It’s tough enough identifying what’s real and what’s anxiety, but what the actual fuck is this!?
Anxiety makes me doubt everything.
‘Chris, the hens are absolutely over run with red mite’.
‘OK love, I’m on my way home, I’ll pick some stuff up to fix it’.
Doubt pings into my racing mind. Did I really see red mite? Yep, definitely red mite. They’re moving, the nasty little fuckers. Poor girls. I’ll clean them out.
Bin bag goes in the bin. Bin bag gets pulled from the bin. Bin bag ripped open to double check if they were really there. Bin bag put back. Bin bag checked again.
That’s the problem with mental illness, as much as you acknowledge it, read up on it, talk about it, it still plays games with your convalescing mind.
But what the actual fuck is this!?
Sloths are cute but I don’t want to be one. How on earth have I gone from being ‘like a spaniel, one full fat coke away from licking someone’ (copyright: Tom Frizell-Shackley) or ‘like a meerkat, always on the lookout for danger’ (copyright: my former therapist) to this sloth-like morning existence. I feel like Tony the fridge in slow motion. I literally feel like I’m getting out of bed with an American style fridge freezer strapped to my back while my feet wade through mud a la Glastonbury ’98. Exhausting.
After necking my daily Sertraline and Levothyroxine this morning, I headed to the co-op to top up my tank with my non-prescription fuel (Diet Coke). But I can’t help but worry about the police stopping me and pulling me over. I know my brain isn’t as alert as it should be. Do I appear drunk? I’m not.
I know that you’re meant to work your energy back up by doing stuff. Like going to the Co-op or taking a walk at lunch time like I did yesterday, but rather than releasing endorphins it’s just making me even more knackered. Sleep isn’t giving me any form of relief either. My restless legs are my nemesis.
I’m meant to be in the garden today – a last minute day off to re-charge the batteries. But instead, I’m on the sofa with the telly on, a blanket and endless cups of tea and cans of pop.
That’s another thing that’s been a bit odd recently. I can’t stop eating. I’m not hungry though. It’s like every new thing I put to my lips – be it food or drink – gives me a much-needed sensation. A tea-cake, then a cuppa, then a pop, then a yoghurt, then another cuppa, then another pop…I can’t stop. But I’m not hungry. It’s just that I need some sort of variety or sensation or just something different or new every few minutes.
My friends started worrying – I NEVER make the Wednesday night pub quiz. Every night out feels like such a chore. I just don’t commit. I’m always the last one to write in the Whatsapp quiz group every Wednesday morning, secretly hoping its cancelled, even though I love them all to absolute bits and deep down I know they’re a better tonic than anything.
And then there’s the worry and paranoia, my confidence has plummeted as quickly as Labour’s popularity (and I’m incredibly displeased and anxious about both right now) and I spend a ridiculous amount of time seeking reassurance (do I post this on Facebook where people know me well, will they think it’s stupid, that I’m an attention seeker, or that I’m after sympathy . I’m not).
Is it chronic fatigue? Have my thyroid levels dropped to dangerous lows? Is it depression? Exhaustion? Is it M.E.? Or is it just me?
Monday 15th May, 08:50 – Thyroid check
Monday 15th May, 09:15 – GP appt
Tuesday 16th May, 15:00 – New counselling appt
Friday 17:00 – my birthday, almost the weekend and hopefully a time when I will have some bloody answers so I can pull myself out of these seriously boring waters I’ve docked myself in. I much prefer the excitement of jumping the surf in Newquay. Bobbing along aimlessly is making me miserable. But not enough to get off my arse, apparently.
I think I’m more fun when my anxiety’s in overdrive. Apologies if this post is as beige as Coldplay, as flat as Hull and as lifeless as my rapidly yellowing rhododendron. Three things I actually loved. In a previous state of mind.
I am determined my next post has more in common with a spaniel.