I’ve written a lot about my mental health struggles. The response has ranged from thank yous from people who are dealing with their own struggles and feel less alone. The “power to you” messages from those who support me. The “you over share, some things aren't meant for public knowledge” from people who seem to think there aren’t dark unbearable things in me I have only shared sparingly with only my closest people. And the flat out “don’t want to hear it” responses. To which I wave goodbye. But through it all I don’t feel I’ve even ever shared the truly raw parts of Mental Health struggles. I have run out of breath sharing some of the hardest times I’ve been though, but only after it’s overcome.
Today I share in the middle of the bad, from my couch, where my face is numb, my chest is heavy and empty all at once and I see no point in participating in life, which only feels like an endless shuffle through molasses. I am in sensory overload. I cannot stand most sounds or touches. I am in pieces.
After a good 4 months of not feeling so great mentally and going about all of my normal coping mechanisms to no avail, about 3 weeks ago I experienced a pretty severe depressive episode that required my husband to stay home with me. I got through it and have been wading on ever since, mask on. A new doctor gave me a good overview of why I have been feeling this way & I felt much better knowing why my psychologist, grounding baths, emotional eating habits had all done absolutely nothing for me. A few vitamin deficiencies & a lot of hormonal unrest seems to be the main culprits of my body & minds betrayal.
But, none of that stops the waves. None of that stopped me getting home last night from my brothers house, tired but fine, happy to be home to rest, in bed & intent on sleep when another episode came from nowhere. It’s the emptiness that I can’t stand, the nothingness, the not wanting to do or see or feel or taste anything. The thought of doing things that normally bring joy & comfort comes with a weight, a “why bother”.
My legs ache. Every episode I’ve had with my mental health, be it depressive or an anxiety attack, my legs ache beyond belief. I usually need multiple heat packs on them to make it stop. Last night my legs were pounding and my chest felt like a black pit. My husband came into the room & knew instantly. “You’re not feeling okay, are you?” And this is the part I hate the most. I cease to be able to communicate. I cannot find the words to express how I feel. I am suddenly reduced to gestures & single words.
I managed to ask if he would sit in the bathroom with me. A bath is another grounding thing for me. I have the water hot enough to make my skin red, it helps immeasurably. But it wasn’t enough. It was a battle between me trying to bring myself out of this void and my body doing the thing it naturally does, making the void wider, deeper and harder to climb out of. The panic comes with it then. Anxiety is something I live with daily. It’s a part of me that is almost a friend. A part of me that I knows I deeply, that I work with to get through life.But this is different. It’s panic associated with depression; a deep fear that the depression won’t pass. That I’ll be stuck this way, unable to function.
I couldn’t climb out. It took a relaxant that induced sleep for that feeling to abate. I had to ride out the feelings until the pill took hold and I couldn’t keep my eyes properly open and Jake had to help me out of the bath, get me dry & clothed. He had put on Gilmore Girls, heated heat packs for my legs and stroked my hair as I lay on the lounge. It took no time then for the drugs to take me off to sleep.
Today the abyss is still wide, still bottomless but I’m on a ledge. Close to the top but not quite high enough to get out. I’ve tried reading, another bath, food I usually love, & now a TV show. The heat packs are still on my legs, I have nothing to give to myself let alone anyone else.
Through it all Charli is ever watchful. Jake amuses her away from me on days like this but she can see it. I used to be so worried about her seeing me this way. Used to worry about being a terrible parent. After I finally made my way to the lounge this afternoon she took my face in her hands, “Mum why are you crying?” I shrugged. “You just feel sad?” I nodded. “Okay, breath with me, ready? In. And out. In. And out.” She done that for about a minute until “That’s, better, huh?”
It’s now 3:30pm. My Sunday is not what I hoped it would be and tomorrow morning I have to wake up and make life keep happening. I’m scared of the struggle ahead because I’ve been here before and the hopelessness feels insurmountable. My masks are handy for those days.
Just be mindful of this. This reality that it not only mine but Jake’s. That is terrifying and hard. Peoples hard days are no joke and it’s not their choice or their fault. And kudos to me. Because be it tomorrow or next week I’ll be okay again at some point and it will have been nothing but sheer will to push through the bad days.
Please be kind.
