I’m not OK.
I don’t know how to dress that fact in another way.
I don’t think there really is another way to say those words.
I, a human being, am not doing well.
There isn’t any particular reason for it, as such, there was no major trauma or ‘reason’ for me to end up in the spin cycle that is mental illness. Hormones or chemicals in me just aren’t doing their bit to ensure I don’t end up crying pointlessly at a blank page.
Yes, I am approaching this information in a very nonchalant manner because trust me, there’s no point in getting even more worked up or trying to trace the loose thread that is the cause of my mental state right now. I spent years trying to figure it out, believing something terrible had to happen before you can be depressed and then questioning whether I was making it all up because I hadn’t lost someone dear to me or experienced something hugely terrible.
Depression doesn’t need a reason to come in and fuck up your life, it just does.
After a low point that saw me slipping out of some habits I took a while to form, which I already explained in a previous post, it finally hit me.
I need help.
In late 2016, I finally bit the bullet and went to my doctor and through a lump the size of a boulder in my throat (I hate crying in front of people), I explained it. I explained my periods under a rain cloud when I can just about function, get angry at the drop of a hat or become very cruel to myself. She spoke to me briefly before confirming I was depressed and help was there.
In late 2016, after about 2 session of treatment, I realised how unhealthy and unhappy my relationship had become. Cutting a longer story short, I ultimately ended that relationship and saw an almost immediate upswing in my outlook.
People commented that I seemed happier. I wasn’t experiencing the extreme low moods that left me crying myself to sleep. I allowed myself to mourn the relationship. It all seemed very good and even a little bit efficient.
After a particularly rough day of going through the emotional wringer, I’ve realised that I’m only halfway there to a good place and still need help going the rest of the way. After admitting this to myself (and crying mascara all over my face) I signed up for treatment.
It’s hard admitting you aren’t able to carry your problems alone but it isn’t a sign of defeat. Only foolish people believe they can take everything on alone.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ‘OK’ whatever that really means but I’m willing to spend as much time as I possibly can to get to a better place than I am now.
There’s so much that I want to do, taking care of myself is #1 priority though.