It has been thirteen days since I last blogged. In the year or so that this blog has been running, I think that is the longest I have gone without posting, or at least re-blogging, something.
I won’t bore you with the details because I’m sure you can work them out for yourselves, but I’ve had a shit couple of weeks. It seems that each day has rolled into the next while my mind attempted to purge itself of demons and antibiotics attempted to purge my body of infection.
However, with grit and determination like you’ve never seen, I’ve fought and coughed and spluttered my way back from the brink of the abyss once more, and I live to see another day (or, hopefully, a few more days).
I’ve taken a break from social media, particularly Twitter, in order to avoid inadvertently triggering myself by helping someone else. In the past I’ve been blind to this pattern of things; but it was there. It’s truly impossible to help others unless we are fully well ourselves. Trust me on that.
As with all feelings, those of despair, of sadness, of anger, of frustration, of an inability to face the future…they all blow over eventually. I’ve come out of this latest maelstrom feeling a bit like Dorothy, landing in Oz in the wake of a Tornado. Although I’ll add, post haste, that I look nothing like Judy Garland, with her perfect skin and striking red pigtails…I’m probably more like Toto, all rough and scraggy and unable to communicate with humans, lol.
But I’m ready, for what seems like the millionth time, to pick myself up now. I’ve been drawing again these last couple of days. That’s always a good sign; motivation and drive to engage in activity. I’m all but one bedtime tablet free of Diazepam. That last pesky pill will be addressed early next week. I’m due to start studying with the OU anytime in the next couple of weeks, with a needs assessment arranged for 13th October. I’m hopeful that this will result in some extra help to allow me to cope better than I have in the past. I’m reading a book, and I don’t care about how it looks on my bedside table. There is nothing cultured about it, it (I’m pretty sure) will never be studied by English Literature students. It is a tome of Cornish stately homes, early twentieth century emigration to Australia, gardens, mazes, family secrets, scandal…and a bloody good story!
None of the above screams of a cure, or even respite of any kind. It’s very early days, and a couple of ‘good’ days is by no means something with which to measure one’s overall ‘state’. But I think I’m heading for an even keel, with the odd undulation for good measure.
I tested the water a little today by going with my Cousin and her boys to her Mum (my Aunt) for lunch. I chose what I wanted to eat, I ate what was on my plate, I sat passively on a chair in a sunny spot of the lounge, I didn’t get agitated with noise, or people, I gave nothing away to let people know I’d had enough or otherwise.
So, yes, it’s been awful. I’ve cried and panicked and bitten my nails to the quick, and I probably will again. But this post is my testament that a storm will blow over, the rain will stop, the clouds will part and the sun will shine once more.