I didn’t intend to take such a long break from posting here, or any break at all, really.
I’ve been writing but not publishing. Writing as a way to try and process thoughts I don’t understand myself yet.
There’s been a lot going on over the last few months.
I’ve written on here about my journey with anxiety over a number of years, and about the fact that in June this year I completely crashed with my anxiety and depression.
There’s been a lot of rebuilding going on. A lot of pulling thoughts apart to their very roots and learning how to change them so they’re no longer damaging.
Finally, I acknowledged that I needed to face everything properly, rather than continuing to wear a mask and pretending I was ok.
It’s been going well.
I found a counsellor who understands me. He knows what I’m describing before I finish describing it. He doesn’t let me get away with taking the easy route, and he challenges beliefs I’ve been leaning on for years.
About a month ago, I realised that things were actually changing.
I was panicking, but the panicking was calming more quickly.
I was analysing the anxiety and depression in a helpful way. Rather than dwelling on a tricky hour or day, I was taking lessons from my reactions.
For the first time in a very, very long time, I was proud of myself.
A couple of weekends ago I spent the most incredible weekend away reflecting on how far I have come. On the fact there’s still a long way to go, but that the journey is finally heading in the right direction.
Then I hit a little road block. Quite a big one, actually.
I’m not going to go into detail but a little over a week ago someone shattered my confidence in the fact that I can get to and from work safely. Shattered my confidence in the act that I don’t need to fear every little movement around me every time I leave the house.
And did I take it all in my stride and logically analyse the fear and get on with everything?
No, I didn’t. Partly because I still have a lot to learn, and partly because anyone would react to what happened in their own way. I had a delayed reaction, but when it came it took the form of panic attacks, nightmares, and days of crying for hour after hour.
I spoke to a counsellor on Monday who told me I needed to let this happen, to let my body feel the after-effects of going through a traumatic experience. She said there’s a high chance I would have reacted this way even without the existing anxiety.
Since that conversation, I’ve tried to reclaim control.
But reclaiming control doesn’t mean being emotionless and fighting, fighting, fighting every feeling.
It means letting the tears come. Letting the vulnerability come out. Leaning on those around you.
I’ve been improving over the past few days.
The tears are less hysterical. The panicking is spreading out a little.
I’ve been reminded that I’m doing well, but that what I am on is a journey, and stumbling along the way (due to a horrible and random incident) is ok.
Am I ok?
But will I be?
I will come back better than I’ve been in a long time.I’ve just got to keep following the journey now I’m being guided down the right path.