I wanted to write this so anyone who finds the old posts I’ve written can see that these stories can have a happy ending. Being listened to and taken seriously and getting the help you need is undoubtedly an uphill battle, but it is not necessarily going to be your whole life. Someday it could be something you look back on.
I was curled in a ball on the stairs. I hadn’t stopped crying for days. Even speaking was difficult because the words weren’t conveying the physical pain I was in at the time. Thinking about it now makes me well up. The emptiness. The anguish. The desire to make it all stop.
Picture the scene: Mulled wine, a smorgasbord of delicious food, and endless choices of desserts. You’re surrounded by friends and family. The run up to this day, or this string of days, has been fraught with dashes into town to get last minute presents, wrestling with Black Friday website crashes in an effort to get the best gifts for your loved ones. It’s been stressful, but it’s been worth it.
Imagine how difficult that time period is for someone struggling with mental illness.
I had a little thought about motivation. Only a little one. But it inspired me enough to try make sense of it. Some of you may be aware that I have spent the last 5 weeks in St. Pats with a mental illness – something I may feel ready to discuss in detail, and in its entirety, with the world someday. I’ve spoken of elements of it before – depression and anxiety, and the onset of Seasonal Affective Disorder – but the whole story I may save for another day.