A Little Set Back
From the beginning I’ve been honest about my experiences with depression and PTSD, maybe too honest at times, but that’s by the by.
Now it’s time to share the set back.
A little over a month ago I had a health scare, convinced I had breast cancer I made a gp appointment, explained my concerns and had a breast exam. She found nothing to worry about, my concerns were relieved and I learnt something new about my body, hormones are crazy.
But since then I’ve been hyper aware of every single little ache, pain, bruise, bout of indigestion, hiccup or lack of appetite. These have morphed in to every single kind of disease and ailment known to man, plus some I made up. My anxiety turned a bruise on my leg from kicking the bed frame to a killer disease, then the thoughts of dying in my sleep took over, leaving my children motherless and Spencer without his Amanda. I’d see references to cancer everywhere, again reinforcing what I thought was wrong with me despite the breast exam giving me the all clear, I’d see the number 13 every time I looked at a clock or timer, at the number of comments on a forum, obviously this was a sign I was unlucky and thus deathly ill.
These thoughts became so overwhelming that I’d breakdown in tears, snap at the children and make myself sick with worry. And thus began the cycle, I’d get sick with worry then imagine the sick feeling was me dying, which would in turn make me feel sick again, and so it goes….
Anxiety is hard to explain, it takes over everything until you’re in a heap on the floor struggling to breathe whilst your hands spasm with paralysis. If left unchecked it takes over everything preventing you from participating in life.
I knew I couldn’t continue this cycle, I owe myself and my family better than this, so off I went to the gp.
As much as I hated it, explaining what was going on felt like such a relief. She assured me all was okay and explained how my anxiety was perpetuating my symptoms, those pesky hormones.
We agreed on a course of action, beta blockers and learning what mindfulness works for me.
I’ll admit that walking out clutching that prescription felt odd, not failure exactly but a step backwards at least.
I’ve always said there is no shame in needing help, and there really isn’t. Popping a pill every morning to settle my racing thoughts and allow me to live life rather than fear what the next day will bring is invaluable.
So, whilst I’ve had a little set back, admitting I need help is worth it, it’s not the end of the world, just a slight detour on my journey.