My anxiety is back and it is high intensity anxiety. I am constantly on edge. Constantly feeling like there is something bad around the corner. Constantly trying to avoid the world.
I know this has been triggered by my charity event. I know it isn’t helping reliving the miscarriages every week but as I have said previously, I can’t undo what I have started.
Work is proving difficult because my brain just can’t function. I have no pressing demands, no deadlines so I go into full on avoidance mode.
My self care is so bad. I can’t remember the last time I had a bath because I am scared of that I will suffer flashbacks of when I dried to drown myself in the water.
I am scared to get public transport because I am scared that people, specifically men, will get too close and accidentally touch me or brush up against me. I am scared of the memories that will resurface.
I want to binge so badly but I went back to SW and am doing well. I am eating better for the first time in months. My IBS and migraine symptoms are receding. I can’t indulge and have a treat because I am scared that once I start on that slippery path I won’t get back off again.
And my counsellor is on holiday this week, so I have no where to turn. No one to talk to because I can’t tell my friends because I am scared they will think I am crazy.
Maybe I am.
I can’t believe it has been over a month since I last updated here! I can’t believe it has been that long since I decided to do my charity event.
So, the planning has happened. Tickets are on sale and I have sold a number of raffle tickets. Things are moving along nicely. Rehearsals are happening for the plays and I am generally pleased with how things are going.
It has been a lot harder emotionally than I thought. Every time we rehearse, it is like reliving the pain all over again. And I don’t know if I am strong enough to do this.
Everyone says it is an amazing thing I am doing and they are so proud but I feel anything but proud or strong.
I don’t know that I can take the emotional toll it is putting on me but I have too. I started this rollercoaster and I can’t get off it now.
That being said, even if I knew how hard it was going to be, I don’t know that I would change things.
I guess I just wanted to acknowledge how hard this was for me. And it is hard to admit that it is hard.
So a while ago at work I made some small mistakes. Unfortunately, as often happens, small mistakes add up and they became a big mistake. Especially when they culminate when you are on holiday and you can fix them. And then you come back into work complete unaware of what happened when you were absent and it feels like all hell has broken loose. You are dragged over the coals and spend the better part of the day crying because although you knew things were bad, you never knew they were that bad.
But things improve, or so you think. It gets easier to go to work again and it gets easier to do your job. And you think you have made improvements, good improvements because no one has told you otherwise (and the weekly meetings you asked to have with your manager – well they never materialise). All of a sudden, some six or seven weeks later you have another meeting only to be told there has been an improvements, but not a massive improvement. And your world starts to fall apart again.
This was me, on Friday. And I have spent all week anxious and worrying about work. I am going on annual leave again on Thursday and already I can feel the dread and the panic because I am worrying about what I will face when I come back to work next Thursday. I have wished this week and my holiday week away through fear.
I tried asking for help and support and got nothing in return. My manager won’t hold weekly meetings with me and never intended too. It’s not his style and he doesn’t see why he should. He won’t do it for me if he’s not doing it for the rest of the team and as the rest of the team don’t need it therefore I don’t.
He won’t give me clarification on what I can do to improve as I should know. I should know what is expected of me. I don’t. I struggle to do the basics of my job and I need help with the additional stuff. Apparently because I am the senior person in my role, it feels like I don’t need support. Or I shouldn’t need support rather.
I don’t want to cause trouble. I don’t want to be the person who is always complaining. But I want to be able to do my job. I don’t want to be scared anymore. It’s just too hard.
It seems a bit daft, putting that as a blog title, as I am in effect writing the letter I can’t write. Maybe I should have written the ‘Letter I wish I could Send’ or ‘letters’, maybe it should be letters.
I wish I could write a letter to my husband to articulate just what is going on inside my head. How I have these horrible thoughts but they are just thoughts and I would never act on them. Just so he could understand why my mood can change so dramatically and why I am so anxious all of the time. I just want him to be able to understand my anxiety, depression and panic attacks. I am tired of hiding it.
I also want him to see how much pressure I am under. How being the sole breadwinner places a huge burden on me, especially when my mental health is already so delicate. I need him to understand that if he got a job, any job, it would help me so much. It would relieve some of the immense pressure I am under. I think he thinks I have it easy. I go to work full time and don’t have to do school runs or tea but I have it all when I get home. The moment I walk through the door they become my responsibility because I have been at work. They are mine until they go to bed, which is getting later and later as they get older. But I have to do this because I have been to work all day and he has been at home with them. Despite the eldest being at school all day and the youngest all afternoon.
I also want to be able to tell my friends how I am feeling. How I have planned ways to die. How the weight of so much responsibility is crippling me. But I can’t. We share friends, so to say this would be implying that my husband isn’t pulling his weight and that I am speaking badly of him. I wouldn’t want them to look at him knowing what I had said and for it to affect their relationship with him. Or for them to say something to him that I might have said in confidence. So I say nothing. Of course the depression also takes my voice away and doesn’t let me speak, so even if there wasn’t the sharing of friends to deal with, I am not sure I could speak in the first place.
I have gotten better at opening up. I can admit when I am struggling but that’s about it. People know when I am sad but not to the extent that the depression can hit me. And I haven’t admitted the eating to anyone close. I wish my husband could know this. I wish my friends could know the extent to which I suffer. But I can’t let them in. I can’t let anyone in.
And this is why I can’t write these letters and I don’t think I ever will.
I’m not pregnant. I’m definitely not pregnant but I can’t get pregnancy off my mind.
Ever since I came up with a plan that we would have another baby, it’s all i can think about. However they’re not nice thoughts. They are anxious filled, catastrophised thoughts.
I am scared of having to tell people that this will be pregnancy number 6. I’m scared of having to mention the three miscarriages and I’m terrified for the scans. And this is all when I’m not even pregnant yet.
My thoughts range from losing the baby in ways that I have previously to other ways. Work features heavily in this. I am convinced I will lose the baby at work and then get PTSD and have to give up working there because i can’t go back in. Or I will be travelling for work and miscarry on the train or the airplane.
And they progress. I lose the baby at varying stages of the pregnancy or after they are born. None of these thoughts end in me having a baby I can keep and bring home.
And then I think about pregnancy number 7 which of course goes the same as number 6.
It’s so hard living with this in my head. It’s so hard seeing it all wrote out because I feel crazy most of the time for thinking this but I can’t help it. It’s been my reality for 60% of my pregnancies. It feels like all I know at the moment.
I wish these dreams had a different outcome. I really do.
After my first miscarriage, there was no thoughts on if we would have another baby, it was just when. And luckily we were blessed with two healthy children. Two beautiful girls.
When I had the second miscarriage, there was some doubt. Some concern. But we tried again and we dared to hope. Unfortunately it wasn’t to be.
This was when the comments started. You have two healthy girls, just concentrate on them. You’re not going to put yourself through this again are you. Be grateful for the girls that you have. And as much as I don’t want them to stick in my mind, they do. And they make a part of the decision making process.
We were always going to try for a third baby. If things had gone to plan, we would have had a third baby so why I am doubting trying now? Emotionally, I want and I don’t want a new baby. I want one to complete our family. I miss the snuggles and the breastfeeding. The journey of getting to know a new little person and raising them. I am scared at the same time. I am scared of my anxiety and depression and my post natal depression. I am scared of my anger and how sometimes I don’t think I can manage the two children I have. I am scared we won’t be able to afford a baby. I am scared.
But the biggest things in my mind are the people who are asking me if I should do this again. That if we lose the baby again, that if I go through this again they will question my choices. That they won’t be sympathetic. That I will deserve it. I am worried about their judgement and this is affecting my decisions. Which is wrong on so many levels.
And this is where I miss my counsellor. Because I don’t want to tell people these thoughts. It sounds insane that I would listen to other people before myself, but here I am. Their thoughts and feelings shouldn’t matter too much. But they do.
Because what if they are right?
I am struggling at the moment. I have anxiety and depression. I have had two miscarriages recently, with the due date of the second one looming shortly. I have as of yet diagnosed PTSD and an Eating Disorder. I am the sole earner in our family. I am currently having to manage the workload of two people at work while they find a replacement for my colleague who left at the end of December. I have no support. No counsellor or therapist and as a private person, I hate asking for help.
Yesterday I went to the opticians. I knew what the outcome would be – I need new glasses. My husband needed new glasses about six months ago and I couldn’t buy them for him. I need to buy mine though as I need them for work. I had to ask work for a loan – again.
My GP was going to chase the therapists up for me. I haven’t heard anything from him. I am probably due to chase them myself at the end of the week.
But I am sick. I am so so sick of everything. I am tired of everything being a battle. I am tired of everything being so hard. And I am tired of being so responsible.
I just want to say F*** it and give up. But I can’t. So many people rely on me and need me for something. But sometimes, it is just so hard to carry on.