Trigger Warning: This blog talks about depression and anxiety and the impact they can have on someone
Recovery took a while. After so many years of build-up it was inevitable that I was going to take a lot of mending. It was not only about taking the medication, it was changing the whole way I approached life. I retreated into a type of self-isolation – dealing with anyone apart from my immediate family was just too hard. I concentrated on myself and my children each day – it was all I could manage. My husband was incredible. The support, patience, and care he gave me meant that I was able to rest and allow myself to heal. I spent a lot of time sleeping initially. I was exhausted. When I use the term exhausted – I really mean it. It was tiring to even talk let alone think of doing anything else. But time is indeed a healer, and slowly, inevitably I began to feel stronger. It took the best part of a year before I felt strong enough to talk to others outside of my home or indeed start to go out of the house. The first trip to the supermarket was with my husband. I clutched on to the trolley for dear life as we slowly made our way up and down each aisle. At one point he went on ahead to look for something, I could feel the panic rising as there seemed to be so many people around me. The palpitations began and I could hear my heart beating vigorously. It took ever ounce of strength to try and regulate my breathing whilst repeating to myself that all was ok. There were many times like that – especially when visiting others. I would be hyperventilating before I had even reached the door.
This was definitely the peak of my social anxiety. Even when I slowly began to meet others or talk to others – at the school gates or at family gatherings, I became very good at putting on my ‘brave face’ mask. I am not sure why I wanted the world to see me as happy and well, but that was what I chose. I would smile, talk fast so that I had asked how they were, made small talk and then quickly moved on before they got to asking how I was. This meant I flittered about making myself busy so I wouldn’t have time to panic and I did not talk to anyone for long enough to be found out to be ‘lying’. By the time I would get home I would be absolutely exhausted at keeping up the pretence. Physically and mentally I would go into standby mode – just to conserve and recharge any energy left in my battery.
With the medication I found myself to be rather sleepy anyway and I found I needed to sleep in the afternoon – just so that I could get through the rest of the day. When I was up and about, I did not have the strength or energy for most things but felt so guilty and did not want to be just sat there twiddling my fingers. This is when my love for jigsaws and colouring began. Both activities meant that I was occupied with doing something, I could concentrate on these tasks and not have to think about anything else. I found them to be diverting and relaxing, although I had to be careful of the muscle aches in the arms and shoulders because of the fibromyalgia. This got me frustrated at times – that I couldn’t even carry out enjoyable and fun tasks and activities without experiencing pain.
Persistence and determination is what got me through. This is not easy when your battery is already very low, I found I had to dig very deep to push on through. Each step was like a mini mountain – but I had to do it, for my children. I was determined that they would not remember me as being a crying and sleepy mess. I realised that I had to go at my pace – which was rather like the tortoise in the Aesop fable. I may have not been hare-like and able to rush around like ‘normal’ people seemed to do, but rather slowly and surely plodded on at a steady and measured pace. I think I did pretty well once I stopped comparing myself to others. I got my chores done, looked after my family, and slowly I became stronger.