The start of the New Year can be pretty challenging for a lot of people. For me, it's one of the hardest times of year. We're lucky enough to be able to have two weeks at home together over the Christmas period. It's just been the three of us for two whole weeks. With no deadlines or to do lists. It's felt safe. But with the deadline of January's reality looming, my demons are out in full force. This year though, I know I need to do something about it.
Looking back, I've always suffered with anxiety. I just didn't know how to label it. Depression was diagnosed and treated. I know that mist and I can talk about it and keep it under control most of the time. But dealing with anxiety is new for me. Not because I've only just started to get it. But because I've only recently admitted to myself that, that is in fact what I've always suffered with.
Anxiety isn't a taboo subject any more. Thanks to the likes of Buzzfeed and The Huffington Post's regular articles and advice, and the brave folk who have come forward and opened up about their sufferings and how they manage it, people like me now have a label for the fear we've been feeling all these years.
I read about it a lot. I join in conversations with people talking about it. Often giving advice to others. But when it comes to me. I can't talk about it.
I've sat, locked in my bathroom sobbing, as my husband sits downstairs unaware of the thoughts and fears that have been taking over my mind whilst we sat watching TV. My heart beats faster, my skin gets hotter, my jaw clenched, as I try to fight it. Fight the ridiculous thoughts that pop up. My son's stopped breathing in bed (I can hear his snores on the monitor!), the front door is unlocked, someone could get in (I've just checked the door, for the fifth time that evening, it's locked). The thoughts are different every time. They're the extreme worse case scenario that life could throw at me at any point. They feel so dam real.
I'll sit in the bathroom trying to compose myself. I breathe. Eventually I calm and pep myself up to go downstairs and tell my husband what's happening. I know I need help. I'll walk down the stairs, rehearsing the opening line trying not to make it sound so dramatic. I take a deep breath, walk into the room. Sit down and act like nothing's happened.
I've honestly lost count of the amount of times I've done that in the last few years. And not just at home. It's happening more and more when I'm out too. But time after time I keep it hidden.
By the time I'm faced with someone to talk to, I've calmed myself down and reassured myself and talking about the thoughts that had just been so real in my head, now feels stupid. I know he wouldn't think it was stupid. But I do. And that's why I find it so hard to talk about it.
The night before taking our son to see Father Christmas, I lay in bed for two hours going over every detail of my husband's (imaginary) affair. This time he'd got her pregnant and I was going through all the details of how I'd get myself and my son through it. How I'd cope as a single parent. The anger and the heartbreak felt real. The tears came again. I couldn't shift it. With my husband and son fast asleep, I took myself downstairs and watched mind numbing TV until I was too exhausted not to sleep.
The next day, my son's excitement got me through the morning, but by the afternoon the exhaustion turned into a huge anxiety attack. I took myself off. But there was no hiding it. Then I had to talk about it. How I've been feeling, not sleeping. I glossed over the details. But at least I got something out. And since then I've felt more at ease.
This is something that's been getting worse over the last few years and it's massively effected my life in the last year. It's affected my relationship with my husband in a big way. Not being able to talk about the tricks my head plays on me, has put a barrier up for talking about anything to anyone. I've become more withdrawn from the people around me. And it's taking its toll.
I have made some adjustments to try and help. I've taken a step back from negative influences and made my home life a priority. As well as making time to look after myself. But the truth is, it's not working. The dark side of my mind is trying to take over and I know I need to do something about it.
Of course, no one who knows me will know any of this. As I said, I don't talk about it and when I'm suffering, I take myself off. I don't see anyone during the bad times so no one knows.
I'm writing this post as my first step to getting help. I know it might seem a bit strange. It's not a cry for help and I'm not looking for sympathy. It couldn't be further from that in fact. Because sympathy makes me feel like a right idiot. I just finally had some of the words and the courage to open up about it. And it felt like the right way to start the ball rolling - as they say!
With my husband going back to work tomorrow, I've been stewing over my thoughts more than ever. My safety net won't be here all day every day and I've got to tackle the world on my own again. I felt strong enough today to say. 'Yep, I need to get myself some help. I can't do this on my own any more.' I'm hoping this is the first step on my way to feeling a little more like me again.
Here's to 2016. Bring it on you bitch.