Depression is like the bad pair of tights.

Everyone who wears tights (pantyhose) know what I mean about the bad pair of tights. They look just like any other innocent, well behaved pair of tights in your drawer but as soon as you are irreversibly out of the house for the day they will turn on you. The ankles will bag, the crotch rides down to just under the bottom of your skirt hem. Your whole day is spent trying to slyly adjust, pull and cope. You try and look like you aren't wearing Bad Tights. But the effort of running into every loo you pass, hiding behind bloke trying to adjust in public and performing all kinds of stealth gymnastics that everything falls to the wayside. Nothing is enjoyable, you can concentrate on anything and by the end of the day you are exhausted.

You throw the bad tights away, recognise with hindsight that something felt off when you pulled them on. They'd been brilliant tights up until now, just the right colour, not too shiny. You loved them dearly, hand washed them in the bath, never made them bobbily by wearing socks over them. Alas the Bad Tights are a constant, not tied to any one pair. The Bad Tights can be any pair, a previously loved pair, a pair in a multipack of otherwise wonderful well behaved tights or the greatest betrayal a previously trusted brand begins turning out only Bad Tights. For some people is not tights, it can be knickers they got from being comfy trusted friends to bum floss seemingly over night.

I've been really low recently, its been a Bad Tights day every day. Even when I wear jeans. Its so difficult trying to appear normal that everything else gets left behind. I'm back on the upswing now, which is quite nice.

I hope none of you are having a Bad Tights day,
Minnie xoxo