Chapter One?

I would like to write about what I went through when I was/since I was/while I have been sick. What I write sick I mean sick both physically but also seriously mentally unwell.  I would like to write about it but I am nervous to relive it, to live it too vividly, but also, there is very little I remember. At that point of my life, I was not a conscious participant; I was in it alright, deep in it, but perhaps too deep to see.

As I am writing this I imagine the deep, deep black sea they show on television documentaries the only light is that of the lure of the anglerfish, that hideous creature that draws prey towards it trapping them in its razor sharp teeth. All I remember is a deep fear enveloping my whole body, being in a constant state of confusion and incomprehension at what was happening to me and why. C knew when I was being drawn towards terror’s sharp teeth because my pupils rapidly flickered back at forth and more often than not he was able to bring me back to a relatively safe distance. I still went to work and even did some work. I worked despite the hour long waves of fear crashing over me, filling me with the almost overwhelming urge to run, to hide, the need to get out. But no matter where I went I couldn’t escape. My mind, what I now know was my chemically imbalanced mind, was imprisoning and torturing me. 

This is all very dramatic, at times I laughed, I felt pure joy. But quickly after I slipped into a depression or was hit by another wave of fear married with incomprehension as to why I felt that way, and soon after was filled with the guilt for not being happy. I remember sitting on a beautiful beach with C, watching the waves gently rolling in and out, feeling the sun on my face, noticing my breathing and able only to focus on the barks of dogs in the distance and feeling only guilt and the urge to leave, to go somewhere, but nowhere being good enough.

There is more I wanted to write about but right now I cant remember what that more is. Something that needs to be said though, is that am really proud that I have just written at least some of what I went through. I am proud because to me, that fact I was able to write about what I went through then, although it was only a few months ago, is so far from my current reality that I can look back without getting sucked into that deep deep blackness.

 It feels good.

'One of those days'

Today has been 'one of those days'. One of those days you wake up feeling tired. One of those days you are late for work because nothing you put on feels right and when you look in the mirror you don't see yourself. One of those days you spill the last of the cereal on the floor and forget your lunch. One of those days you don't feel welcome at work. One of those days you feel compelled to sit under the desk but know it wouldn't be approved of so you stay slumped in your chair. One of those days not even a raspberry brownie can heal. One of those days talking to your mum makes you sob in  public, sitting under a tree  and one of those days you walk back in to work with puffy red eyes.

But today has also been one of those days that a letter from your mum can set your heart fluttering, and the pictures of rabbits with speech bubbles  included have you giggling out loud on the bus, and the parsley seeds inside fill you with excitement and anticipation. Today has also been one of those days that you are sure of the fact that you are loved and supported. Today has also been one of those days that a text from your sister can fill you with so much love you can almost feel the hug of it.

Today has been one of those days full of emotion and feeling.

Today has been one of those days that you are reminded of the yin and yang of things.

Today is one of those days you are unbelievably glad that the good comes with the bad.

Not well

At the moment I am not well. I am sick, quite sick, I have been sick for over a week and I am only just getting energy back to the point where getting myself a glass of water doesn't feel like a massive undertaking.

But I am still not well, it turns out I'm sick, very sick, and have been getting more so for quite some time, my anxiety and depression has reached what I think is called 'crisis point'. This is terrifying . I don't remember ever feeling this fragile.

I feel as though I am made up of playing cards of tissue paper and I am trying to keep them together in gale force winds.

A while ago we went for a drive around the coast and it got really windy, it was howling and pulling the car from side to side, I watched a seagull sitting in the middle of the road take off, if it is possible for a bird to show uncertainty or even fear, that is what I saw. It rushed up as though being sucked through a giant straw, only to be spat out and thrown across the sky. At first it flapped it's wings trying hopelessly to go in the direction it intended. Then it seemed to resign itself and with it's wings out spread was sent soaring over the hills and out of sight.

While this is a pretty depressing post, the fact I am writing anything at all seems a good sign to me. I have sought help and I am being supported and am starting once more what they call my 'personal wellness journey'. It is still terrifying, perhaps even more so because to let a part of yourself hope for recovery feels a very dangerous and vulnerable thing to do. After a few days of immeasurable support and an exhausting beginning on my 'personal journey' - my mind aches as though it has bush bashed through k's of gorse riddled scrub, crossed icy rivers and dragged itself through heavy snow), I am beginning to wonder if the seagull was not sent soaring but instead was riding the wind.

Tread carefully

I am at that point, that I have been before, where I know I need to be a little careful. If I am a little careful it can be an exciting time but it is also an exhausting time. I was about to write I am in turmoil, it's dramatic and false, but in another way I do feel like my thoughts, my feelings, my unconscious, my insides are tumultuous. I feel shook up. There isn't much going on externally to make me feel this way and I only know because of a slightly painful history that I need to tread carefully. I know from experience that right now I need to be kind to myself and I need to make a few changes. I want to make a few changes and I like being kind to myself, so it is an exciting time.
I want to practise mindfulness.
I want to take pleasure in delicious and healthy food.
I want to be active.
I want to keep working on my confidence.
I want to keep in contact with people who are important to me.
I want to take pleasure in everyday activities.
I want my mummy! "Now, now Frankie you can handle this, take a deep breath and recognize that feeling in your tummy as nervous excitement". It's a time of change.

Changes

I haven't written in a long time and I don't even know if I will publish this, I don't even know what this will be. I have a job, I have had a job for almost 6 months and it looks like I will have it for at least a year more. It's not glamorous, it's data entry - but at the least the data comes from the 1800's. Although I still feel undeniably me, I do feel as though things have changed for me and my 'education' these days is very different to what it was while I was studying. I am learning to get up at 7am Monday to Friday and go to work. I'm learning to work for 7 and a half hours a day, even when I'd rather do almost anything else. I'm learning to do everything else (dishes, washing, cooking, sleeping, relaxing, etc) I need to do outside of those hours (this I'm definitely still learning). But I'm also benefiting from things I have already learned, especially motivating myself to work.

I wrote this quite a while ago now but didn't post it. Since then I have gotten a new job, I am now an archivist, supervising 12 data entry operators. For a long time I truly loved it, for right now I enjoy it but am finding it so incredibly challenging. I am learning so so much and it's defiantly a learning process. I am learning so much I don't think I can type it all down here. But the biggest things for me at the moment are feeling confident in my knowledge and that I deserve to be an archivist and a supervisor, this is tough. I am learning to manage the difficult days and things that stress me, this is tough too and a little scary. I am scared of things getting too much and me getting unwell again. But another thing I am realising is that I need to learn to be grateful. I am lucky to have this great job and these incredible opportunities and I am grateful for having (for the most part) good mental health, I am grateful for the wonderful people in my life. And as I have been forced to realise lately I am grateful I am alive. I'm going to try to write a gratitude journal each day, because I need to remember the wonderful things I have in my life. I'm also going to make an effort to write on here more often, even if no one reads it (I"m not sure I want anyone to read it) I know it is good for me to write, even if it's nonsense and even if it is a little self obsessed.

I want to be like that

Someone at my work passed away on Tuesday. We just had an afternoon tea in their honor. They showed a photo of him when he was young and told stories of him. He had worked here 18 years. I have almost worked here 1. When I started I was very shy and quiet. I didn't want to be so I made a real effort to talk to people. I would even count the number of people I had talked to that day (I don't think it ever got over 5). It was painful for me to talk to someone, it physically hurt. But he was one of the people who talked to me and who I could talk back to without any pain. I felt so much more confident and happy after talking to him. He had a smile that was so kind and so genuine you couldn't help but mirror it. But he is gone now. He died of a heart attack, he was on a waiting list for a heart operation, the same operation my father had, but my father had it in time. I have been thinking about this man and about my father. I don't know if this man had children. He undoubtedly had family and I am so so very sorry  for their loss. I am also so very grateful I haven't had to experience a loss like that. I want to celebrate my family, I want to build my relationship with my father. I have also been thinking about what a difference this man made to my day and to so many other people's day, just by being genuine, friendly, happy. I want to be like that. 

Too many thoughts and not enough words

As is starting to seem usual for me, my head and heart and tummy feel full with too many thoughts and I can't find the words to materialize them outside of myself. They are siting inside of me, stuck and stifled. I'm not unhappy, in fact I am happier, more relaxed and more content than I ever have been. On our weekends we get into the car and make our way around the bay, each time I feel breathless and wide-eyed at the incredible environment we have managed to find ourselves in. We stop somewhere along the way and sit looking out to sea, watching the gulls swooping and soaring or the tide crash against the ragged rocks, we might wander along listening to the sea and each other, or we might gaze into the rock pools at the initially gross but actually beautiful anemones. I cook apple and blueberry crumble and we eat it with cream, so comfortable and at ease with one another on our worn out couch. Still these thoughts tumble around inside of me, occasionally riming my eyes with tears. I am happy and content and confused. I don't have the words to explain to anyone, let alone myself what is going on for me. Perhaps it is because I am so happy and content that my body or mind feels as though it can look for how next to increase this happiness. Maybe it is because I have never planned beyond finishing university that I am struck dumb by all the possibilities. Perhaps it is the increasing feeling of pressure to be an 'adult' placed on me by society or maybe myself. Whichever or whatever it is, I am drawn to words in a way I haven't been since I was a teenager. Seeking out and rapidly consuming books and stories, unable to put them down, taking pleasure in the shape and sounds of words and sentences. I am continually struck with an incredible desire to write, to write about anything and everything. I almost never get to put pen to paper or finger to key, but stories and words and sentences nevertheless find themselves rushing around in my mind. I cannot find the words to make sense of my self, to manifest my thoughts and feelings outside of myself, but I am (perhaps unconsciously, perhaps my mind is) seeking them out.