It’s been 6 months since my last post.
It’s been just under 5 months since the meds kicked in… and I stopped feeling suicidal.
As much as I had been trying to pull myself together, make positive plans and calm my anxiety, the reality of my struggles hit home like a brutal blow. A couple of days after my weekend away, immense fear took over and what little strength I had had in me to cope with it, just crumbled.
I cancelled the last day of a course I was attending, I cancelled a plan to meet a friend and started to succumb to this crippling fear.
Somehow, I managed to bring myself together to go to a Mindfulness day on the Saturday. I thought maybe this will help me, this will help calm this incessant anxiety, this will be good for me. I know a few people, this will be ok. I was trying.
In the silence, surrounded by a room full of people, I felt a pain so distressing, I was scared.
I was in too deep. Suicide became real.
I came home, curled up in a ball under my duvet and cried hard out. I thought I’m not able for this world. I can’t take it.
Extreme pain and fear took over. I thought about a way out.
For the next 5 weeks, I merely existed. I existed in the most mentally uncomfortable way imaginable. Every conscious and non distracting minute of every day was excruciating.
Mum was beside herself with worry. She said about going into hospital.