Wobbly days

Those of you who know me outside of this internet bubble know I use all kinds of euphemisms for bad days. I'm either 'wobbly' or having a bad brain day or feeling flat. Why can't I just come out with it and say, you know what? My depression kicked me flat on my ass the other day and I couldn't do anything.

Because of stigma my friends.
The stigma surrounding mental health sucks. Even the term 'mental health' sucks. It makes me feel like I'm a crazy psychotic person who has issues with her brain. Which I don't. Not really. Just some days I feel foggy, cloudy, and unreasonably sad for no reason. Some days I'm just empty. Now I know most of you will be thinking, well we all have good and bad days. But depression is so much more. The bad days are either crushingly sad or utterly blank. You feel nothing. Just lethargic, hollow. Like even speaking is too much.

I had one of these days recently. I've been stable for a while now but at the weekend my depression kicked my butt. I went out, enjoyed myself but felt a little awkward and after leaving my anxiety started to kick in, replaying moments of the conversation that it considered to be awkward and plagued me with the idea that I was boring company. My anxiety constantly likes to tell me I'm a boring person and terrible friend that everyone hates and will eventually leave me. It's my anxiety's favourite thing to do.

So I was essentially beating myself up, or ruminating as my therapist would tell me, got home, had an argument and felt even worse. I just wanted to curl up in bed. And I woke up in a similar frame of mind. The argument from the night before was dealt with, with a minimal amount of tears (well done me) but I still woke up feeling wretched.

For those of you lucky enough to not have experienced this, it's like having something sat on your chest that you can't see. It's heavy and cumbersome and difficult to ignore. I often call my depressive episodes 'the fog.' I have a spotify playlist called lifting the fog for when I need a little melody to pick me back up. It feels as though grey sticky fog has expanded in my brain. I can't feel it, but it's numbing, making me slow and heavy, like wading through treacle. Speech is hard and thinking takes forever. It's easier to lie and be still, comfortable and quiet.

But I had plans. On this particular morning I was supposed to be visiting friends. But the fog had sealed my mouth shut. But my anxiety tells me if I let my friends down they'd hate me (I know this is not true, but anxiety is a LIAR).

So I had to consider myself, to act with self care and look after me.
I cancelled on my friends.
If they're reading now, I'm so sorry pals. But I would have been terrible company.

But later that afternoon it began to lift. I managed to get out of bed, and after another two hours I actually put real clothes on my body and washed my pyjamas. I dragged my sorry butt out on a run after a large Sunday roast and enjoyed some sunshine. And I smiled.
The fog doesn't last long. But it is teaching me patience and coping mechanisms.

That's all pals.
Mental health is so important.
Look after you.
R