When premenstrual tension kick-starts anxiety and depression

I’ve been particularly angry today for no reason.

I put it down to PMT, premenstrual tension.

Something men with depression and anxiety don’t have to deal with. How lovely for them.

Anyway, I was speaking to my mother about having a heart to heart with my cousin, who is just a few months younger than me, and who left work because life got too difficult for her.

Well, I compared her situation to mine, and my mother said: “well, she’s worse than you”

I just thought, well there you have it. Yeah, she’s worse than me, because while she has taken two years off work and stressful life events, I’ve hauled myself back into the office after 11 weeks because we have no money. And I make myself run errands, like shop for food.

But yeah, she’s worse than me, because while she may have contemplated suicide, I think about it every day. And I am seriously considering it.

But yeah, she’s worse than me, because whilst she might have had a good childhood, I spent my years anxious out of my brain.

But she’s worse than me. I don’t want to work tomorrow. I don’t feel like I can face it. I cant face the stresses of work, the responsibilities, the difficulty in getting up in the morning. The difficulty of spending hours of your life holed up in an office. Either that, or hours of your life doing fuck all inside your house. Good choices.

I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t even want to leave my room at this point. My PMT just comes into my life and says, hey remember that depression and anxiety your trying to fight every day of your fucking life and you’ve been doing okay going to and from work and with life in general? Yeah well, here’s a bit of a kick-start. HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES!?

So, I think I’m just gonna fuck it and not go to work. Whatever, she’s worse than me.

It’s ride or die… all or nothing

(Trigger warning: suicide)

I’ve been off work and doing nothing with my life for almost 10 weeks now.

I cry less, but maybe that’s because I feel as though a solution is on the horizon.

And though I’ve tried to rest, I can’t seem to properly, because I am so stressed about money and family all of the time.

My solution seems to be ride or die. All or nothing.

I can either die, or start living again.

I have some serious issues with high-functioning anxiety, depression, burnout, stress and exhaustion.

But, if I go back to work, maybe I’d be too busy to feel any of it.

When I was working I had some sense of purpose. Right now I have none. I feel worthless.

I’m trying to tackle these feelings of worthlessness, but it’s not easy.

I have to be honest with you, killing myself is not the easy way out. It’s incredibly difficult to think about it, and though I have prepared for it, by leaving ways to settle my affairs and working out how I am going to do it, it’s still so hard to do. People who have done this are so brave. I am weak.

So, keeping myself busy in life by working a semi-decent job seems like the next best option. And though my anxiety and my depression is killing me slowly, at least this way I can feel like my life is worth something, than nothing at all.

Rejection is a bitch

After having gone through the stages of grief; in my opinion – denial, shock, distress, anger, sadness, acceptance, I’ve now come to the point where I am looking to rejoin the land of the living.

I won’t lie to you. Financial pressure is one of the reason I am considering this.

I’ve taken two months off work so far. But I still feel like I am not ready to go back to work. I am still largely unable to function properly. I can’t complete simple tasks, even at home in my personal life.

I was feeling okay recently, and applying to a couple of jobs – when I received a rejection for a role I was particularly interested in. Needless to say, rejection is a bitch to deal with, and so it has sent me on a downer.

It’s made me feel like I need to claw back desperately to cling onto anything this world is offering me to feel like I am worth something. That I am not just left red-faced on the back of the humiliation of rejection.

Now, I am wondering whether to beg for my old job back. The one I just couldn’t face day to day. Is it really the answer to push yourself back into doing something you know is not making you happy out of necessity?

The job was fine though. It is just difficult. And I am trying to avoid anything difficult in my life right now. That’s funny; seeing as all I’ve ever done is make my own life difficult because I’ve never felt like I am good enough.

And here comes the crux of the matter. It is purely BECAUSE I feel like I am not good enough, that it costs me A LOT of mental energy to participate in society. This is why I am finding life (and working) difficult. And that COST is what is killing me. It’s what is making me tired. It’s why I needed a rest.

So – I may go back to work very soon. But at what cost? If I go back and I am not ready, will I just fall again? How long do I wait, till my debts and my finances are at such a stretch that everything begins to fall apart?

We all live our lives like zombies – to pay the bills. Right? That’s what it boils down to.

So who am I? What is the point of me? Do I work to live, or live to work?

 

 

 

 

I always want to be raw and honest about my struggles in this blog. This is what it is for.

My anonymity is what is keeping this blog in the public domain.

But I am wondering whether to join the battle in exposing taboos around mental illness by making Youtube vlogs. I will be considering this.

I need to process my grief, before I can look to the future

It’s been almost two weeks since I resigned from my job.

It’s been difficult, and I’ve slept a lot. I haven’t done any gardening, ‘spring’ cleaning or work.

But I’ve been keeping myself busy by going out here and there and starting a new diet and exercise regime. But it’s only stopped me from thinking about my issues. And today it all came to a head when I finally had a ‘bad’ day again, after about a week of fairly OK ones.

I’m finding increasingly that I have some bad childhood memories circulating around my mind. And I think it’s because I’ve stopped moving forward in life, that finally my mind is having a chance to process what I’m feeling from my past.

The memories are all to do with humiliation, force, and fear.

They all involve males, too, unsurprisingly. My mother told me that when I was younger, I suffered from an uncontrollable fear of people in white coats. This is evidence that my earliest bad memory is not just a conjuring of my mind. It is real. Without going into too much detail, it involves a man in a white coat crossing the boundary of my consent as a toddler, invading my space and bodily autonomy, and; needlessly undressing me.

As I grapple with these memories, some involving groups of boys as a pupil at a school, I find they cross into my most recent experiences involving bad relationships with men.

But my problems do not end there. They interweave with all sorts of issues, the main one being a lack of self-esteem and confidence.

Most of my anxiety and depression comes from these factors. And when I’m triggered, they all come flooding to the surface.

All of this means that hopefully I am processing what is inside my mind during my time off from work, responsibility and commitment. I am trying not to do anything stressful, like go out at busy times to shopping centres etc. But it is hard, especially when I feel like such a failure for quitting life. But I am only doing it to process all of the grief I carry with me, so that I can look to my future with minimal hindrance.

Who knows if this is going to work? I’ll keep you posted. Thank you for reading this. It means a lot to me that there are people who like my posts and resonate with what I am going through.

 

 

I gave myself therapy, and I can’t go on any longer

Since I was a child, I have given myself cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT).

I have never been particularly interested in jumping on the bandwagon about mental health, and have always fought through my anxiety and depression.

Recently, I quit my dream job, which I had worked so hard to get, because I just couldn’t continue with life anymore. I basically ran out of steam.

Now, I’ve begun to follow people suffering with mental health issues, and also mental health charities via blogs, social media and vlogs.

Never have I felt so alone.

I read posts, and experiences and offers of ‘help’. And it just makes me angry.

I’ve never been taken seriously with my issues. My family don’t really know how to deal with it, and counselling failed me. I have a couple of sessions before I gave up in anger.

The recent ‘therapist’ also put some wild accusations about me, which are stuck in my medical records forever now. I can’t tell you how angry I am.

I have dealt with my issues alone. I have NEVER taken medication. I took Sertraline just once for a few days. I immediately stopped.

I am angry that I have had to live with myself in this way, and I have done EVERYTHING to try and live a normal life. I have pushed, and punished myself continuously. And for what? Now that I’ve crashed and burned, who is here to pick me up?

I have to do it all by myself, and feel tremendous amounts of guilt that I have to quit something I worked so hard for.

The only people supporting me is my immediate family. When people tell you help is out there: it isn’t.

No one fully understands mental health and on top of that there is a stigma that people say they want to shake, but they won’t.

A lot of people deny that mental health is an actual illness. But, I am living proof that I have tried to live a normal life with no help, WITH SEVERE ANXIETY. And even I have got to a point where I’m so exhausted that I can’t even carry my limbs properly.

What help can someone give? Artificial drugs? Give you ‘therapy’ that you’ve already given yourself?

I’ll get up again, dust myself off, and soldier on like I always do, when I’ve had a rest.

But who is to say, that the next time I crash and burn, that someone will be there to look after me that time?

And if I commit suicide, I’m selfish. And if I self-harm, it’s ‘common’. And if I go to the GP, I’m just another candidate for the ‘drug candy’ doctors so carelessly chuck at you.

AND IF I QUIT LIFE FOR A WHILE, which is what I have done now, I’m a quitter. I’m a loser. I’m a nobody. Well, that isn’t true. But it’s how the world makes you feel.

And if I didn’t quit, it’s okay just as long as I pay my tax, and spend my money on useless shit with credit I’ll pay back with difficulty. It doesn’t matter that my brain is slowly turning to mush.

This ‘we care’ bullshit. It isn’t real. So buckle up, soldier. The war is still going on, and this is just one of the battles you’ve lost.