years ago you would never have got me to admit to being a blind writer on this blog. I never would have had blind characters in any of my stories which are too long for it and most certainly I would never have openly talked on the radio of my experience of depression. Now, in middle age and certainly in the second half of my life I don’t care. If people want to think I’m doing it to gain sympathy that’s their prerogative. I am flawed, fragile; frightened of increasing disability, cancer and/or having a stroke and being alone for the rest of my life and do you know what? So are you and so are they. I don’t like the thought of not existing one day or of having a painful death and being dealt with harshly by impersonal strangers or thinking that I will die unloved. Neither do you and neither do they. Therefore for you to have these feelings and worries, for you to feel crushed and defeated by life is normal. Struggling stoically all on your own is not. Talk to someone and if they tell you that you need help then believe them. Don’t let the fact that you feel better in the evenings full you. You cannot get over serious depression without help and treatment.

Finally, believe that you will get better. I did not believe I would ever get better. I harboured thoughts of suicide; drank too much before becoming ill; felt too full of misery to eat; hated people being near me then wanted them to be when they weren’t; felt overwhelmed by all the suffering both of my own and on the news; then eventually walked with a white cane up to the surgery to see my doctor, the tears streaming down my face as I went. When he asked me what was wrong I said: “Everything” and burst into tears again. I did not want pills, thinking that people’s affection and company would help but I took them all the same because I trusted him enough to believe I’d not get better without them. I also had six weeks’ counselling but don’t personally have that high an opinion of that, due to the guy who gave it to me who I consider to have made rude and offensive remarks during my last session but that’s just my opinion of it and it may work for you so try it if it’s suggested.

Now I am cheerful and happy again despite still being blind and having a bit of a painful back and having had something wrong with my feet for months. I believe in you though I don’t know you simply because I know how much the human spirit can overcome. I’ve seen it time and time and time again. I know I’m no better than you are and would lay odds on your return to full health again providing you accept yourself as you are, admit that you are ill and need help and then accept it. Most of all you must reject and disregard the opinions of those who have told you that you’re worthless and not loveable you’re not. Like me you’re just flawed and frightened though it’s probable that you are sighted.

When you are well again, then and only then, will my recipe for happiness have any chance of working for you. If it doesn’t, find your own and stick to it for your personality may not be the same as mine. Depression will hold you as securely as any lover but it is not your lover. Instead it is a cruel prison with barbed wire arms which will shred you into little bits if you don’t gently let others disentangle you and bind up your wounds. I promise you that you will heal. You will heal and feel again, love and laugh again and find some joy in life again but it takes courage which I can’t give you but which you must find from within yourself. I hope I have helped you. Please let others do so too.

BY GEORGE HE’S GOT IT!

“Hi Ken! Are you all packed and ready to go? I sure can’t wait to get into the White House which sounds kinda strange don’t you think? First black guy in the White House. Where you gonna live now that the people and I have turned you out? Do you reckon you’ll end up in the Wild West in one of those cowboy films? I mean remember Ronnie! Anyway, there’ll always be a room for you here if you’d like to come visit some time. Yours apologetically,

The other ‘big O’”.

“Hi, ‘Big O’,

I keep a-tellin’ ya, my name’s George don’t you know? Just ‘cos my wife’s name’s Barbie, that don’t mean I’m a male doll. I was once the most powerful man on the plane – Hell no! I mean the planet don’ I! Anyway, don’t you worry a darn thing about me. I’m goin’ to migrate, you know, like the little old tweetie birds do when the cold gets into ‘em. We’sa goin’ to Britain, me and Barbie. We got our eyes on a nice little pad near the Strand if not on it. Why they even named it after us! That was real nice o’ them. They did it ‘cos of the special relationship we’sa got. Why it’s so lovely and quiet in there that I will have time and privateness to write my memorabelia. ‘Scuse my spellifications. I never got much learnin’ at school you understand. Anyway, now that we got that Osama Binladen out of Iraq and killed all those poor soldiers of the Americas and Britanicles I feel really happified now. I mean I will go down in historics as the greatest President the little old U.SA has ever knowd. I know you’ll never beat that Big Boy but I wish you all the luckification in all the big old worl’.

Yours sincerely,

George (not Ken) dubblya.

“Hi again Ken,

I loved your letter. I’m interested to know where you’re going to emigrate to in Britain.

By the way, it was Saddam who was killed, not Binladen. Still, man of your standing is allowed a little mistake once in a while. I can’t think of a single place in Britain which is named after you. Maybe you can enlighten me. Anyway I’m glad you have somewhere to go. I feel very mean kicking you out and all that.

Kind Regards and don’t forget your toothbrush,

“The ‘big O’”

“Hi again ‘O’,

Well now I’m so excitable. I wonder if Barbie and I might stay on for a little while. We won’t ‘interseed’ with you nor nothing. It’s just that there are some people in my proposed homestead which are refusin’ to budge. They told me they like it there. Who can blame them! I liked it there when I had a peep through my sunglasses just before Christmas! Anyway, I reckon a stick of dynamice will move ‘em. By the way, the place is called: BUSH HOUSE. You get that, ‘Big O’? BUSH HOUSE I reckon it’ll do just fine.

Yours as always, Georgie Porgy. (And don’t call me Ken again”.

“Hi Ken,

Hell I know that place. They broadcast the World Service programmes from there and some of Radio4. They let the world know just what a mess you made in Iraq and they tell them about all the other little S.O.B’s who run the world! You can not hole up in there. I shall stop it. I shall write to Gordon at once and express my concern at your proposal. I’d say you could stay here and play with the kids but who knows what you’d teach ‘em. I don’t want you strutting about the place in your cowboy boots, giving ‘em bad ideas and a bad role model. I wanna raise my kids properly. I know what it is to be down-trodden. I’m sorry Ken, you’ll just have to go live somewhere else. Emigrate, yes by all means, but not to Bush House which, by the way, was called that long before you were a disaster in your mummy’s tummy.

Yours horrified,

‘The Big O’.

“Hi Obama,

You ain’t no ‘Big O’! Everyone knows that was the singer with the glasses – Roy Orbiting, that was him. I’ve already talked with Gordy. He told me he can’t do nothin’ ‘cos he ran the Tamla Mowtown label. I don’t like that stuff. I’d rather have Johnny Cash and Tammy Dinette. Why she sings real good! Anyway, I’m sure I can get into BUSH HOUSE if I wanna. There’s just two ladies holdin’ out on me. They’s reasonable gals I think. When they meet Barbie and me and see I’m twice as stupified as they thought I was they’ll take pity on me I know they will! Why I may even get a job as a security man. They’ll value my expandees which I gained while I was Presidivying over the good old USA. Anyway, my eyes is getting’ tired now. I’s a little short sighted so I’m gonna go now. Good luck Obama. I know’s you’ll be far too tied up to write back. I had the boys arrange that. Told ‘em to use the best Italian spaghetti. There’s no way you’ll excapee from that tangible I know. See you on the ice,

George”.

THE SQUARE OF SUCCESS.

Often I’ve heard it said that if you want something badly enough then you can achieve it. Not quite true.

I don’t often think in visual terms because, being blind, it doesn’t come naturally to me. However, in this instance I do. Success to me is like a square which, like any other square, has to have four sides of equal length to make it so. If a side is missing or of unequal length, the “square” of success cannot be drawn on the map of achievement.

First of all when a successful outcome is desired, ability has to be present. Without sounding immodest, I know I have writing ability which goes beyond just putting down any old word in any old order down on a piece of paper. It’s something I was told at school and numerous times since by people from all walks of life, some of whom work in the media and who have been the recipients of funny emails and snippets which I hoped would draw their attention to me. However, though necessary, ability alone is not enough though without it you’re sunk. An avid music lover, I could never be Georgina Shearing, or Stephanie Wonder. Therefore I’ve never tried because I can only really pick out a tune one-handed on a little keyboard and can’t co-ordinate my hands.

The second side of the square is the perseverance. How many people waste their talents because they don’t persevere or can’t manage the consequences of having their dreams realised? My old blind school was harsh and the discipline rigid as I’ve said before and this has given me the staying power I’ve needed. Writing, to me is like breatheing. I love it so much that I can’t imagine life without doing it. Reading is equally important. Such wonderful authors as Daphne Du Maurier, Ruth Rendell and the psychologist Dorothy Rowe have helped me cope with the bad times and while I can never claim to be anywhere near as good as any of them, I believe I could give as much pleasure to blind and sighted readers alike – People whose lives seem empty and hopeless and who need an escape from the drudgery and daily grind of life. Apart from a nagging desire to stick two fingers up at all the people in my life who said I was fit only for making cane baskets or being guided around like a helpless beggar, I long to give that sort of pleasure to others and have voiced that longing for many years to many people.

The third side of the square is practical help. This was a very long time coming. To begin with I had to find the right people – The Guide Dogs for the Blind Association employee who encouraged me to get a computer and went further than he need have done by offering to pick one up for me if I trusted him with the money. I did and he did. He brought it home, set it up and arranged for the training I’d need to use it. Technically this help was beyond his job description but as he said:

“You can always find excuses for not doing things”.

Had he stuck rigidly to the rules as so many do then he’d have joined the ever-growing band of people who wished me luck without helping me or knowing who could. I told him some of the ideas I had in my head and it was obvious to him that I needed help. He also sees his job as that of alleviating the terrible isolation which many of his clients feel. Other reasons for difficulty in obtaining help include too few trained people spread among too many clients over too wide a catchment area and, an even more pertinent reason in these hard times of recession, lack of funds as people tighten their belts and giving is less of a priority as spare cash is unavailable. Many charities including Guide Dogs get no state funding and smaller ones get no publicity or public support. I never heard of UCANDOIT before I had their support. This is the charity which trained me to use the computer and provided me with the talking software. I also had further help, costing much more, from a blind man whom I paid privately. Then the greatest stroke of luck of all happened. I started corresponding with someone whom I met on a social internet site. I sent her a story, far too long for the blog as many of them are, describing how blindness has impacted on me and how I cope with it. She suggested I start a blog. Because of health problems and the need for hospital visits due to my feet problems and the need for a new guide dog soon, I explained I didn’t know how to do this. She offered to put the entries up for me until I can do so myself. Reliable as the days of the week and trustworthy as all the professionals who have helped me in my quest, she has faithfully done what she promised. Luck has really come into its own here since at least had the others let me down I could have complained to their superiors or the Charity Commission but I’d have had to put it down to bitter experience had my friend let me down and you’d have not read any of my work which I have so desperately wanted to share for so long with whoever wants to read it.

So there you have them – The four sides of the square: Ability; perseverance; practical help and luck. How I would like to see more blind people reach their full potential and they could do, for we all have talents whether blind or sighted, but for the want of practical help and luck. Sadly instead I have seen all too many become despondent, lose their will to persevere and watch their abilities rust and be corroded by bitterness and despair. Some turn to drink, don’t eat properly or eat too much, others hate sighted people for seeing and successful blind people for being luckier than they and one or two have tried and indeed succeeded in taking their own lives. Of course sighted people are prey to all these things too but it’s the degree which differs and the fact that we have to work twice as hard to get half as far, knowing all the time we could get further but for the helping hands we need.

This is why I’ve written this piece, in the hope of inspiring not only the blind people whose courage is failing but you who are not blind so that one day you may reach out your hand containing the pencil light of hope which can help draw the square of success on another’s map of achievement. If you, and indeed I,don’t hold out that pencil light of hope, then vital and sometimes vibrant chapters will be missing not necessarily from my story and stories, but from the whole human story and I think that would be not only a waste but a shame since we’re all pages in the book of humanity and what a varied book that is!

DEAF DOGS FOR THE BLIND!

I used to live near a large Shopping Centre. In fact Wheat [my guide dog] and I were used to catching the tube there whenever my freezer and I needed re-stocking.

One day while there I realised I needed help as I always did and so duly switched on my beaming smile and waved my card which reads: “Your help welcome”.

A good samaritan answered the call in the form of a well educated sounding woman who I estimated as being taller than I as her voice came from above me. Mind you to be smaller than I would mean you’d probably have to be a seven-year-old child!

“Can I help you my dear”?

She said. In my turn I told her I needed the taxi rank so we could get home. Suddenly her voice came from somewhere near the floor – Right down by the dog’s ear in fact! I was astonished to hear her giving complicated and detailed instructions on how to get there to my Retriever!

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I cried in true Hollies fashion for those of you who remember the song.

“Have you not heard of deaf dogs for the blind”?

“Oh no! Don’t tell me this poor animal has to work though she’s deaf”!

She said, equally alarmed. I was quick to notice she extended not the same concern for the fact that I have to shop though I’m blind.

“Well yes but it’s a simbiotic relationship we have”,

I said in a calm voice designed to reassure this frantic spectacle of a dog loving passer-by.

“You see each has something the other needs so each compensates for the other’s loss”.

“Oh I see! How marvellous! You so obviously love her and she’s so beautifully cared for”.

I refrained from telling her she lived on a diet of whisky, raw sausages, cigarette ends and tissues and beamed with pride and pleasure at my lovely old dog’s appearance. I wonder what the woman thought as she heard me say:

“Forward”

to my obedient and well trained dog? Was she amazed as the dog moved off with me keeping up the rear? Perhaps she thought she lip read!

RAIN DROPS KEPT FALLING ON OUR HEADS.

Shopping and weather conditions don’t take account of one another as I’m sure you know. If it’s wet and shopping is needed it has to be done regardless.

One day my lovely Labrador, Esme, and I, were making our way to the shops in very wet weather when I was stopped by what can only be described as a fool. She very indignantly asked why Esme wasn’t wearing shoes and a coat! I, very patiently at first, proceeded to point out that all that hair which I’d have to dry on our return home was in fact a coat – A dog’s coat which is water proof and that Labradors, so named because they originate from Canada, where it’s cold enough to freeze the ‘’’’’ ah well now I’ll leave you to fill in the missing words – Means they’re quite hardy. I also pointed out that her harness, necessary for her to wear so she knows when she’s on duty, wouldn’t fit if she wore a Mac. The woman then admonished me for looking after myself by seeing to it that I wore a Mac and boots, plus hat and told me I was being cruel.

“I’ve got a right one here”,

I thought and then remembered how I’d teased the lady who came to conduct market research at my door that time. I suggested in a moment of pure folly that perhaps she would like to give me her contact details so I could save my poor guide dog from the inclement weather and then thought how very unwise it’d be to entrust my safety to someone as dippy as she obviously was.

Then I tried the “pity the poor blind woman” angle:

“What about me? No hanging upside down in a cave for me though I’m as blind as a bat. No flying either which would be quicker. No dependence on sonar like radar and highly developed echo location. How will I eat? It’s fine for you I mean you can dodge between the drops. I can’t even see to do that and they’re all falling on me – Look at ‘em! Besides that if you hadn’t nobbled me we’d have been there and back by now and Esme would be dryer than she is now”.

I had hoped that the idea of her being able to dodge between the rain drops may focus her mind away from Esme and her neglected state and would mean I’d not be reported by her to Guide Dogs or the R.S.P.C.A for animal cruelty.

When I got home we then had ten rounds with the towel. Firstly the game begins, not with the sound of the bell which brings the opposing boxers out from their corners but with the entreaty from me to:

“Shake Es”, muttered desperately outside the front door where I hope she’ll oblige rather than waiting till we get in before shaking herself all over my recently vacuumed hall carpet. Of course she shakes inside which means I’ve lost the first round. Next comes pinning me to the bath as I attempt to dry her off with her towel; rolling on her back while I’m trying to dry it; standing on the towel when I try to dry her front paws and finally licking out my ears as I kneel to avoid back injury.

The technical knock out comes as Esme pushes me to the floor and rolls on me, wagging her tail in my face and I lay there completely floored while she wags to ten and then, convinced she’s a boxer instead of a Labrador, she stands to receive her prize – A pat on the head with my hand instead of a sledge hammer which I’m too weak to lift anyway, for being a good girl and helping me bring home the bacon. The entire afternoon is spent by me, inhaling the smell of wet dog which permeates the small flat in which I live long after Esme has been dried and which provides a jarring accompaniment to my deliciously cooked meal which Jamie Oliver would be proud to eat and the staff in my old blind school taught me to cook.

The question now remains as to who is going to volunteer to spare Esme the trouble of taking me out on a wet day? Answer came there none which is why I got a guide dog in the first place. Maybe soon they’ll teach our dogs to drive and we can all keep dry. Don’t tell me! There’s a dippy old girl at the bus stop near my flat who actually thinks that would be possible! Was it you? If so, do you mind getting a taxi next time it’s wet so I can go out and come home in peace? Thanks a lot. I’m very grateful.