Goes without saying that I’ve abandoned this blog. I’ve left literally a year between posts. Bit of a shitty thing to do, I agree, so I’m here to have a chat with everyone, and kind of talk about what has been going on this past year. Grab a cuppa and have a biscuit (ideally bourbon or a custard cream but any will do) and get yourself comfy.
Right. It’s hard to know where to start really. I suppose it properly starts in January 2016. Things weren’t right with me, with work, or with my mental health, but I put it all down to “returning to work blues” and ignored it. I was going to have a good year, I told myself, and that was that.
Things didn’t improve, with work or my mood, so I decided obviously my job was the problem, and looked for a new one. The stars aligned, one fell into my lap pretty quickly, and I headed to Cuba, sure that when I returned, everything would be fine and good. I’d feel better, happier, and life would be great.
I love my job, I really do, but it’s probably the most stressful environment I could have dropped myself into. Pharmacy is a hectic, chaotic world, and I’m constantly dealing with people who are ill, some with simple ear infections and skin rashes, but others are dying, or their loved ones are dying and sometimes you’re in the firing line of their emotions. Their anger, their concerns, their fears for the future. I deal with it all, and it’s not always pleasant. It’s hard enough when your mental health is stable, let alone when it’s not.
And in September, my mood plummeted. I was struggling to get out of bed, I had no interest in anything. I couldn’t read, and I certainly couldn’t blog. I had no desire to do anything. I just wanted to sleep and ignore everyone. And that’s not a good place to be. So I finally admitted that I needed help. I don’t think I’ve ever been so shit-scared before a doctor’s appointment. I came so close to talking myself out of the appointment, saying that I didn’t need help, that I was fine and that I would feel better. Thank goodness I didn’t.
My appointment was difficult, I think I cried throughout the entire time I was sat with the doctor, and looking back, there was a lot wrong with the appointment, but I asked for help, and I got it. And it was like the sun bursting through the clouds, and I finally had a glimmer of hope. You don’t realise how far you are into depression until you get some help, and you suddenly realise that hiding from your phone, your friends and your life is not a healthy thing to do. But it was an easy coping mechanism. No one can tell you there’s something wrong with you if you don’t socialise with them regularly. I’m not perfect now, but I’m getting better.
And that’s all I hope for. To quote Glee, I am a work in progress. And you don’t know how good it feels to be able to say that.