It’s been a while since I wrote anything. Not intentional. I genuinely haven’t been able to make head nor tail of my emotions, let alone pinpoint something to write about.
I reluctantly went to the doctors this week.
I’m no stranger to mental health problems but I seldom talk about it to even my closest friends, let alone publicly.
But this post is not about my complete inability to cope with life or function rationally as a grown up…
This post is about accepting when it’s got too much.
I struggled through the first couple of weeks trying to convince myself that everything I was feeling was normal and that I would just have to ‘get through it’ like everyone else does.
The reality is most people who’ve ‘got through it’ before me probably have done so because of counselling and medical help. It’s not weak to ask for help.
The doctor said something to me that made my blood boil. Something that a lot of people have said to me. ‘You seem very calm for someone who’s boyfriend’s just died’…
How am I supposed to seem exactly? Am I supposed to be a public mess or a bed bound recluse? Everything I do will be wrong in someones eyes. But it really hurts when people assume that my composure is attributed to coldness as opposed to strength or dignity.
Since realising that actually I couldn’t cope on my own I’ve been on anti-depressants and sleeping pills. I’ve seen no affect yet but I’m trying to focus on moving forward because there’s really nothing else at the moment.