Friday, 29 April 2016

A Bad Day

I write about my depression and anxiety a lot on here, but, generally speaking, I write about it from a positive angle; when I'm feeling optimistic. As the photos in my post for International Day of Happiness show, so much can change in a day - it's easy to write optimistically in the wake of a bad day or moment, but it's becoming more and more apparent to me that I should also write when things aren't good. Talk about how I'm feeling, in the moment.



So, then: today is a bad day. One of the worst I've had in a long time, actually. It shouldn't be, because I'm on the train to London to stay with one of my favourite people on the planet (who I somehow haven't seen in a YEAR), but so far it has been.

I couldn't find my suitcase, I guess that's how it started. And then I was running late, and then I felt a panic attack coming out of nowhere and I lost control for a few minutes and this is what I want you to know: anxiety isn't like feeling nervous. Anxiety is screaming at someone you love because you can't find another way to deal with it. Anxiety is punching a wall because everything becomes too much, all of a sudden and all at once. Anxiety is crying and crying and feeling the walls closing in and feeling as though nothing is okay and, in that moment, like nothing will ever be okay.

I don't know exactly what triggered it. Probably a mix of rushing a bit because I was running a little late (something I should be used to by now), train anxiety and tiredness due to lack of good sleep. Basically: nothing significant. But that's always the way.

My heart hasn't stopped racing yet and it's been an hour since I got on the train. I'm hot and I'm guilty and I'm sad. I'm really sad. My eyeliner is ruined and my foundation is patchy. I'm shaky and on edge and my stomach hurts so much I feel sick.

I feel as though I've taken a huge step backwards after many years of progress. Sure, the progress has been slow and certainly not steady, but it's been progress. It's hard to not be angry with myself, or the part of myself causing all of this. It's like I'm 16 again, undiagnosed, confused and scared. But I'm not. I'm 24 and I know myself and I usually have such a good handle on it. I'm frustrated.

Anxiety is emotionally and physically draining, and bad days happen often. I'll end this post with something Sam just said to me, though:

"I know it's so fucking disheartening when you feel like you're back at square one but you're not - one day isn't going to unravel all the good you've done".

This is not a step backwards, just a bad morning. But I wanted to tell you it happened, because, well, it happens.

Pass me the gin.

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