Part of me wants to shout really loudly about my realisations, part of me wants to ignore it and the largest part of me wants to go back to sticking my head in the sand and pretending everything is okay.
Depression is such a dreary depressing word isn't it filled with stereotypes and misconceptions. If somebody tells you they have depression what would you say to them? How can you say anything constructive? Let's face it as a culture in England if someone asks you how you are you say 'fine thank you' If you ask someone how they are and they respond in any other way or start telling you they've heartburn or a broken finger you're generally pretty taken aback that they'd waste your ear time on telling you!! Despite having just blooming well asked!!
My friends have known for months that I've been suffering with blinding headaches and a whole host of other symptoms' so some people are genuinely asking me 'how are you?' However I'm still not answering truthfully. I still cannot bring myself to admit what I feel is a huge dark secret. I think I am terrified they'll think I have been untruthful and that they'll think that I haven't genuinely felt horrid for months. They'll think that I've stolen their sympathy unjustifiably. The truth is that I have felt horrid, the truth is that I was convinced there was something seriously wrong with me and there was.... just not how I thought there was. My body clearly got fed up with me ignoring the anxiety, ignoring the stress, ignoring my emotional melt down and decided to make me listen by making me ill in a way I would listen to.
It has struck me that in writing this I am well and truly letting the cat out of the bag in any case. If anyone sees my blog they'll know my secrets. Isn't it sad how hung up on the stigma I am? If I did have a physical illness I'd be more than happy to talk about it. Yet finally realising after all these years of pretending otherwise that I do have depression and I do need to deal with it seems like a huge mountain to climb.
Today is Monday and the people from the cognitive behaviour therapy rang me late Friday and left a voicemail. I'm meant to be ringing them back and setting my first tentative toe on the treadmill towards starting therapy. But right now I'm typing this instead. Sort of hoping they ring me again as picking up the phone and ringing them is just too difficult. One step too far today. Why is it so difficult? Is making that call a further admission that this is actually happening? Crikkie it's giving me palpitations just considering making the call. The last three weeks have just passed in a blur of school runs and daytime telly. I'm not really achieving a lot but that said I don't feel like I can do anything right now. Right here and right now I feel pathetic, useless and a waste of skin. Incompetent and incapable. That's my depression talking right there..........Before I wallow any lower today I think I'll sign off for now and go and make tonight's dinner! Adieu x