It’s 2am again and I’m still awake. I’m assuming it’s a side effect from these tablets as for the past week or so I haven’t been able to sleep at all. The last few weeks have been hell on earth, although on reflection, I’ve realised how many good people I have around me. There is actually someone out there who would drop everything to be at my hospital bedside, there is a person who allowed me sleep on their sofa whilst I healed, there’s people who listened, gave advice, cried with me and talked me into sense when I’m not speaking sense. These people I can count on one hand, and I am so grateful for them all. I thought I had no one. Most of these people don’t even know what I’ve been going through, but they know somethings not quite right, they’ve checked up on me with a simple text and left me alone when I don’t reply. I respect them so much. I love them so much. So, if you’re reading this, you know who you are- thank you.
I’m in the spare bed room at my Dad’s house, well, my little sisters’ room when she stays here. I threw a strop when I first arrived as I was late being picked up from the airport, the bed sheets hadn’t been changed and the fridge was empty. I told my Dad he couldn’t drink the last coffee pod from the machine because it meant that I would be without one in the morning. I told my sister to make sure to get her stuff out of her own room before I go to bed as I don’t want to be disturbed in the morning before she goes to school. I told my brother I didn’t want to follow his 5 million Instagram accounts because I don’t want to see cartoons all day. What the fuck is actually wrong with me?
We sat in a restaurant yesterday and had a roast dinner, the woman eating her dinner across the table was clapping her jaw when she was eating her food. I could hear every chew, every bite and I felt like ripping my hair out. “Fucking animal, look at her, why is she eating like that”, I say, getting louder and louder. It’s like I wanted her to hear me, it’s like I wanted her to fight me. I couldn’t finish my food and I just wanted to get out of there. The tables felt like they were closing in on me and my brother was asking for dessert- “no Oliver, Rosie wants to go” my Dad says, and as quickly as he did I replied with a “no it’s not that I want to go, I just, I just have to”. As quickly as that we were out of there, in the car, the windows down, driving elsewhere, silent.
That’s the thing with these attacks, they come out of nowhere. From what was a nice family meal turned into something from a horror movie. Well for me anyways, no one had any idea. I would say this is a side effect of the medication, but it’s not, it’s the problem. It’s the little girl in me that doesn’t quite know how to deal with what she’s feeling, and she doesn’t have a teacher to make fun of or anyone to pick on in class so she’s lashing out at people she loves and cares for. She’s making a big deal out of the littlest, most inconvenient things that she wouldn’t usually bat an eyelid at and this is exactly the problem. This is exactly what the tablets are for. I wish I didn’t have to take these pills but some days I also wish I were dead- if the first is going to fix the latter then I’ve got to take them. Unfortunately, this isn’t something that I can meditate my way out of or read myself into a state of happiness. This is some real deep shit for me and I hate being so angry at myself, I hate being so angry at the world.
You see, as much as I want to be open and honest in my writing, this bad ‘patch’ I’m going through right now I actually cannot talk about. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want sympathy and I don’t want to be judged. The people who know needed to know and the people that don’t aren’t any less important. It’s just that some books are to be left closed and that’s okay. It’s okay to keep some hurt private, as long as you acknowledge it’s there and you are on a road to recovery. I might be able to talk about it in the future, but not now, it’s too raw. I will say it has been a relief to talk about it with a minimal amount of people I love and trust so if you are going through something I would say talk to at least someone about it. It really, really, fucking helps.
This is why I’ve come to my Dad’s house. There’s a running joke that my friend has that whenever there’s a problem I run away to Spain to recover and it’s true. Although, it’s not that I’m running away from my problems, it gives me space to think about what I need to think about, with a clear head instead of sitting in my home alone all day crying to myself. Being able to be around someone who won’t bring up the subject of what’s causing me pain, will not bring up the subject of mental health because he doesn’t believe it’s a thing and takes me for walks along the beach like a dog because he doesn’t know what else to do with me. It’s just what I need. This time around though when I told him I’m on the meds again, he didn’t tell me to stop them or that I didn’t need them which in my head rings alarm bells that I’m proper fucked up this time. He did comment on my weight gain though, “I’ve never seen you this fat before, usually people go the other way when they’re depressed, but you eat your way through yours”. Good old fatherly honesty, it’s honestly, wholeheartedly what I need.
Tomorrow I’ll be spending the rest of my time here with my second mum. As much as I want to be alone and lock myself away from the world at times I know it helps to surround myself with people I love and that love me back. Being made breakfast, lunch and dinner, playing board games, helping the kids with their homework and doing face mask’s (which usually brings me out in a big ol’ €1.99 rash) with my sister makes me feel a lot better. Just being around them makes me feel better. Even though it drives me insane when they argue with each other or their Mum, but such is life and such is kids, and it’s better than staying in bed all day eating myself to death in take-aways. So, when people assume I’m always swanning about on holiday in Spain, it’s like no, I’m literally going to stay at my Dad’s house, it just so happens to be a flight away.
In the time I’ve written the above I have moved from the bedroom, to the outside balcony (it started to rain), to sitting downstairs in the living drinking tea and eating biscuits (an English persons cure to everything). What I’m trying to get to the point of saying is, I haven’t been able to write recently. I haven’t had the energy to help anyone else other than myself and I’ve felt so uninspired by everything. TEDTalks are annoying me, anyone that pops on social media to talk about ‘mental health Mondays’ or ‘ways to connect to the inner you’ are pissing me off. It’s like, you’ve studied mental health for a bit and now you think you’re a fucking expert. Mental health issues are not something to be glorified, or to be made light of. It’s literally killing people, and yes having awareness and talking about it is great and all because it might help people feel comfortable to speak out before it’s too late but all it’s doing for me right now is annoying the fuck outa me. There are somethings in life that you can never become an expert in unless you’ve experienced it for yourself and I believe this is one of them. It’s like studying your whole life to be a painter and never actually painting- could you call yourself an artist? This is why the government have trouble relating to the poor, why white people can’t speak on what it’s like to be black and why social workers fail to help the vulnerable because they have no. idea. what. It. is. like. to. be. vulnerable.
You may have already assumed that as I haven’t been able to write or read any of the books that I love recently I haven’t been able to go into work either. I know if I were to go in I would either 1) smash an innocent colleagues head in with a keyboard 2) get sent home for inappropriate crying at my desk. Plus, trying to work around someone when their energy is off is not great, I do have such a huge self-awareness so for the last few weeks at work I took a laptop and worked elsewhere so I didn’t affect anyone else.
However, In the darkness there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel, and all this sadness has given me time to reflect on things I need to change and remove from my life to make it better. Part of that included handing in my notice. Yup, I’ve quit my job. But I’m not a total psycho, I’m actually going to work for a fantastic company in a role that I’ve dreamed about doing for years. I’m giving myself another week to grieve and then I’m back on my A-game to work my notice, enjoy the whole of June in the sun abroad and then to get stuck into my new managerial role. I am well aware life doesn’t always plan out to what you want it to be, but you have to put a deadline on moping around otherwise when will it end? If I relapse then cool, I’ll take a break and start again. What has happened has happened and it’s done now. I know the pills wont ‘fix’ me, I need to do that, by falling in love with myself again and working on my mindset and way of thinking. I can’t do any of that without a clear head, so if the pills are going to give me clarity then so be it.
So, my blog posts have been a bit sporadic (non-existent), I do apologise. I know I also promised a book a month but, in all honesty, I think I need to start doing more than just reading about doing more. I am human, and I don’t walk around with positive thoughts all day long so I feel obliged to give you some realness. Some days I wake up at 5am, meditate, exercise, look at my vision board, business plan, only fart on top of Mount Everest on a Sunday whilst screaming “I attract money in abundance” and some days I hit the snooze button, stay in bed and watch Netflix all day because I need to… and that’s okay. All I’m asking for is you to bear with me, I’ll be back to a better version of me soon I’m sure of it, I just got to give myself time to heal first.