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Return

Yesterday I didn’t blog, because I really couldn’t think of a thing to say. That’s not like me, I’m gobby and always have something to say. Feeling stymied at the moment.

I go ‘back to work’ tomorrow. Admittedly it’s working from home, but it means that I feel rather a lot of stress just thinking about it. I feel physically taut, but also like I’m in a box that doesn’t give me enough room to move. Restricted.

After two months of being signed off with depression, I have recovered some, but I haven’t been able to get the treatment that would have been useful, and with all the additional burden on the NHS at the moment, I haven’t pushed for anything.

That is apparently quite normal for those of us who do go through mental illness. There’s a diminution of mental illness as not really being an illness, those phrases like ‘oh just cheer up’ or ‘pull yourself’ together, they still play out. That the way I was brought up, that depression wasn’t really a thing, that thinking affects me and plenty of older people like me.  I now want to go to bed and cry. “Older people like me”. I’m 50! I feel about half that. I don’t feel old.

Back to the point, I still think that my mental health problems are less important than even the most minor physical ailment. It’s also part of my depression that I always think everyone is better than me anyway. I know I need help, I can’t take medications, so I have to look at other therapies. I’ve tried sleep apps, meditation, exercise and healthy eating.

But work tomorrow, work from home, and I will survive, I will.  I have to.

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