I am not (always) OK

My lovely friend shared this with me, saying she felt like she could have written it herself.
I completely agree with her.
Very recently, I have not been OK.
I stopped sleeping. It didn’t last a few days or a week or so, it lasted almost 8 weeks. Within that lack of sleep, I then became physically unwell. I am still fighting off the last of that virus, 4 weeks on. The sleep deprivation was bad enough. Coupled with being unable to run due to injury (still) and then getting physically ill as well, lets just say, I well and truly freaked out.
Did I tell anyone? No. It was my little secret. Not so-little-secret. I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want my friends or family worrying about me, or potentially treading on eggshells around me. It probably slowly became apparent to friends and family that things weren’t right; I snapped at my poor husband for no apparent reason; sometimes creating a tension so strong nothing could have broken the awkwardness. Every tiny little thing that happened stressed me out beyond any kind of reasonable measure; I had lost it. I started to dread leaving the house and avoiding it as much as possible (thank god for Rufus, because 9/10 when I did leave the house for him, it wasn’t that bad). I was turning up to hospital appointments an absolute mess; blotchy red face, tears streaming, snot everywhere, panic attacks imminent; bless them for being so warm and friendly in those 15 or so minutes – probably saving my sanity. I reached out to therapists galore, (within reason) reaching dead ends everywhere I turned. The worst was probably when, in doing an emergency stop whilst driving, I managed to smash open a 5L tin of paint across the back seats of my car, triggering a panic attack so bad, that, being unable to get through to my husband for help/advice/comfort, my poor old Mum must have thought I was dying when she answered the phone to my panicked state.
I’ve stumped myself now with what else to write.. or where I was going with this (standard attention/memory issues thanks to mental health) .. but – that’s ok, because this blog has done it for me. There is no need for me to try to put into words what she has so accurately already done. Every one of these points could not be more true for myself.
I am not (always) OK. And that is OK.

Special kind of stupid…!

Is it a special kind of stupid that, unable to sleep, gets up at gone 2am to get other stuff done instead… but of course has to investigate if it’s mud or THAT (elusive) spider from the other night on the doormat… only to find it is indeed THAT spider, bigger than originally thought, thus freaking self out so much that the hoover has now been abandoned on said doormat… spiders can’t survive a suck up the tube can they?! 😱😭😰 

Definitely special, right?! Other than organising myself for tomorrow and wrapping a Christmas present, my plans to avoid-screen-time – but encourage-sleep-time (instantly cancelled as I needed a torch to see around the rest of the house in case of more spiders.. 😰) were going to be getting the last of the bins and recycling emptied and out ready for the morning… however, access out of the front door is now abandoned until husband confirms spider is deceased…! Access out of the back door could definitely result in more spiders… so now I’m back to square-minus-1, as I’m now on the screen… convinced there are spiders all over me.. Genius. πŸ™„

Colouring it is then. (Lesley, if you’re reading this, I’ve now ordered a dot-to-dot…!)

There is no help

Every so often I come up with a new “biggest regret” but right now, it’s accidentally disengaging from mental health services help. This mental health services help that seemed to help me so much initially, that seemed to be so quickly received. Because now, there is none… 

Somerset Partnership Talking Therapies Service has a seemingly endless waiting list, my cautious approaches to private counselling and therapy have been met with “fully booked”, “no longer working privately” or, even simpler – just no response at all. And all alongside this, I’m making myself physically sick due to the inability to sleep, eat properly, make sense of what is whizzing around and around in my mind and I do not know where to go next or what to do. I know this can’t continue but I really, honestly cannot see an end. Not now, not soon, not ever.

I’ll admit, that I have been judging a book by its cover in my approaches for private therapy. On the BABCP register I have looked only for female therapists ~ because right now this is what feels right for me. I’ve looked barely at any qualifications or experience and looked more at their pictures; if they have none, they are automatically out of the running, if I don’t judge them to look familiarly friendly then once more I’ve deemed them unsuitable for me. This obviously narrows down my options but it’s got to work for me, I’ve got to feel comfortable, safe and secure in who I seek help from. That’s important when dealing with mental health, for me anyway.

How have our services got this bad? How has our mental health become so out of control that there is quite literally no help left?