Another year older today. I’m in my head so much on a regular basis, I don’t feel any compulsion to set aside time to ponder and wax lyrical about another year older, what I have learned, what I must do moving forward, what my greater purpose in life is, blah blah.
I also haven’t felt like writing the past two weeks because it’s just been Covid-19 news everywhere, and I have been wasting far too much time keeping up with the happenings around the world.
That doesn’t mean that I haven’t had a recent breakthrough via a breakdown, though. It hit me out of nowhere on Friday last week.
Not true. Not completely out of nowhere. Always there must be a trigger, subtle or sudden as it might be.
This one followed a visit with my mother to see a lawyer. We needed advice on certain matters pertaining to my brother’s upkeep, and we were fortunate to have met a lawyer who is well-versed in community matters regarding persons with special needs.
The meeting itself went well, and it gave us some clarity on steps moving forward, and this is what I updated my hubby later that night.
But as I updated him, the same old issues regarding the whole situation with my family came up, and I had yet another breakdown. Don’t picture some hysterical sobbing, or pots and pans being flung about.
No, just me curling up and going into some dark abyss.
And this time, revealing more scary truths to my hubby.
I had been feeling fine(ish) the past couple of months, occasionally bleah because of the conflict between my overachieving tendencies and a current lack of work, but mostly, quite all right.
But those damn demons that haunt me started cropping up again. Nothing major, just a single thought, now and then.
Like when I am at the gym, and I suddenly had this almost certain feeling that my demise would be caused by my own self. Like I can already see it happening one day, far in the future, though, so not to worry.
Or like when I am sitting in my balcony and a fleeting vision of me fleeing and flailing over appears before me.
Scary shit, no?
Like I said, don’t worry, they are transient, premonitory thoughts. Most times, I am too occupied with which wine I might be imbibing for that night to do anything drastic like that.
Still, saying it out loud to my hubby made me realise that this cannot go on. I have tried psychoanalysing myself (I am good at it, ask anyone who knows me well!), talking to my friends, my hubby and so on.
But this is not good if these demons still come over me now and then. They should not, they cannot, they must not.
Hubby had broached the topic of therapy before during my past breakdowns. They were met with resistance in the form of me proclaiming my excellent ability to talk to myself. And having awesome armchair shrink friends.
At one point, a few years back, I had agreed to seeking help, but then, a few days later, I found a job and you know… just moved on.
But as the recent episode demonstrated, I can’t just keep moving on. I can’t keep just relying on myself and my hubby to manage and lead this life.
I assure you, it is not an easy decision for me to make, to see a therapist. What’s even harder… is telling you about it.
But then again, here I am, telling everyone to seek help if they need it, to not be afraid of the stigma and so on, so why the hell am I not doing it??
It was as clear as day that night when I was crying and foretelling my ending. Years, and these thoughts still creep into my head, now and then. This cannot go on!
So, it’s time. I need to talk to a professional. And so, I will be. The appointment is in late April though, wow, so many troubled people out there, but the point is, finally, I am actually going to talk to a professional.
I wonder how it will be? What is she going to say that I already don’t know? Will it really help me? Well, I won’t know till I do it.
So there. My birthday present to myself this year. Hope of better mental health. Wish me luck.