We moved. To a new city.
A new country.
My husband cut his hours. He started full-time university.
Little miss started a new nursery.
I increased my commute. By three hours a day.
Stress coming from all angles. But I was ready. Hell, this is the kind of thing I used to thrive on. Hand me a challenge, and I was in my element. Exploring the area museums and looking up library times. Finding new running routes. Navigating the area's public transportation.
I multitask with the best of them. I learn new cities quickly. Taking the train to work felt like coming home again. I could do this.
I made running part of my commute. I read books on the train. I budgeted on Saturdays. Slept in on Sundays. My husband did mornings. I did the evenings. It's been busy but we were adjusting.
And then I wasn't.
I've started running because I'm supposed to...not because I want to.
That's if I manage a run at all.
I worry that leaving before my daughter wakes up and getting home after her dinner will scar her for life.
I worry that I will miss the train.
That we will run out of money.
That my daughter will get sick.
That my husband will die.
Worry worry worry worry worry worry worry.
The anxiety is back.
I play the "is it normal" game.
Is it normal to wish for bedtime when it is only 10am?
Is it normal to want to go back to sleep but be too restless to stay in bed?
Is it normal to want to not want to eat?
To want to eat everything?
To want it all to stop?
To be scared of what would happen if it did?
The dark thoughts are returning.
I am a bad mother because I can't provide.
I am a bad mother because I spend all my time working to provide.
I am a bad mother because I didn't enjoy hide and seek today.
I am a bad mother because we played hide and seek instead of practising phonics.
The intrusive thoughts have creeped back in.
I wanted my last post to be one of hope. To show all of you who are battling that there is light at the end of the tunnel. To let all of you who love me know that I was okay. To tell all of you who have shied away that I was me again.
All of that is true. I did get better. But this illness has affected who I am. How I deal. I still try to tackle life head on but this illness doesn't always let me.
With depression comes self doubt. I wonder if I'm making it all up. Whether it's worse in my head than it really needs to be. Whether I just need to work a little harder to pull through.
It isn't that easy. With depression, it will never work that way.
I didn't want to call the doctor, afraid of taxing a system when I was so new to the area. I didn't want to admit I needed help because it felt like admitting defeat. I didn't want to waste their time if I was just having trouble acclimating to change.
These thoughts sound silly when I'm well.
Yet I listened and didn't call.
I met our health visitor on Friday.
It took her five minutes to see what I had been trying so hard to hide.
I saw the look in her eyes and it brought me back to those early days with miss. I cried and said I didn't want to be back at the beginning. That I'm scared that this isn't over.
"You aren't at the beginning. You just need some help getting over some big hurdles. We can give you that help. Let us."
I made the call. I see the doctor this week. My health visitor is visiting again as well.
The depression is trying to tell me I'm at the bottom of that deep dark hole again. I know I'm not.
It is dark but I will get out.
I am well, just not fully healed.
Two steps forward, one leap back....that's still progress.
A new country.
My husband cut his hours. He started full-time university.
Little miss started a new nursery.
I increased my commute. By three hours a day.
Stress coming from all angles. But I was ready. Hell, this is the kind of thing I used to thrive on. Hand me a challenge, and I was in my element. Exploring the area museums and looking up library times. Finding new running routes. Navigating the area's public transportation.
I multitask with the best of them. I learn new cities quickly. Taking the train to work felt like coming home again. I could do this.
I made running part of my commute. I read books on the train. I budgeted on Saturdays. Slept in on Sundays. My husband did mornings. I did the evenings. It's been busy but we were adjusting.
And then I wasn't.
I've started running because I'm supposed to...not because I want to.
That's if I manage a run at all.
I worry that leaving before my daughter wakes up and getting home after her dinner will scar her for life.
I worry that I will miss the train.
That we will run out of money.
That my daughter will get sick.
That my husband will die.
Worry worry worry worry worry worry worry.
The anxiety is back.
I play the "is it normal" game.
Is it normal to wish for bedtime when it is only 10am?
Is it normal to want to go back to sleep but be too restless to stay in bed?
Is it normal to want to not want to eat?
To want to eat everything?
To want it all to stop?
To be scared of what would happen if it did?
The dark thoughts are returning.
I am a bad mother because I can't provide.
I am a bad mother because I spend all my time working to provide.
I am a bad mother because I didn't enjoy hide and seek today.
I am a bad mother because we played hide and seek instead of practising phonics.
The intrusive thoughts have creeped back in.
I wanted my last post to be one of hope. To show all of you who are battling that there is light at the end of the tunnel. To let all of you who love me know that I was okay. To tell all of you who have shied away that I was me again.
All of that is true. I did get better. But this illness has affected who I am. How I deal. I still try to tackle life head on but this illness doesn't always let me.
With depression comes self doubt. I wonder if I'm making it all up. Whether it's worse in my head than it really needs to be. Whether I just need to work a little harder to pull through.
It isn't that easy. With depression, it will never work that way.
I didn't want to call the doctor, afraid of taxing a system when I was so new to the area. I didn't want to admit I needed help because it felt like admitting defeat. I didn't want to waste their time if I was just having trouble acclimating to change.
These thoughts sound silly when I'm well.
Yet I listened and didn't call.
I met our health visitor on Friday.
It took her five minutes to see what I had been trying so hard to hide.
I saw the look in her eyes and it brought me back to those early days with miss. I cried and said I didn't want to be back at the beginning. That I'm scared that this isn't over.
"You aren't at the beginning. You just need some help getting over some big hurdles. We can give you that help. Let us."
I made the call. I see the doctor this week. My health visitor is visiting again as well.
The depression is trying to tell me I'm at the bottom of that deep dark hole again. I know I'm not.
It is dark but I will get out.
I am well, just not fully healed.
Two steps forward, one leap back....that's still progress.
