One year ago today I flidded out at the end of one shite working day too many. I was driven home by my friend in tears after ranting at the school secretary. I sobbed on Bman and then took to my bed.
I then didn’t go back to work for 3 months.
Some people cared enough to keep in touch and come visit me. Some sent love tokens. Some sent not particularly helpful but nonetheless thoughtful texts of encouragement. Some people did bugger all. Couldn’t even be fagged to send a text. Maybe they didn’t give a shit. Maybe they were scared of what to say, because people are afraid of mental health issues.
My family were fab. The usually reticent, emotionally stunted, least empathetic man I call my husband, was surprisingly caring and patient. He didn’t want me to return to work at all but I’m too used to earning my own money to rely just on him to pay the bills.
I don’t think I was really aware of how low, crap, sad, worthless, tired and unhappy I was in my life (mostly, but not limited to, my work) until I stopped feeling like that.
I won’t lie. I sometimes feel myself slipping again. Particularly in my work. Especially lately. I do often feel like my soul is being sucked from me.
But I won’t let it beat me.
People are a bit more open these days to hearing that you suffer from the Black Dog from time to time. Although of late it’s a lot more fashionable to have been touched up by a male co-worker or boss (Weinstein Effect) than to be a bit cuckoo. I wonder what next year’s trend will be? People will start coming forward to admit to secretly masturbating to Storage Wars or something. #Metoo (that’s not true BTW – I don’t!)
Don’t listen to me, I’m a bit mental remember. (Just not quite at the juicy fruit stage yet!)
Stay happy y’all. Life is short.