Anxiety, depression, mental health

Side 2 of side 1. When we entered shit creek without a paddle.

We got back together. You know that yeh? It took some time for me to trust him again. Feeling on a knifes edge that any minute he could drop me again. He reassured me, we lived different lives now.

I was still doing my nurse training (half way through, which is the worst time where you really want to throw anything to do with reflective writing off a cliff). He had organised to go travelling for 6 months with his friend. And I accepted he wanted to do that.

Off he went, I went all the way down to Heathrow to spend one last night with him before he went off to do complete his millennial task of ‘finding himself’. I remember sobbing at the tube station of Heathrow, full snot bubble sobbing. But I trusted he needed to do this, and I had a lot on my plate as it was.

I can’t say it wasn’t a struggle. I missed him, his presence, his smell, just hugging him. And anyone who knows me knows I DO NOT let people hug me. I’m not a big personal contact person (despite being a nurse, I’m not hugging patients all day, I make an exception for the cuties).

There were times I said to my friends, and him “why am I doing this? It’s so difficult.” I even met him in Thailand for Christmas and it was lovely, I had a mini travelling experience with him which I’ll never forget. Especially when a Thai street food vendor stole my new pants! (I wasn’t wearing them as he stole them, that would of been awkward).

I met him when he got to his Europe leg of his trip in Rome, my favourite city. With hope there was just a month left before he would be back in sunny England.

Eventually he was back. We went back to having a semi-normal relationship. (Living only 60 miles apart has its challenges, especially the M6 on a Friday night!)

But there was one major MAJOR niggle. His father. Now, I know in-laws can be a pain in the arse at the best of times. But when someone goes out of their way to ignore you, not make conversation with you, decline you as a friend on Facebook (big deal in this day and age). It puts a lot of strain on how you feel about yourself, especially when you have anxiety and depression as it is. Obviously I thought “god he bloody hates me it’s so obvious.” And guess what, it turns out for once, my anxiety was completely correct. He who shall not be named told me. After noticing it himself and feeling trapped between the two of us, he confronted his father, who confirmed he didn’t like me. Due to how I had upset his son in the past…. WHAT?!

Now up until the end of our relationship, this wasn’t actually confirmed. I pushed on, was polite, attempted to build some form of relationship, but that’s hard when you’re provided with metaphorical circular breeze blocks.

I even had it out with the ex once, in my drunk and anxious state about why the hell shouldn’t his dad like me. I’m not a waster, I’m an RGN for Christ’s sake. To which, he launched at me and put his hands round my throat (red light?! Yeh probs). Probably, due to some delightful childhood experiences I just thought “okay, it’s fine I aggravated him, everyone lashes out now and again right?”

We carried on. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, who’s is?! But 95% of the time we were best mates. Totally in love, marriage talk, kids talk, the whole shabang!

He went away to sea, and forgot to organise his flights home early enough. Therefore missing my graduation. In-fact, he’s missed the majority of my life events (but muggins here still managed to blag time off placement and drive to DEVON, for his passing out parade. Which, I would like to add is 2 hours of standing and staring at people standing. YAWN)

Anyway, I don’t want to ramble. He went away for months on end. We were apart, I missed him but I got on with being me. During this time, as GP’s like to do. My anti-depressants were changed from citalopram to sertraline, as I was having palpitations. Citalopram can affect your QT interval and cause arrhythmias. So my GP panicked and off I went on sertraline.

Little did I know, this knew SSRI was doing sweet FA for me. My anxiety spiked. I wasn’t socialising enough, I was having angry outbursts at friends and family. Spending time off in bed not communicating with anyone.

There was even a time I didn’t think I loved him anymore. We stopped doing things together. Just sat around in a rut. When he touched me my skin crawled. Especially when I found him texting one of his ex’s. (I slapped him on this occasion –maladaptive anger.) He cried and begged me not to break up with him.

He who shall not be named noticed (fair play to him there) and suggested I get some therapy. I self-referred into the wonderful 18 week waiting list for talking therapy.

But things weren’t getting better. I was having them butterflies all day. I had to lay in bed in the morning and rock myself back and forth to distract me from the fear. The low self-worth, the dark thoughts. But knowing I had no reason to feel this way.

I was always scared. Always felt judged, by everyone, and I mean everyone. It would make me tetchy especially after a drink. So I stopped going out drinking. I told him all this. I expressed my darkest feelings to the person I trusted with all my heart. And it backfired. Big time.

See you for the finale!

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Anxiety, depression, mental health

Bloomin’ well did it didn’t I!

Not only did I go to my Dad’s, he persuaded me to see if I could get back some comedy tickets I had got the ex for Christmas, which he binned. And I did. I rallied up a fellow comedy friend and off we went.

I was terrified like, bricking it. Being out of the house that long! every part of me was saying “don’t go!”. But I did it. And my god was it the best distraction. If only for an hour and a half I forgot the world, and my mind. There were moments of hurt, panic and sadness. Where I wondered why I was doing this.

But my god was he hilarious! I never knew the call of a barn owl could be integrated into a comedy gig!

I’m on a massive come down now. Bill Bailey was my MDMA for the evening (don’t worry I didn’t actually take MDMA). And today I’m feeling it. How can you have a come down from feeling glimpses of happiness?! It’s like I feel guilty and didn’t deserve to feel that way.

So here I am again. In the cyclone thoughts of my mind. Punishing myself for even thinking things could possibly be okay.

When will it end? (I’ve also just realised despite the positive aspects to going out, look at me turning it negative! I just can’t help it.)

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Anxiety, mental health, Uncategorized

My heart might be healing, but my head isn’t.

I’ve had a wild one today. I did a lot of hoovering (always found it very therapeutic). Unfortunately as I hoovered, I wasn’t channeling Freddy Mercury in the ‘I want to break free’ video. Think more dishevelled toddler.

My mood has been quite settled today. Flat really. But I’m recognising that I’m getting into a bad habit. Slightly agoraphobic. I went two doors down to my grandma’s, and being out sent ripples of nerves through me. What do I really have to fear at my grandma’s?! I mean, she could stab me with a knitting needle, but I think I’d have the upper hand in running away fast.

This has happened each time I’ve been out over the last week, after ten minutes, POW, there it is, my heart pounding, my stomach dropping, the beads of sweat wherever it is possible to sweat.

Explaining such fear to others when you’re clearly in a safe environment can completely go over their head. And guess what world? Saying “Calm down” is as much use as a one legged man in an arse kicking competition. It’s not happening.

The fear is going to be there if I’m feeling calm or not. I only expect something bad to happen. The butterflies throwing themselves around are telling me to expect the worst, always.

So, I’ve become to see my Mum’s house as my ‘safe place’. My new comfort blanket, if you will. The pesky parrot on my shoulder chirping up “You don’t know what could happen out there, most likely hurt and pain. Like, look at you, you’re a mess anyway who wants to see that. Stay here it’s warm and there’s more TV choices.”

With each day that goes by, my heart heals ever so slightly, and I mean slightly. My trust is on its arse, hate is starting to build. But utter disbelief and grief is still there. Holding hands with the anxiety and depression which is always going to be my toxic under-current.

I’m still in that well, and it’s been snowing so it’s freezing down here. But my friend sent me down a blanket.

With every minuscule piece of strength I can muster, tomorrow I am going to go out. I’m going to see my Dad. I am.

I don’t want to push myself too far and end up freaking out Britney 2007 style – but I’m actually going to try and go back to my flat. Pick up post, see how I feel, bin some stuff.

But the butterflies are raging. The associations with my own home hurt me too deeply.

Wish me luck. Or send meds.

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