A week ago we watched as a political protest turned violent and erupted into rioting and looting. We stared in horror as images of burned out shopping centres, factories,and medical centres and mobs of angry people flashed across our screens. My kids asked if they could sleep in my room cause they were scared of the sounds of gunshots, sirens, and screaming coming from our usually quiet little suburb.
Then the fear mongering started. The endless messages and voice notes about how the violence was race related. How we would be murdered in our beds. How the government is trying to kill all of their “enemies”. And then it got worse. We started running out of food and fuel. People queued for hours only to be sent away empty handed. You could smell the fear and desperation in the air. It smelt like burning rubber.
Then out of the ashes came hope. Ordinary people banded together to protect their homes and businesses. The community came together to clean up after the devastating fires. They shared food and resources with each other.
But the feel good insta posts didn’t help my anxiety at all. I had to take a break from all social media because I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function because I had to know if we would be safe. I had to be ready. I packed “go bags”. I don’t know why. We had no where to go. All the major roads had been closed. The fear and anxiety pushed me to a place where I no longer had feelings. I just felt numb all the time. And it didn’t scare me. I was perfectly functional but not ok.
It’s not over. Sporadic violence is still breaking out all over the place. I’m starting to feel like more like a person again, which is good. I hope I can keep it together enough to get through the next week.
Sunday nights are the saddest night of the week. Not only do I have to mourn that weekend that is over, I also have to start preparing for the week to come. It’s not that I don’t like my job, I just don’t own my time during the week. It belongs to adulting and responsibilities. Weekends are for fun and family. Sunday nights are the gatekeepers of the week.
Hope is a tricky thing. I don’t think I can exactly explain what the concept of “hope” is. Is it waking up on Christmas morning? That feeling you get that something awesome is just around the corner? Or is it the desperate understanding that things just have to get better, because you will not survive if they get worse.
I have no idea. I don’t know when last I felt hope. I use the word a lot “I hope this email finds youwell”, “I hope you feel better”. “I hope to never feel this way again”. But I still don’t know what that means. Then again, the absence of hope also sucks. Being hopeless is just as bad, that cold, numb nothingness that weighs you down from the inside out.
I might not have an exact definition of hope but I’m not going to stop looking for it, the absence of it is simply to horrifying to imagine
My brain had been busy the whole day today, but I haven’t been able to form any coherent thoughts. I don’t know why. My train of thoughts derailed early this morning already when I sat staring into the distance instead of getting ready for work.
The good thing about daydreaming the day away is that my day went really fast, the downside is that my brain feel is like it’s stuffed with marshmallows right now. I wasn’t thinking of anything specific, I actually can’t remember a single detail. It was a good day.
I’ve been on a bit of a minimalist kick lately, I’ve gone through cupboards and boxes, throwing away and donating stuff that I just don’t need or want anymore. It’s scary how much clutter I’ve managed to accumulate the last few years. I usually have an annual declutter where I systematically go through the whole house and sort out all of our stuff. It’s a whole process that takes ages to organise and usually ends in tears and frustration as there is just so much to do!
This, however is different. Gentler. More impulsive. It started when I decided to rearrange my desk. Then a few days later, I rearranged the spice cupboard. I’ve done the linen cupboard and I’ve sorted out all my clothes. There is no rhyme or reason. When the mood strikes and I feel restless, I put on my headphones and go and sort some stuff out. It helps.
Maybe I’m using decluttering as a coping mechanism. The world is a very messy place but at least I can clean my closets. Maybe it’s not that deep, I might just be tired of not being able to find anything in the junk drawer when I’m looking for batteries. Who knows?
…said the well meaning person as they watched me take my antidepressants. “You seem absolutely fine”. Of course I do. I’ve been pretty well medicated for the past 5 months. I’ve spent hours talking to a therapist, learning different coping mechanisms and I have to actively work on seeming “absolutely fine”.
But I’m worried that I’m not fine. I’m worried that I haven’t actually made any progress at all and it’s only the medication keeping my depression and anxiety under control. It stresses me out that my prescription is coming to an end soon and I’m not sure if my script will be renewed as my Doctor doesn’t like extending scripts long term. I’m worried that all the little tips and tricks I’ve learnt to keep the anxiety at bay are simply band aids, and that I’m not actually managing my anxiety, I just think I am.
Perhaps the pandemic has helped my depression and anxiety more than I had realised. In the before times, I would go to work and then come home and deal with my kids while stressing about work. Now I go to work, come home and work out/study/have fun with the kids and don’t think about work at all. Every weekend is packed with activities, I’m having proper quality time with my family. I have filled my days with things that make me happy. My relationship with my daughters have improved so much and our home life is so calm and peaceful.
The question is, has the medication allowed me to get out of my own way so that I could finally apply all the things I learnt in therapy? Or is the progress only due to the medication. Obviously I’m hoping that the meds have helped me to make the initial changes and that by the time I start weaning off of them I already have the tools to cope. But that’s not something I can worry about now, for now all I can do is keep taking my meds and hope for the best.
Seriously, I actually am. For the first time in a while I feel cool, calm and collected. Still a raging bitch but I’m not angry. Or anxious.
I’ve tried lots of things over the years to manage my anxiety. None of it worked. I don’t have a magic bullet, or even an answer why I feel less anxious now. I cleaned up my diet and started doing daily exercise. I’ve also got a weekly planner. It’s oddly soothing to write down what I’m doing for the week. As plans change and things get added I simply annotate and move on. It’s really cool.
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a nice person. Sure I can be nice, but I’m not a nice person. Apart from suffering from social anxiety, I’m also an introvert, and a very sarcastic person. This is not a good combination
My tactlessness has caused a great deal of discomfort to my family over the years, add the social anxiety on and you really have a problem! I’ve decided to work on being a nicer person in 2021. I have no idea how I will accomplish that but I’ve put it on my “to do list”. That fucking list is so long already, one more thing won’t really matter. Well, that wasn’t nice was it? I can see that I will have my work cut out for me!
Happy. I just want to be happy. Not content or complacent, but happy with where I am in life and what I have achieved. I want to be proud of myself and my achievements. I struggle to be proud of myself, I find it hard to admit when I’ve done something well. I find it very easy to see faults and shortcomings. In 2021 I want to acknowledge my achievements and learn from my failures. I guess I want to more well rounded, I want my life to be more balanced and not feel like I’m on a tightrope all the time, scared to fail, scared to take chances.
I want to be brave. Take chances, take risks, face the outcomes whatever they may be. I want to pick myself up when I fall and carry on fighting. I want to be the hero of my own story, I’m tired of being the damsel in distress. I guess I want to be the protagonist for once, and not feel like a secondary character.
I want to be healthy, in my body and mind. It’s a lot to ask, considering that I’ve been struggling with my work-life balance for a very long time. 2021 is going to be the year that I let go of things that I have no control over. I cannot control the actions of others, only how I react to them.