Tuesday, 25 October 2016

Jenga and my anxiety...

Why does it feel so lame to say the words  'I suffer with anxiety and depression' ... why do those that care about us not get 'it' even when trying their hardest to help and understand us?

They don't get 'it' though do they? Not in my world anyway.  It's like we're raising our voices in our best British accents shouting at people in another country hoping they'll understand us because we're British! Of course they don't, they try to help, they offer whatever they think you need, but ultimately they don't understand what the hell you're going on about.

That's how it feels in my world trying to get people to understand me... I shout, I scream behind closed doors, I joke about it, I ridicule myself but no one seems to get 'it'

Two years ago I fell off my perch and after several months off work sick and the right meds I headed back up there.

There were the compulsory questions, there was a risk assessment,  but there was no understanding. Not even an attempt at understanding if I'm honest. Two years later and I've never had a follow up, I work in a anger driven, hate ridden environment with lots of grief and nastiness but do I or any of my colleagues for that matter get anyone ask us if we're coping... nope. Has anyone from supervision ever sat me down and discussed my case load with me, even if its just to offer morale support ... Nope.

It's a lonely place feeling desperate and its crushing to me having been a high functioning problem solver not to be able to snap out of it, not be able to fix myself.

When you look in the mirror... what do you see? I see something that I don't like, in fact I often repeat the same mantra to myself   'gee you sure is ugly'   There's nothing in my reflection I want to see, looking is a necessity for social compliance. I need to fit societies mould. One day though I suspect I'll stop looking altogether.

I have my ups and downs. Good times and bad. I've learnt to see when things are sliding down hill... that's where you find me today.

A little tearful, banging headache, aching joints. Wanting to get drunk but not even sure I can be arsed to do that.

I feel like I'm in that moment just as you trip up when you're still upright but know full well you're headed for the deck. That secret second when you know your future before anyone else.
That moment when you've sent a text message, a 'shitogram' expecting it to go to your best mate who you've been remonstrating with about whoever has pissed you off... then you realise you've just sent it straight to that very person. That moment when the world stops and your stomach feels like its dropping out of your arse! You flush with embarrassment heart beating swiftly as you think of the cover story you're going to tell!

I feel that secret moment now, I fear that fall, I'm considering my cover stories...

Yet being the reflective type I do ponder how people are meant to get 'it'. Lets face it, life is full of unique experiences and we all tread our own paths so can't possibly know everything or be expected to have the empathy to match every given situation can we?

I know that when I get to this wobbly stage its because of a combination of problems. Much like the start of a game of Jenga I can be strong tower, a force to reckon with, but start to chip away at me and I'll start to wobble. That said even a wobbling Jenga game with a few cornerstones missing can remain standing, ...right?

I am currently still standing, fighting my demons, trying to steady myself.


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