Somewhere in trying to recover I’ve lost myself. In trying to be all the things I feel like I am nothing.
A list of the things:
Mother, runner, fundraiser, friend, wife, reflexologist, pet owner, mental health advocate, blogger, house mover, budgeter… there’s probably more.
There are things I should care about but I just don’t right now. Things like the excitement of moving into our new home in a week. Nope. Not bothered. Don’t care (as long as it’s going ok. As soon as there’s a problem I care so much that I flip out).
Things I care too much about:
My weight gain.
The things I struggle with right now (like going to the shops)
My perceived flaws and failures
My lack of running
I feel lonely and useless so I switch off. Switching off means I can still maintain a level of productivity – doing Christmas shopping online for example. ‘The things’ must be done even if I am a sensitive little snowflake so I try and find ways.
I know in winter time that it becomes harder for everyone to get up but I recognise the weight of depression. I know this feeling. Depression has started pinning me to the bed. The daily argument to force myself up has arrived… because what’s the point? I recognise that it’s depression and I try and remember the ‘right’ things to do, to remember that it lies, to remember that I am particularly vulnerable right now and those vulnerabilities will pass. I miss laughing, really laughing.
Winter bugs hit me like a champion boxer punching at me. I experience such shame at being weak like this. I want to run but I can’t. I know I need to be sensible and get better first.
I understand about my schemas and my illness but I feel I have to manage it on my own, alone in my own little critical confused bubble. Perspective goes. It’s a lonely place. I’m acutely aware of my self-pity which brings with it extra shame where none is needed.
Trauma therapy work is bloody lonely too. Husband asks “Good session?” And I’ll sigh and say something like “ok/ difficult but worthwhile/ yeah bit weird” and that’s that. It’s such an intense process and it is weird. To be keeping all of this inside of me is, in a way, replicating the very situation that landed me in therapy in the first place. How do you talk about it? Who do you chat to about your trauma therapy? About the depths? It’s all so scary. I get the sense of being lost in a vast desert without landmarks or signs to show me the way. Just vast land to be covered but does it lead anywhere? Is there a point?
And so I am lost.
Disconnected from myself and the world.
Yet I still have awareness. I know this is not where I want to be right now and I know that things change. I know that I can help that change to happen.
I am lucky for I will not stay lost (but if you wanted to send biscuits and lovely things my way in the meantime then that’d be great. Cheers).