A Grumble

They say you should never write in anger. However, I feel this is the exact time to say what I need to say.

I’m bloody angry. 

I’ve spent years dealing with anxiety and depression. I know who I was before I became unwell. But what is becoming crystal clear now that I’m recovering is just how many people DON’T know who I am.

My mental illness does NOT define me. It is not who I am as a person. It’s merely a set of symptoms and behaviours associated with anxiety and depression. It’s not an intrinsic part of my personality. 

Now that I’m in recovery and making great strides, it really hurts when people say “Oh, that’s not like you!”. They express surprise, even shock, when I do well at work or follow through on something I said I would do. 

They even comment on the fact I wake up in the morning - never mind the fact that I’m a mother to a toddler and wake up every morning anyway?! Plus I’m up several times through the night breastfeeding. So if I’m tired in the morning and choose to sleep for longer, while the father of my child takes over, that doesn’t mean I’m lazy or sleep all the time. It means I’m a tired mum!! 

Yes, my productivity levels have increased. That’s cos I’m in recovery and my brain is no longer struggling to form coherent thoughts through a heavy fog. It’s like I’ve been walking through mud, rain, and fog only for the clouds to clear and the ground to become firm again. The contrast is amazing. You know when you’ve been on the treadmill and you get off and walk on the ground. The feeling of almost walking on air? That’s how I feel now.

It hurts when people make comments saying that I am unreliable, flakey, all talk - why can’t they stop for a moment and consider that maybe, just maybe, that was due to my mental health issues? I may have appeared that way in the past. Maybe I actually was those things before - but that was before, not now. 

The real me is ambitious, driven, passionate, efficient, reliable, productive...

But doubt creeps in. Maybe my memory of who I was is skewed. Maybe I am actually unreliable, lazy and flakey. Maybe I am actually all the things I blamed on my mental illness.

When someone is in recovery, they are still fragile. Their sense of self is being rebuilt. They are still fighting with the demons in their head. That voice saying they will fall again. That they are the manifestations of their mental illness.

If you truly want to support someone going through recovery, don’t make comments on their behaviour/personality/any other changes you note. Because maybe they are just going back to who they were and you never really knew them in the first place. 

Praise them, be positive, support them. Leave the past where it belongs and keep an eye to the future. Accept them for who they are and let them simply be. 

Light & Dark - The Agony & The Ecstasy

I'm lying in my bed watching the sun pour through the window. As I feel its warm rays caress my bare skin, I'm reminded of days when even the sun's warmth could not penetrate the heavy veil of misery enshrouding me. The dark days of depression and anguish.

Today, I'm feeling blessed. I can appreciate the sight of the blue sky outside, with wisps of clouds strolling lazily by.

However, days like this are a double-edged sword. While it is a wonderful feeling to be reminded of my capacity for joy and happiness, it is also a reminder of just how dark those days of depression were.

It is said that light cannot exist without darkness, and vice versa. How true this is. Just how dazzling that light is. How fathomless that darkness is. The contrast is almost unbearable.

You see, while I'm happy to finally be in a place of recovery, it is also a bittersweet experience. The enjoyment of reading a novel after so long not being able to even pick up a book and read, while a wonderful feeling, is also a sad reminder of a time when I was not able to experience that joy.

My brain is working now. I can see and think clearly. Ideas, thoughts and inspiration are pouring out of me, impossible to suppress. Like a river that's been dammed and ready to burst at the banks.

To be at this point in my recovery is like standing at a bend on a mountain path. Able to look back and see where I've been, and to look forward and see how far I have to go. The summit is in sight. I want to run there! But dammit, it's hard work. So close and yet so far.

What no-one tells you about recovery is the pain you feel at every new achievement, every step forward you take. The constant reminders of just how suppressed, how fallen you were. In some ways, it was easier to be depressed and blind to the potential life has to offer - after all, you can't miss what you don't know.

What I am now is hungry. Hungry for joy, passion, life. Having been starved for so long, I now want to make the most of every sunny day. Take those sun beams into my hands and dance, swirling them around my head. More than anything, I want to LIVE - suck the marrow out of life and embrace life for what it has to offer.

After all, what is living if not taking the rough with the smooth, the sweet with the sour, the highs with the lows? What is life if not agony and ecstasy all at once?