It’s been a little while since I’ve posted as Owl Lady. It’s been a rough few weeks.
When I last talked to you I felt like I was well on my way to becoming my former self, and less of the shadow thereof that I feel I have become. I think of the former me with nostalgic envy. I’m jealous for want of a better word of the person I was just a year ago. Sure, I was recovering from a recent break up from a boyfriend of 4 years, but I was recovering and I was doing it well. I was strong, I felt untouchable. I started to date my current boyfriend (and my world) and was full of joy, I was at the peak of my fitness, outgoing, so confident, loving life and seeing all that was good in it. My social life was packed and every day began and ended on a high. I reflect on that version of myself and am overwhelmed by sadness. Where has she gone and when will she return. How do I find her?
As anyone who has suffered, or is suffering, from a mental illness will tell you, the road to recovery is a bumpy one. You will have ups and downs.
What I didn’t anticipate was quite how down those downs would be.
I started this blog after my depression reached a new level and I overdosed on pain killers in an attempt to block my mind from it’s thoughts and feelings. To numb myself you might say. Black out and not have to think. Or feel. But, after a couple of weeks of blogging and ‘getting myself right’ I felt ready to face the world again.
I returned to work with an adjusted schedule and was back in the swing of things before I knew it. I was loving being at work and socialising with customers and colleagues. I felt happy, truly on the mend. It lasted 6 days.
Without going in to too much detail, I finished my shift on Saturday afternoon and was passed out full of pills by midnight.
On the following Tuesday I woke up with a bloody mouth and a sensation that I had lost hours of my day. I’m epileptic and had suffered one my most violent grand-mals in months. This week wasn’t getting any better but the worst was still to come.
By Saturday night I was back in A&E.
My late experience of A&E is far from favourable. The doctors and nurses working in this department, it seems, are dispicably unable to not only treat, but to even empathise with patients who are punishing their bodies crying for help. After an initial promise of a visit from a mental health professional, I was asked to leave. Distraught and angry and depleted of hope, I lost it right there in the ward. Security was called and let me tell you those officers did more for my wellbeing that night than any doctor or nurse even attempted.
I’d like to take this opportunity to thank my dear friend Bethany who stayed by my side and convinced me that that night didn’t have to be the last of my life and that there was still hope.
The following days since have felt like dreams; the hours pass, then the days, and often differentiating dreams from reality becomes the biggest challenge of my day. I feel like I am losing my mind.
I have the strength this evening to write this but I am by no means as hopeful or as positive as I could, and hope I will eventually, be. I have an overwhelming anxiety, panic and paranoia that interrupts my life unexpectedly with no prior warning and for what seems like without any logical reason.
I have bruises that seem reluctant to fade and cuts that seem reluctant to heal, and a mind that seems to falling apart bit by bit.
But admidst this I must seek to find hope. I have to give myself purpose, to remind myself that I deserve to be part of this world. That despite what my illness forces me to believe, there are people who love me and want me in their world.
The ‘me’ that is trapped inside this diseased mind is talented, ambitious and hungry to succeed.
She has a future.
mystyleowl 