I took myself off to the doctor this morning, the traffic was awful, so Peanut had to come in with me. Unfortunately, this meant I couldn’t speak as honestly as I needed to the GP. I couldn’t ask for help as clearly as I needed to. How do you explain, within earshot of a four year old, that you’re worried about what you’ll do to yourself? That if the never-ending stream of negative commentary in your head gets so loud, there is an apparently easy way to silence it.
Easy for who?
Nobody that is who.
But bluddy hell, I’m struggling here. Rufus has well and truly taken camp on my right shoulder. I’m at my desk when I want to be curled up in bed. Those bed sheets have magical powers, I’m sure of it.
Peanut and I went for a walk this morning, only 2km, but I got up and out the house. It took so long to get a blood-test done, I won’t get a chance to get out again at lunchtime, but I think I will take myself out tonight again too. I haven’t run in so long, my head feels fuzzy. My knee may be sore, but I’ve got to get going again. I’ll strap it up if I have to.
My GP talked to me, arranged for a blood test for iron and thyroid levels, examined me to make sure I wasn’t carrying a virus or anything else that would cause the lethargy and general apathy. He told me to come back in ten days, and to increase my anti-depressants.
In the interim – I need your help. I retreat into myself when I get like this. The circle of my life gets smaller, until I can hold my head up again. You know me, please help me through this. I can’t do this on my own, I’m fed up of pretending I can. I’m hanging on by my fingertips over here.