I haven't posted in a while again. My bad.
But what with it being Christmas less than a week ago, I'm sure you'll forgive me.
As I'm sure most people can attest to, the weeks leading up to Christmas can be really hectic, with a lot to organise and book and generally sort out. The same is true of our household.
Moreso because both Lil Monster and I travel to go and see our respective fathers over the season, as well as celebrate at home. That's on top of seeing extended family, friends, Christmas shopping, cooking... It's making me yawn just thinking about it all.
Since I turned fifteen or so, when we moved to Birmingham, I can't think of a Christmas that wasn't stressful in some way, shape or form. Part of it is the general seasonal stuff. You know, choosing gifts for people, wrapping and hiding them, all of the associated cooking, the travel, booking people in for a festive meet and greet.
Part of it is a more personal issue.
You see, about two and a half weeks ago, I was officially diagnosed with anxiety.
Looking back, it's probably something that has been present since I was a young teen, maybe even a little younger. This little voice in the back of my head that tells me that I'm not ready for something, that I'm forgetting something important. I had never been able to quiet it, and had in fact accepted it as the way my mind worked.
It got worse when I started learning how to drive. I took lessons for almost two years, spending each lesson drenched in sweat, with my heart in my throat, terrified that I was going to kill someone, or myself, or wreck my instructors car. When I tried to talk about how I felt, I couldn't seem to find any words to describe it, other than 'It stresses me out.'. Because I couldn't work out how to put it into words, I couldn't get the help that I needed at the time.
After three failed tests, I stopped with the lessons, deciding that I needed to get help with my mental health before I picked it back up again.
I tried for months to get an appointment. Unfortunately, with the health care system being as stretched as it was, there just weren't appointments to spare. Those that were available were - rightly- kept aside for children, the elderly, disabled people and pregnant women. I understand that this needed to be the case. But it did mean that I just had to struggle on.
When we moved in August, we registered at a new doctors surgery. It took a while for all of our information to transfer over, but when it finally did, I decided to book an appointment.
So, I fought my way through inches of snow and ice (my appointment fell during that snowstorm we had in mid December) to get to the surgery to speak to a doctor.
When I sat down to talk, to tell her the issue, my whole mouth dried up, my teeth sticking to my lips.
This is ridiculous. There's nothing actually wrong with you. Clearly, you just can't cope. There are thousands of people out there who have it harder than you, who get by just fine without needing to go and whine about it. You're wasting time, time that might be needed for something real.
I told her that I was worried, about everything, all the time. Some of it may feel rational, but I can't always differentiate between a legitimate concern and an anxious thought. There isn't a specific pattern to that feeling. There are a few triggers that I can pinpoint- driving, large gatherings, my extended family in particular. It's just this kind of... constant feeling of wrongness. I felt as though I was constantly waiting for something to go wrong. When it did, that voice was vindicated. When it didn't, I would feel as though I was going mad, because who thinks like that?
She listened to me talk, asked me a few questions about my eating and sleeping. I spoke to her about the disordered eating I'd suffered when taking my GCSE's. She nodded a few times, and told me that it sounded like I have anxiety. I remember feeling so shocked. I'd suspected it for a while. I described myself as an anxious person. But to hear someone tell me that I wasn't mad, that there was a cause, and that there was something they could do to help? Mind = blown.
She prescribed me 20mg of Citalopram, with the intention of increasing my dose once she was sure it agreed with me. She has put me forward for CBT, to help me change the way that I think.
We had a review just before Christmas, to check that I was OK taking the tablets. I have another in a few days, because she's leaving the surgery, and I'll be passed on to another doctor.
In all honesty, I can't say that I've felt a major difference, but I know the tablets take two to four weeks to start working.
But I do feel better for finally talking to someone, for finally reaching out and accepting the help that I need. I feel better for taking what feels like a giant step towards taking better care of myself, which I have to remember is important for my sake, and Wheelz's.
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