By now, I hoped to be writing words full of fun and sunshine, blaming the misery of my recent posts on a blip, but I am now pretty much resigned to the fact that this hell that I’ve been experiencing is cause for some concern.
The husband went on a weekend away and I found myself at home riding a never-ending rollercoaster of emotions. I was so thankful that I had made plans to see friends, it felt like an actual lifeline, I really didn’t want to be alone whilst I was feeling like this.
Of course, I couldn’t surround myself with people and distractions the entire time, so there were times when I was alone and quite frankly, they were horrific. I was relieved when the husband returned before the madness of my own mind swallowed me whole.
The anxiety and all the other sh*t that I was experiencing did not magically disappear and I went into my therapy session on Tuesday knowing there would be tears, they at least had the uncharacteristic good manners to wait until I sat in the chair, just.
It felt a relief to offload to someone who is impartial. I feel such a massive amount of guilt when I share my problems with people I know, you never know what someone else has going on and I am really conscious of burdening others with my own stuff. Speaking to my therapist, who I now trust as completely as I would a close friend, is a godsend at times like these, although I will admit, I’ve walked away from a therapy session feeling guilty sometimes but then I remind myself that this is the nature of our relationship and she is here to help me.
I do leave with a fresh perspective on things and I feel lighter, having left some of my troubles behind. It’s not long before the tension rises back up and I want to shut myself away again. My phone goes on do not disturb for the rest of the day.
As the end of the week nears, I do my best to shove my thoughts and feelings into the recesses of my mind. My bestie is taking me and her daughter (mini bestie) to Paris for the weekend for belated birthday celebrations and I am determined not to be a misery. I want to leave my troubles at home, I’m sure they’ll eagerly be awaiting my return.
I think I managed to successfully pull myself together in time and we soon landed in a very rainy Charles De Gaulle airport. Our cases arrive pretty quickly but I notice that when mine does, my suitcase tag is missing. It’s one that was bought for me as a wedding gift and has a sentimental note in it. I fight back tears, I am gutted, I’ve managed to hang on to that for 5 years and now it’s gone. It’s only a note, it’s not the end of the world. I mentally shake myself and try my best not to think about it.
Our drive into Paris took longer than expected, the motorway was flooded with the tyres of some of the cars being half covered but we spent the journey laughing so it didn’t affect us one bit. We arrive at our gorgeous hotel, unpack and decide that as the torrential rain appears to be going nowhere, we will get freshened up and change and have drinks in the hotel bar before heading to dinner, rather than having an explore as planned.
We arrive a a beautiful little restaurant in Montmartre. I am feeling relaxed, grateful and happily tucking into my dinner when all of a sudden I feel a whoosh of heat quickly rise up through my body. Weird. I am looking across the table at the girls, but I just don’t feel right, I feel funny. Am I going to pass out? I feel like everything is far away. Eventually, I have to let them know that I am having some sort of funny turn.
Mini bestie comes and sits next to me, I am too scared to move for fear I will fall straight to the floor. I put my head in my hands, I am all clammy. WTF even is this? I am honestly quite terrified. All I want is to cool myself down by splashing some cold water on my face, but I don’t think I will make it despite us being close to the bathroom. I ask the bestie if she will come with me if I get up, just in case I fall, but mini bestie advises me not to move and orders me a full fat coke.
After what seems like an hour – but really is only probably 10 minutes – and a glass of full-fat coke, I start feeling the weirdness dissipate. I am able to stand and go to the bathroom to cool myself down and it’s not long before I am fully back to normal.
The rest of the weekend went without a hitch, we went to the Eiffel Tower and drank champagne at the top, we went on a dinner cruise where we saw the Eiffel Tower sparkling at night and we did a Segway tour of Paris which I was surprised to find I really enjoyed, once I got over the sheer panic that I was going to either die or kill someone else with my lack of Segway control.
Before I knew it we were on a flight home. I had had a brilliant time and even better, I hadn’t cried for 3 whole days. I arrived back home after midnight and the husband had made the house all nice and cosy, it was a really lovely welcome home. Exhausted from a long day I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.
The next day, it’s back to reality. I am exhausted. I allowed myself a little lie-in, caught up on Love Island and then had a shower to liven myself up before starting work. By the time I sit down for the evening, my anxiety is back with a bang. I spend the evening trying to ignore it but there are literal tears before bedtime.
Of course, I wake up early the following morning, the anxiety has subsided a little but it’s still there bubbling under the surface. I decide enough is enough, I am going to book an appointment with a doctor via my private healthcare. I log on, feeling a bit better for taking some action.
They need to verify my ID before I can book, even though I have used it before. I scan my driving license, and then they want a selfie. What? I open the front-facing camera and one look at my creased 6 am morning face with hair sticking up is enough to send me over the edge, and the tears come again. Why is everything so f*cking difficult?
After my little tantrum, I straighten myself up and take the damn selfie, I need to get to the bottom of this once and for all.
I had a counselling session later that morning, I usually go fortnightly but after my meltdown last week, we both agreed that it would be best for me to go again this week, especially as we were both away after that.
I went over everything that had been going on. I told her that it’s almost like I’m addicted to stress and worry, it just seems so constant at the moment and when there isn’t really anything to worry about, I’ll find something.
She explained that it is entirely possible for my body to crave certain hormones if they get used to them, so if I am constantly releasing the stress hormone my body might not know how to be without it. And they say booze is bad for you!
We talked about things I could do to help with this and I left the session surprised that although my tears were definitely on the brink of surfacing, they did not. It felt like a strange win, maybe I have run out?
