Like a lot of people I go through phases of wanting more privacy than my social media use affords me. I deactivate accounts and vanish for a bit and reappear and it’s usually a sign that I’m struggling with something else in life. I’m not very good at admitting to the people I know and love when that happens, let alone the world at large.
But I was, historically, fairly honest here when things were tough, and when they were getting better – partly because it saves me having to have actual conversations with people about it. I didn’t give all the details, maybe, because public, duh. But really, not many people read these posts, except people who know me IRL. No one seeks them out as far as I know (unless it’s people I’ve lost touch with for whatever reasons. If it’s accidental loss of contact – hi! If you’re stalking me after a bad departure – well, still, hi I guess, and you go ahead and take some bitter delight in that this isn’t a cheery entry). If you are a total stranger, well… there’s no advice here, or we all struggle cuddliness. This is a straightforward update.
Things are getting a bit tough again – I had what can only be politely described as a complete meltdown a couple of weeks ago. Lots of tears and a complete inability to reign in some seriously sad and dejected emotions, and it went on and on.
I’m usually pretty good at taking a step back and either figuring out the reasons for such emotions and fixing them, or recognising that I need to just back off for a bit and let things calm down in my head (shout out cognitive behavioural therapist c.2010 – I was listening!) Couldn’t do that this time. Not for a good few, rather scary, days, during which I was a nightmare if you were the object of my very unfair rage and inadequacies (sorry, parents), and a lesser nightmare but still not much fun if you were, say, my partner having to deal with me walking round like a leaking tap for about 36 hours, refusing to talk and cleaning the house in a sort of fury as if the washing up was to blame for everything, while planning running away of some vague sort.
Yes, I said running away. I’ve just turned 37. How very mature. But 37th birthday is now marked as the day that – after years of being fine – the thing my London doctor said would happen happened and my emotional gyroscope just quit working and left me spinning every which way and not functioning very well. I’m mostly all right now, out of the worst of that particular episode, but not kidding myself that I’m abruptly completely okay.
Yes I exercise. No I don’t actually drink much. Yes I try to stick to a routine. I’m oscillating wildly between being excited about all the stuff I’m working on and being completely overwhelmed. I’m getting annoyed on a stupidly personal level by people spouting platitudes over Mental Health Week; I don’t want to endlessly share u ok hun levels of ‘I’m sad’ anywhere else because, again, I just get pissed off (and yes my sad does come in more of a rage form). I don’t do well with honest to god advice like ‘get outside’ either, whether couched in well-meaning pretty get-back-to-nature stuff or the more to the point ‘fresh air helps’, because I have two dogs and I spend a lot of time outside actually thank you. And if one more person says mindfulness to me I will mindfully throw something at their heads.
This has turned into more of a rant than it was supposed to be.
Anyway. This isn’t an entry I’m going to share on social media, but if you check in with me, this is what’s going on. I’ll be sorting out medical help before the next round of crazy kicks in (it’s my mental health and I’ll call myself crazy if I want, thank you very much). If you know me in real life please don’t text me nice supportive things about this because I will not reply and I won’t want to talk about it. Just the usual ‘coffee, films, drinks’ please. Those things are good.
Still writing. Still reading. Still musicking. x
Bookworms and Coffee Monsters 