The level of difficulty I’m having putting a post together is probably the most telling aspect of my current state of mind. I’m unfocussed in the extreme, concentrating on anything for longer than a few minutes is virtually impossible. At home, I’m driving Hubby crazy wandering around the house and half doing things then walking away and leaving a trail of chaos behind me. I didn’t even realise I was doing this till he very gently pointed it out over the weekend as being one of my tells. At work, I’m staring at my inbox as though everything in it is written in a foreign language that I’ve never seen before. My desk is a mess. I don’t know where my head is at. I’m flitting between low, indifferent, angry, back to indifferent, up to ok when I’m distracted………….there’s no continuity. Something doesn’t feel right but I can’t put my finger on what. There are quite a few things jumping out that are classic signs of depression rearing it’s head – guilt, lack of motivation, irritability, low mood, complete and maddening inability to focus – and then there are a few that are all my own, but also recognisable signs that all isn’t as it should be. Top of the list? Therapist. When I slip, I feel like the she’s only person in the world who can help, but she’s the very person I can’t speak to 99.9% of the time. I want to talk to her all the time, yet at the same time am so ashamed and resentful of this need that I want to walk away. Again. But then the thought of having to manage without her support is terrifying and makes me feel even worse. It’s a vicious cycle, one I don’t know how to break, and it’s driving me crazy!!! I’m honestly starting to think that there’s a part of my subconscious deliberately trying to sabotage me.
I’m also angry about a lot of things. Yet again, we’re dealing with a slip. Maybe not a bad one, but a slip none the less. I can see the effect it has on my family – Hubby looks worn out, and is so stressed, my kids are acting up, big time. We had teenage type strops from D this weekend (he’s 5), but what’s worse is how badly I handled it. I roared at him. I don’t shout at my kids. All it does is wind me up, wind them up further and create a fight. I talk to them. But not this weekend. This weekend I was so reactive, and I hate when I’m like that. I’m angry because I feel like this demon on my back is never going to go away, not really. It might hide for a while, but as soon as I let my guard down, it’s back. I’m angry that I’ve had to try 8 different kinds of medication, endure countless unpleasant side effects, and have yet to find one that works properly
And I’m tired. I’m tired of having to try so hard. Of feeling like I’m sucking the energy from a room just by being there. Of the negative loop running around my head. The guilt. The shame. The belief that I just need to try harder, that this isn’t really an illness. Hubby and I keep talking about some mythical point in the future when we won’t have to deal with this any more, when it will be under control and life will be relatively straight forward. Or maybe we’re just deluding ourselves, maybe this is how it’s just going to be for us. Two steps forward, one back.
There’s a question I’m having a lot of difficulty answering at the moment – ‘how are you doing?’
It’s so much easier to just say I’m fine. Given how long it’s taken me to write this post, it’s unlikely I’d be able to answer properly anyway. So how am I? I have absolutely no idea. None.