LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: Mental Health Blogger (Page 2 of 3)

Social Anxiety

Alternative title: Because the idea of interacting with people makes me feel sick … Even if said interaction is limited to saying “excuse me” to two old dears who are far too engrossed in their gossip about Derek and his weak bladder to notice that I’m trying to bulk buy bog rolls and that they’re in the way of the soft rolls … Needless to say, we now have the scratchy tissue. Way to go Anxiety! Nothing says home comfort like wiping your butt with toilet paper that feels like it’s made of poison ivy, nettles and acid!

I’m not sure what kicked this off … It could have been a particularly stressful time at work or the neighbourhood kids near knocking the door off it’s hinges at Halloween in search of sweets or the meeting with the Therapist (probably more so the events leading up to it) or my brain just feels overwhelmed all of sudden. Whatever is the catalyst is a rather moot point, because ultimately I’ve withdrawn from pretty much anything that involves associating with other people.

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Back to Therapy

**Not sure if there needs to be a warning but hey ho – I’m talking negative body image folks so heads up**

Alternative title: Because sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees. 

“And how do you feel about yourself?” She asks as she flips over the page of her notebook.

I wish she hadn’t asked me that. I sigh. I furrow my brow. The word is already there, on the tip on my tongue … Acidic. Abrasive. I really wish she hadn’t asked me that.

“I’m … ” I start, the tears already burning my eyes, I don’t want them to fall, I will them to stay where they are, eye balls swimming in them “… Grotesque”.

I say the word with a sickening level of warmth, as though doing so would cushion the meaning of it … It’s a word that my brain uses to taunt my reflection with, my brain never uses warmth.

The word just hangs there in the space between us, her eyes focused on me … I can feel them, I don’t meet them. It just stays there, along with silence … And I can’t decide which is more devastating.

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Open your eyes

Alternative title: Please don’t ever tell me to “just pretend to be happy” … Because the ‘happy’ you want me to be is a poisoned chalice. 

I make no secret of the state of my Mental Health, heck there is a whole category for it right here on this blog … And recently, it has been quite the state. My Depression has taken me into a free fall of intrusive thoughts, self loathing, thoughts of self harm, I’ve shed countless tears without really knowing why … So, as you can imagine, to be told to “just pretend to be happy” instead of receiving support threw me straight into the realms of isolating myself. It gave my Depression exactly what it wanted.

I’m not entirely sure what’s worse … The fact this instruction was given so nonchalantly or the fact that because of that one sentence, I actually felt ashamed of myself for having this illness. Because yes, Depression is an illness. 

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Down the Rabbit Hole

**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.

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