It is here, the 12 month anniversary of my diagnosis. And how do I feel about it? I feel fine about my diagnosis in itself. I have well and truly come to terms with it, and I’m learning loads of ways to deal with it. I mean, I don’t seem to be worried that 12 months down the road I am on the same level of antidepressants. I get good days and bad days, foggy days and clear days. I get days where I can take on the world and achieve loads and I get days when I barely move. Such is the life of a sensitive introvert with anxiety and depression.
Good days and bad days
Recently there has been a lot more of the bad days, not foggy, but panicky, feeling less like myself. I guess the summer hasn’t been the best. Tim has had his share of ill health, which has meant me having to be a proper adult. I have been home with the boys which, although lovely, means I haven’t had any time to myself , and I so need to recharge. This has meant being short tempered and tired, which in turn means I haven’t wanted to take the boys out very much. Cue the mum guilt!
You know the bit that does bother me though? Work! I have now been 12 months out of work. I know it is for good reason, I know that I cannot be in my current workplace, I know that one of the only reasons I have come so far is that I have had the time to concentrate on myself and take the pressure off.
But that doesn’t stop the guilt. 12 months! 12 months of being paid to not be there. 12 months when someone else could have had my job. 12 months of extra financial pressures for my workplace! 12 months! 12 months of not contributing, 12 months of failure. 12 months of letting my colleagues down, letting the children down, the parents, my friends.
And then there is the guilt at home. The added financial burden on our family, not contributing as I was. The additional pressure on Tim to help. He probably won’t come home from a long day at work to a bright and breezy wife, but an exhausted mess. He has to take on so much more. And the worry as well, I know he worries. The guilt that I haven’t taken the children anywhere this summer, no expensive days out or treats. And then beating myself up for counting down the days until they go back to school!
The battle gets easier
12 months ago I was not me! 12 months ago I was not functioning! 12 months ago I was a hollow shell filled with tears. It was a scary place to be, not wanting to be here! But that was 12 months ago. Now that it’s the 12 month anniversary of my diagnosis, even though it still continues, the battle gets easier.
So here I am, 12 months on from my breakdown, from the day I snapped. Day to day, I function pretty well. I do most of the things I set out to do each day and push myself just a little bit now and again. Generally I am OK. But sometimes I am not. And, you know what?