Just when I thought things were starting to turn a corner this morning, things got worse later in the day. That’s the way it goes. Healing doesn’t happen in one go, where you wake up one morning and the anxiety and depression are gone. I’ve had to accept that some days are just going to be shitty, and that’s okay.
I woke up this morning with my shoulders up by my ears. I went to my first therapy session and it was good. Good to start talking about my problems, good to have someone listening.
Later in the afternoon, it felt not so good. I went for my doctor-prescribed walk and feelings of loneliness and hopelessness started to overwhelm me. I felt derealization again. I went home, and my husband, who is away, called. All I could do is cry over the phone. A good cry is supposed to be therapeutic, but mine just felt awful. I felt the swaying motion start, my head ached terribly and I thought I was going to throw up. I started watching some TV and feeling somewhat better, when my mom called. And the tears started again, just as bad as the first time.
Now I just feel tired and wrung out. And I’m wracked with guilt. That I’m feeling this way. That I’m burdening my family with my troubles. That I wasn’t doing anything productive while I had my meltdown. That I wasn’t being good to myself by doing something fun instead. That I just made myself feel worse by giving in to those thoughts.
I tell you. Some days.