On a grey and cold Sunday of autumn I'm very much on edge. Plagued for years by bad dreams things did improve when I stopped smoking in 2014. This morning they took their vengeance. Four one after another took a big toll and drove me out of bed. I haven't settled yet.
Mentally I've struggled since Friday. Another anniversary to get through and I didn't cope well. In fact I haven't coped well in the last few days.
I've attracted many psychiatric labels over the years few of which were helpful and some downright hurtful and damaging. The word anxiety was first written down in my notes in 2018. It was not revealed to me until 2022. That is 32 years after my illness began in this form. Why did it take so long?
That I've always been anxious has been noticed by some over the years. It fits given how I struggle with small everyday things. Nothing is done without fear in my world.
In May though an explanation of sorts came to light. The word trauma was used for the first time by a mental health professional. That is potentially game changing. Not only that but her deliberation said not 35 years but 55. Yes, a lifetime.
I will not get any more light on that revelation until next year. Yes the waiting list is that long. But I'm prepared to be patient.
In the meantime I focus on my slow return to work. My music. My books. And my cooking. On a difficult day I'm doing the last three. Mozart plays, a rolled breast of turkey with sage and thyme wrapped in bacon is in the oven, and my book is beside me. Simple pleasures on a challenging day.
I Heard a Voice.
No comments:
Post a Comment