**I’m just putting a warning up here folks for this one as I’m talking Depression and pretty sure parts of this will make for difficult reading**
Alternative title: Maybe it’s just the medication change …
I am writing this in the wake of an emotional breakdown, my eyes are blood shot and painful, my cheeks are stained with tears and no doubt puffier than that of a B-list celeb after a botox binge and I’m tired. Physically and mentally tired. Everything feels too difficult to deal with. The slightest thing from my iPhone ghost-calling a work colleague and leaving her a voicemail of my Asda trip (glad I wasn’t deliberating on Tampons or condoms at that point!) to the cat pissing on the carpet in the front room (AGAIN!) just seems like a valid reason to shut the bedroom door and pretend that the world does not exist beyond my duvet.
Recently my GP and I have agreed to change my medication from Citalopram to Mirtazapine as not only has my Anxiety been flaring almost daily but many of my evenings have been spent dealing with the fall out from Depressive meltdowns. Crying has become part of my evening routine … Finish work, exercise class, shower, eat, bawl at the futility of everything while hugging the nearest thing (be it cat or kettle), green tea and bed.
It’s been difficult to explain to people exactly what has been happening, how I have felt more and more dissociated from my environment, how for many hours in a day I have felt numb or worthless or overwhelming emptiness …
How I feel as though every breath I take is a waste.
How I want to go to bed and stay there … To just not wake up.
It’s difficult to explain, no doubt it was difficult to hear for those I explained it to … But it was necessary to explain, it was necessary for them to hear it. I needed to reach out, I needed to ask for help … On some level I knew (I know) that feeling the way I do isn’t right, that I hadn’t just walked through a fog but had instead tripped and fallen straight back down the rabbit hole. Back into the darkness with the baying demons and haunting monsters, dragging my fingernails along the prison walls of the labyrinth as I try to count how many times I’ve been here before and cursing myself for not dropping crumbs to highlight the way to go on my previous ventures here.
The signs were there that I was starting to break, others noticed it before I did … I guess it highlights the support network that I have in place (thank you lovelies). In this instance it was my other half and (surprisingly) my Yoga instructor (K) who saw me fraying and ultimately snapping despite my insistence that I was ok when really I wasn’t. Any conviction I had in my wellbeing dissipated when I could no longer fake a smile.
So … I am back at rock bottom with a lot of climbing to do so bear with me, this journey will probably be an arduous one …
To any of you out there struggling with Depression or Anxiety or any other Mental Health Disorders have a massive squidgy Ruebi ((huggle)) and a reminder that you are not dealing with this alone – I’m totally with you. Much love and stay strong, we can get through this!
PS – I am totally hooked on Olly Murs – “You don’t know love” at the minute to the extent it’s part of my distraction technique when I feel the depression grasping hold and I’m sat in the office … Now, I can neither sing nor dance so pretty sure this feels like absolute torture to my colleagues, especially when they can’t get to the printer due to my twerking ass, but it is certainly preferable to the blubbering wreck I am once I reach the sanctity of home.