It’s been a tough year so far with one thing and another. There really was no need for a global killer pandemic on top of being bullied and publically slandered, losing the desperately needed house I’d searched for for 5 years, and spending months being bitten by vampire bugs while I slept. Add the final stages of the menopause to the mix, not to mention all my pre-existing health bollocks and my 8 years of non-stop caring duties, and I think I’ve earned my recent mini melt-down. When it got to the stage where I started to cry the second I opened my eyes each morning, however, I knew I was in trouble and something had to change.
I’m usually pretty good at giving myself a rallying pep talk, re-aligning my state of mind and counting my blessings, but the past couple of months I’ve just been too tired. Way, wayyyyy too tired. Instead, I did something rare for me and reached out to other people. Admitted I was struggling. Hoped for some loving support and guidance. I might as well have put my mental health in a blender.
I told my GP, not for the first time, that I was struggling and feeling overwhelmed in a recent written review I have to do each year for my insurance company. Being as though I call her by her first name, she’s been my GP for years and she knows how strong I usually am, I thought she might at least be concerned enough to pick the phone up and speak to me. Just to check I wasn’t going to slit my wrists in the bath. Turns out all the lovely caring doctors you see on the telly are just actors and the ones in real life don’t give a shit.
I reached out to my disabled friend, to tell him how stressed, overwhelmed and exhausted I was. And he told me to cheer the fuck up and get over it. Helpful! And needless to say we are no longer friends.
I told my ‘nice’ neighbours and friends of 16 years that I was really struggling with all the increases in noise where we live, particularly as I’ve been feeling so exhausted and it was affecting my ability to sleep, and was told it didn’t bother them, the world can’t stop turning for me and to basically get over myself. I’m no longer friends with them either, particularly as I was crying when I was telling them because I felt so down and unwell.
I’ve also written several posts here on my blog recently about how low I’m feeling and out of 900 followers less than 10 people have reached out to me. So to Melody, Guinevere, Livvy, Eirlysgwenllian, Jane, Elaine, swinkie34, Jill and Daniel I have one thing to say……………… 🧡 🧡🧡🧡🧡. And to Linds and jen6girls “thank you from the bottom of my heart!” for offering (and in Linds case getting at huge cost to herself) me some famotidine. And to those of you who I know are going through stuff much, much worse than me (artfulblasphemer I think of you often) and are too unwell and exhausted to comment, I understand totally and send my love and hugs.
On the whole, though, the reaching out thing has been about as successful as Boris Johnson’s Covid response . On the plus side, not spending half an hour each day talking to my disabled friend on the phone to ease his loneliness plus half an hour each day talking to my ‘nice’ neighbours who are isolated due to Covid has freed up a whole hour of my time, so at least I’m managing to keep on top of my laundry.
I’ve discovered that it’s not that good to talk (only Brits will get the joke 😉) and it’s solely up to me to pull myself out of the mire – no change there and the story of my life. So I scraped up the energy to give myself the pep talk. To re-focus my intentions for my days. To raise my vibration. To keep moving forward by setting myself new goals and challenges. Which might involve me being substantially more selfish and which will come as a shock to most of the people around me who take my care of them, and the generous donation of my precious time and energy, for granted.
It’s at times when we feel at our most weak, that we have to be our most strong. Onward and upward Warriors!