Alternative title: Dear brain, there is only a certain number of sheep I can count jumping over fences before the farmer loses his shit and bellyaches that his flock has disappeared into the night … So go to sleep already!
Brain: “Hey, hey, pssst! Oi!”
Me: “zzzzzz – huh? Dude it’s 3am”
Brain: “Did you remember to lock the front door?”
Me: “Yes I remembered to lock the front door”
Brain: “Are you positive?”
Me: “Yes I’m positive…Now go to sleep”
Brain “… Did you lock the back door?”
This fun exchange happens in various forms between the hours of 2am and 6am most nights … Which inevitably has a knock on effect to my waking hours to the extent that the other day my brain told my body that the world was ending after a fax machine threw a wobbler and wouldn’t stop screeching and barfing paper everywhere.
It sounds silly…I know it sounds silly…But in that moment, with my body telling me that it is terrified and that we can’t stay where we are because there is a danger there, all I wanted to go was curl up into a ball and just let the Anxiety run its course…To just shy away from the world…With the Depression telling me that we need to be hidden away.
Instead I booked in to see my GP (again) … I froze at the sight of the medical student sitting opposite her, I stammered my way through the questions, I twisted my hands in knots, I tried to hold back the Anxiety. I tried to hold back the Depression.
I always seem to be trying.
I trudged into work with a new prescription, I sat at my desk mulling over the fact I was now on the maximum possible dosage, I held my head in my hands as my mind raced. Overwhelmed. I wanted to scream and shout and cry and throw everything I could get my hands on (… Especially that sodding fax machine!).
I basically just wanted to have a full on tantrum complete with flailing legs and arms and snot bubbles until exhausted … Then go home, grab the biggest duvet I own and have an ‘X-Files‘ marathon while stuffing Jelly Tots into my mush.
Instead of taking that approach (the approach I actually wanted to take), I gave myself time to compose myself as best as I could then admitted to the boss that things weren’t right … That I wasn’t right, and I didn’t have the energy to pretend that I was.
(I then spent the afternoon contemplating throwing my desk load of paperwork in the shredder).
So in that essence I’m not about to write a post on here pretending that I’m ok when I really don’t feel like I am. I’m struggling a bit. I know this is normal in the process, I know that I will have these bad patches, I know that it will just take time and understanding and patience.
Doesn’t stop me wanting to throw an epic bitch fit about it though.
I’m sorry for the very whingy post…Hopefully this time next year I’ll have another ridiculously daft Farmageddon post for you lovely lot to giggle at!
I’ll leave this here in the meantime: