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’
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Tuesday’s schedule includes a 1:1 with my psychiatrist. Therapist L has challenged me to tell Dr. E about the ‘incident’. I know that, the more I say it, the less shame I give it however, knowing and doing are not the same thing. On the bus on the way there, I feel nervous. Not just my usual anxiety about these appointments, an even bigger heap of nervousness has been added to it.
I walk in and know that the only way I’ll get it out is to bring it up within the first few minutes. Following a check in of how the last 2 weeks have been (1 crap week, 1 great week) I start blurting it out. I cry as I tell her. It’s true though, I do feel less ashamed having said it out loud yet again. She doesn’t recoil in shock and horror (my fear), she doesn’t think this means I am bad to the very core (my belief), in fact, she says a lot of things now make more sense. She tells me outright, I am not a bad person and that I don’t need to punish myself for the rest of my life.
Dr E has been asked to submit a report for the income protection insurance. She tells me it would be good not to use it but she’s going to recommend I need another 4-6 months. What? Hold up, what the hell? No, I don’t agree to this. Yes, I have bad days but I also have good days. Yes, I can’t get out of bed some days but there are days where I am up, dressed and out the house. No, this can’t happen. I ask her if it can be retracted if I am going ok in a couple of weeks. She tells me yes, it’s a lot easier to retract then to try a last minute submission. Shit, I need to think about this. Rolling onto income protection now feels real. Since submitting the forms, I’ve not thought about it but now, it’s only a few weeks away. I really REALLY don’t want to use it. I want to go back to work and be ok. I leave the appointment quite shaken up. This emotional state is a key trigger for binging. Heads up, I binge!
I’ve planned on getting lunch from Boots and using my advantage points to pay for it as a money saver. I do, but I also slip into M&S and spend another £4.99 on junk food. I’m down to £3 for the next 2 weeks. Double bugger. I know I am not ok given the pack of biscuits and lime and lemon jaffa cakes I’ve just placed in the bag.
I get the bus home and I’m sweating. Literally sweating. Someone said how lucky I am to be off sick during the summer. No, no no no no no. Dude, please, think about what you are saying. I don’t want to be ill, I don’t want to be off work, I don’t want to be battling my mind every minute of every day. Plus, if I was at work, I’d be sat in a lovely air conditioned office rather than on a sticky bus using my God Sons Christening invite to cool down (Sorry Friend KT, I’m thrilled to be his God Mother and the invite is beautiful but it’s also thick card so nicely doubles up as a fan).
I consider going into the corner shop and getting a cold cider and an ice cream. No Person C, you don’t NEED either and this will only have to push you to use your credit card. I get off the bus and walk home. I’ve saved myself from a bit more debt.
The next few hours are spent on the sofa eating my way through the biscuits and jaffa cakes. Oh, and the lunch. After sabotaging my weight and bank balance, there really is only one last area left to destruct… my sleep. So, I have a 3-hour nap which is sure to stop me sleeping tonight.
My cats and I are not a fan of this weather so after my nap, we all decamp to sit in front of the fan. I’m telling myself tomorrow is a new day, a binge doesn’t have to translate as a binge week. As I lie in bed for hours unable to sleep (shock horror), I decide now is the perfect time to get on the scales. I’ve been avoiding them but I know things are bad. My weight has hit a new low… although that should obviously be a new high. 13 stone, 7lbs, I am 5ft 5inch so this is not a good weight for me. I am typing it to make me face up to the reality and also, so much of social media is only what people want to show you, I may as well reveal everything, lbs and all. Bugger! I know how, I’ve been the one putting hand to mouth with goodies. If I’m going to get out of this, and boost my endorphins, I’ve simply got to stop saying ‘tomorrow’ and start saying ‘NOW!’. I’ve seen some inspirational quotes along the lines of ‘no one will love you if you don’t love yourself’. I know, they are ‘pass the bucket’ nauseating but they have a point. I don’t like me physically or mentally. It needs to change. I can’t blame being in hospital now given I’ve been out for 3 months (oh my gosh, where the hell has that time gone?!). I don’t want to roll into income protection for a variety of reasons so time to put my big girl pants on, swallow my pride and get this wide arse into Lycra. Acting on this reactiveness, I book into a spin class at the gym I’ve been paying for but not using. Stay tuned to see if I actually go (and if I do go, if I survive). This will be as much a surprise for me as it will be for you!
Compos Mentis Me 