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.