Just when you think you’ve reached rock bottom, there’s always a few more rocks to hit on the way down. I think I may have reached it now. But then again, I really don’t know.
Sent home by occupational health, I’ve never been so relieved and yet so guilty. I feel like a complete failure. I can’t even do my job. Relived because I can’t even explain how exhausting it is, trying to put on a normal face. It takes up all the energy I have, to concentrate, to try and talk, to break down in tears every other minute. I’m tired of feeling so tired of life.
But guilty, as someone pointed out ‘but you don’t look ill?’ How am I meant to look? How does a mental illness look? Pulling my hair out? Head bowed down? Dirty face, dirty clothes? Mental illness doesn’t discriminate between social classes, anyone can suffer from a mental illness. We all start from some point and spiral out of control. Sorry if I don’t look ill, but my mind is. I’ve done some horrible things to my body to try to take the pain away, none of it successful. Which is why I’m still writing this.
How do I fix it? I wish I knew. I wish I could flip a switch in my mind, from sad to happy. From hopeless to hopeful. I know it’s up to me, to find the drive, the determination to want to get better. But sometimes I have so little motivation all I want to do is fall asleep and never wake up. I’m ashamed of myself for feeling that way, but I’m tired of doing this life day in day out.
If I had a broken leg, it would be put in a cast, no weight bearing for some time, maybe physio then gradually, start using it again. If only we could do that to the part of our minds that are broken. If only.
Time will tell, and the antidepressants I used to rely on are back. I feel like a zombie when I take them, but if I’m happier, then maybe a happy zombie has to be better than just existing.
tetheredinthedeepend 