What state do you live in?
Shit joke, sorry.
I’ve had a rough few weeks, and it’s really beginning to take its toll.
On Sunday I was rushed to hospital because I couldn’t breathe (initially, I thought it was a panic attack) and I felt hot, lightheaded and generally a bit shit – the paramedics turned up and basically said “you’re fine.”
I was not fine.
5 hours later after being poked and prodded, examined and x-rayed I was diagnosed with: (are you ready for this?)
– Costochondritis. (Which explains the heart-attack like feelings!)
– Lung infection. (Which again, really upsets the fact I need oxygen).
– Chest infection.
– Throat infection.
– AND “we’re worried that you may catch pneumonia if we start antibiotics now.”
HARDLY “FINE” EH PARAMEDICS?!
I mean, really?! How much crap can one little person take?
Anyway, that isn’t even the end of it – (FML, right?!)
Since New Years I’ve felt pretty crappy within myself. I don’t want to go out, I don’t want to do anything really.
University is very far from my mind at the moment, and with my dissertation due in 2 months I’m a bit (a lot) stressed.
My anxiety has been (and escaped) the roof.
Leaving one thing that’s constantly reoccurring in my mind…
What if I’m dying?
And no matter how irrational I know I’m being, there’s the anxiety chilling on my shoulder, telling me:
“yeah, but what if you’re heart is ACTUALLY stopping?”
Me: “The Doctors have given me the all clear. Everything came back healthy. I’m okay. My heart is fine. We’ve been over this.”
Anxiety: “What if you look at it from this angle?”
Me: “Oh wait… yeah, you’re right. Fuck I’m dying.”
This is practically every minute of everyday.
I’m scared I’m going blind, that my heart is stopping, that death is around the corner, that I can’t breathe.
Meaning, I’m constantly checking my pulse because I’m terrified it’s going to stop.
And yes, it’s embarrassing to admit, because looking at it written down really makes me look a bit… crazy.
Probably not the best choice of words, but to be honest, the way I’m feeling at the moment, I might ACTUALLY be.
Usually, if I’m panicking, I call my Mum. She gets it.
She talks to me like a human being, not like I’m unhinged.
As much as “try not to panic” sounds like a good, reassuring thing to say, DON’T, Okay? It’s not helpful. And you may say it to be well-meaning, but it’s not helpful because if I was being rational, then I wouldn’t be panicking!
Mum being the supportive being that she is suggested writing down my feelings and putting them somewhere, and doing so in my safe place.
Which I’m currently doing because in all honestly my blog is my safe place.
And writing is kind of helping? I mean I’m thinking about it and trying to rationalise all my stupid, irrational thoughts – and that’s got to be a good thing right?
Anyway, outlined on my previous post, I told you I was going to be talking to people on Monday because I need to get a hold of myself. I feel like I’m slipping, and I’m terrified. I’m not me, and people around me can tell.
So, I went to see a guy in my Uni to talk to him about everything, and basically unloaded on him everything I’ve tried to suppress.
My first huge step towards recovery! – and he basically told me “you have depression”
which was pretty crap to hear on top of everything else.
BUT, he says I have a pretty strong case to be referred for CBT, which I DESPERATELY want to do.
I need to know if it helps, and if it does, I’ll be all the better for it!
Then I had a call from the doctors to talk about removing the monstrosity that is The Implant which basically gives me (sorry fellas) periods every single fucking day, and that can’t be healthy.
So, come Monday, goodbye you horrendous contraption! – no regrets.
And finally, I had my letter through from Time To Talk (talking therapy) and honestly, I’m feeling a little stressed. You have to fit into their curriculum of symptoms and I’m not sure I’m going to qualify.
Sometimes you just need someone to talk to that isn’t a friend, isn’t family, is just an ear, and I need to rant about what’s happening to me because I don’t feel normal.
These feelings aren’t normal. No person should ever have to feel like I do.
It’s not living. Jesus. It’s barely surviving.
My anxiety has started to manifest its way into every thought I have, and it’s awful. I could cry every minute of everyday – but I won’t because it’ll achieve nothing.
That’s me, the little trooper.
And to be honest, I think the worst thing of all is that I have to rely on people. And I hate that.
I hate needing help and I hate relying on people FOR help.
And poor Mark has felt the brunt of it.
So, now I’m considering the following:
– & self help books.
Because there is more to life than this. (And if there isn’t, well life is pretty crap isn’t it?)
It’s just a tricky hurdle to jump over, but I’ll get there.
I’m going to take every day one step at a time. No rushing.
It’ll take time to heal, I know it will, but anxiety will NEVER define me.