This is a blog about depression. If you are easily offended or take offence to my very sarcastic humour, please do not read any further. Mental illness is not a joke; it is not something to point fun at and I fully understand that. BUT…when the going gets tough, sarcasm and humour is my defence and so I will be parading it around all over this blog.
If you need help, please get it. Whilst I hope this has a happy ending, I don’t know yet and given I’ve not been able to fix myself, I really don’t want others using this as a ‘How To Be Happy for Beginners v2.0’
Wednesday doesn’t go to plan. The alarm goes off, I get up but I don’t think I can face leaving the flat today. After breakfast, I sit on the sofa. I have an awful habit of delaying doing things but then not enjoying the time I’ve got before doing it. Does that make sense? So, if I say I am not going to sort my emails until 1100 and it’s only 0900, I worry from 0900-1100. So really, there is no point delaying it in the first place. I am worrying if I should go in or not. Basically, up until 1030, the latest I can leave to make it in for 1100 therapy, I can’t relax. I know I am not going in but I can’t relax. Patient N3 is leaving today and I wanted to say bye, I message the whatapp group asking them to say bye for me. 1030 comes around and I still can’t relax. It’s only once it gets to 1105 that I can finally ‘admit’ I am not going in.
I should get up and dressed, I should wash my face, brush my teeth and ‘get going’. I don’t. Instead, I flick through the Sky recordings and pick something suitable light hearted to keep me company. Whilst on the sofa, munching through some Jaffa Cakes, my phone rings. It’s a withheld number. I don’t answer. Withheld numbers scare me. What if it’s work telling me I’m fired? What if it’s the hospital telling me that there has been a mistake and I’m liable for the full bill? What if it’s something equally as scary? I know the answer to all the above is, at worst, I’ll get through it. I’ll find a way to cope. But, sat watching the phone, it scares me. They leave a voice message. It’s my NHS GP. So, time for a history lesson! I’ve not seen my NHS GP in years. I am very lucky to have corporate medical insurance which includes seeing GPs. The last time I saw my NHS GP was after a significant period of stress. Dr Y leaves a message to state they’ve received a report from Dr. E and they are very sorry I am struggling so badly. They’ve been asked to write a ‘fit note’ for me which they have done and left at reception. What? How can my NHS GP write a ‘fit note’ when they’ve not seen me in years? I thought the private GP was going to write it? Does this mean work don’t have any ‘fit note’ in place for me at the moment? I re-listen to the call and pick up that it’s been written for the next 2 months. What? I’ve not been told this. Why haven’t I been told how long I am being signed off for? Can I go back to work before the ‘fit note’ date? I can’t take another 2 months off. I can’t I can’t I can’t. I mean, I can, obviously but no, how will I cope with nothing to do? There is only so much colouring that is healthy in one’s life. My head goes into panic mode. I am extremely anxious. The anxiety also leads to punitive thoughts such as ‘why can’t I cope with simple, everyday ‘Normal’ worries? Why can’t I answer my own phone?’ I know, logically, it will all get sorted out. It’s not like I swanned off on 7th February and I’ve been AWOL since. I was admitted to hospital, therefore surely, a doctor somewhere, NHS or not, can write a ‘fit note’ to attest this fact. I therefore shouldn’t need to worry but my brain isn’t working like it should so I sit and panic whilst munching through 36 Jaffa Cakes!
The panic continues for a few hours until c.1600. I finally decide to do some colouring. The tv stays on for company but I get on with a new colouring book. It’s another colour by number style book so I can’t tell what the picture is going to be yet. I sit there for a few hours when I get a message from Colleague. We are both in a dark place but they attended day care today. They found it useful. Damn it, maybe I should have gone in. We message a bit more and I tell them I am not sure what the point is anymore. How am I going to get through this? How am I going to have a future? They wisely tell me I need to discuss this in therapy as well as with the psychiatrist. They urge me to go in tomorrow.
I carry on colouring until 0200. No this is not the healthy sensible time, especially as I need to get up in time to wash my hair and get to hospital tomorrow. However, it is what it is. I crawl in to bed feeling worn out and confused.