There was a time, not all that long ago, where I didn’t think I’d make it.
I wasn’t living, barely existing.
Waking up, if I even fell asleep, left me dreading the day ahead, not even the thought of my kids could get any enthusiasm from me to get up and do something.
The slightest thing could set me off in to a snarling, vicious, hateful rage, aimed at no one but myself.
I was unable to leave the house alone.
Thoughts of seeing people, of being outside, left me curled on the floor, paralysed as a panic attack stole my breath and tried to rip my heart through my chest.
When I did venture out, I needed someone with me, even then panic attacks would hit me, being unable to breathe or move, knowing everyone was looking, pointing and judging.
Slowly, somehow, things have changed.
My mood swings still scare the hell out of me, they are triggered by such inconsequential events I can’t avoid them, but they no longer come as often.
Some mornings I wake up and have such enthusiasm for the day to start, it’s all I can do not to throw the window open and sing!
The panic attacks still hit me, leaving me shaken and doubting any progress I’ve made, but they don’t come as often as they once did.
I’m no longer positive that the only way for my children to have a happy childhood is for me to not be in it.
I can now even go outside, without having someone with me!
The thought of leaving the house still gives me a panic attack, I get freaked out by large crowds.
But I’m making progress, slowly things are changing.
The point of my ramblings?
Depression is a nasty, isolating bitch of an illness, it can rip your life apart in ways you never thought possible.
But it doesn’t have to define you.
It can and does get better, and whilst I don’t think I’ll ever escape it completely, I know I can live with it.
Life is looking good!