So blogging (otherwise know as venting) has been too hard in the last year or so, because for most of the time I haven’t had Internet access. Thank you to the creators of the WordPress iPhone app because now I can go BLAH exactly when I need to, and not four hours later when it no longer feels relevant.
So I’ve moved back to Noosa. I’ve gotten married. A girl should be happy, right?
I don’t mind being candid about my life, and more importantly about the struggles within. This isn’t a ‘woe is me’ type thing (though maybe it subconsciously is) but I think that if everyone was completely honest about their lives, then others would find support and healing through sharing similar experiences. Does that make sense?
I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety disorder on and off since I was 17. It stems from a number of issues, mostly (and typically) from my childhood. No, I was never abused or beaten, my childhood was great comparatively, but we all perceive things according to our personality and values and experiences and filters. So what may not have bothered a lot of people has affected me. Maybe I’m too sensitive, maybe I just see things differently.
I’ve been on anti-depressants for the last two years. I finally came off them a few weeks ago. In the last two years I hid. I lost some friends (though luckily the good ones can be found again) because I couldn’t talk to anybody, barely even my parents (Mum quickly learnt to text). I spent a night in an emergency psych unit after almost overdosing on anti-psychotic drugs that weren’t even mine, and then pretended to be ‘better’ just to get out of there. I was self harming at work. I eventually lost my job because the anti-depressants affected my memory and concentration and I could no longer do my work. It’s been a rough couple of years.
I’m glad I’m off the medication. I mean it didn’t actually solve any problems (the clinical psychologist I saw helped a lot though) but just wrapped me up in cotton wool so that I didn’t feel as bad while I ignored all my issues (financial, emotional etc). Now that I’m off it, I’m feeling worse. Anxiety is back, and depression is looming. I can feel it just behind me. But I’m hoping I can fight it off without the drugs.
The doctor referred me to a psychologist who I see on Monday, and I can’t wait. I know that sounds strange. But it is so hard, being on the brink of an emotional explosion, every minute of every day. Worrying that I’m headed for another breakdown. The constant tightness across my chest. Not sleeping, always exhausted. Needing to talk to someone who can actually help me wade through the bog that I feel I’m sinking in, but not having anybody that fits that description.
I self-medicate with books and DVDs. I know that sounds laughable, but it’s hard on the people that live with me that see me dwelling in this fantasy world, not wanting to come out for more than five minutes lest I actually have to face everything in its overwhelmingness and I completely lose it. Every minute I can avoid thinking about anything to do with my life is a step backwards from the brink of self-implosion. These other worlds are my drugs.
And hopefully, this blog is my therapy.
I may just find my happy place.
