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Resistance is Futile

Life has felt like existing in a vortex this year. Well I imagine it like that. I have just had no choice but to allow the process of this mental health breakdown to happen. Resistance is futile. The end of August and beginning of September resulted in another crash into despair. It sucked big time. August has been my most stable month to date, so to end it in tears and panic was frustrating. Fred made a short appearance. A cameo part you might say, but the crash wasn't quite as bad as usual, thankfully. No medicating my way out of it this time, just a couple of quiet days where the pressure was off and I retreated into my quiet world. And I cried. There was lots of crying. There always is. I find it tough to be with myself in floods of tears. When I was a kid and probably some of my teenage years, it was very easy for me to crumple into tears about anything. And I mean literally anything. I have many memories of my Mum telling me not to cry, always out of love. She didn't like to see me sad and struggling. As time went on, it became apparent that my ability to default to being emotional made people around me uncomfortable. So as a result I became better at regulating it and hiding it. Which I don't particularly think is a bad thing, the ability to not fall apart in the face of adversity and high emotion is an important skill to have, particularly in emergencies and the like. It is a muscle I have become so good at flexing, I think I forgot that it is okay to fall apart from time to time. It is actually necessary. Stoicism sort of became my thing. But even stoicism can make people uncomfortable in certain circumstances. Almost four years ago we lost our baby girl Hazel. At my 20 week ultrasound, it was discovered she had passed away at 15-16 weeks. We were devastated. We surrendered to the process of birthing her, saying goodbye and organising her cremation. In order to get through that process, I had to set aside the part of me that just wanted to scream and cry and fall apart. I needed all my emotional energy and grit to get through everything. I remember after she was born, the midwife made a comment about how I was coping with everything and that I was a bit "matter-of-fact" about the situation. I replied that I couldn't change the situation and I was just trying to get through it. I realised that she had an idea in her head as to what a grieving mother looked like, and I wasn't ticking those boxes for her. I think that my stoicism made her uncomfortable and she may have perceived me as being a bit cold and unfeeling. Maybe that is an assumption on my part, but that's how I read the situation. It was a very conscious choice to walk through the process lightly, almost disconnected from myself. I broke down later, in the safety of my home and family and partner. Perhaps I have been a bit disconnected ever since though. I closed the door on a part of myself when everything got too painful. I don't really know. I know I cry more now since my breakdown. I feel like that little kid again whose emotions run away from them. As an adult I got used to chasing them down and catching them, and hoping no one noticed. Now I don't care who sees. It's not unusual for me to be alone in my car doing the school run and crying my eyes out. Sunglasses are a fabulous thing. Not that I feel the need to hide it anymore, but I guess it is about other people's comfort and my wanting to avoid awkward conversation and concern.
"It's okay, I am just in the middle of a nervous breakdown. I am sure I will be fine soon."  Probably not the best approach, with social pretense and all. But I feel like I don't really have anything to lose anymore since joining this club for the mentally challenged.
"Welcome to the mental breakdown club. Cry where ever you like, we have set up a place to smash some plates and chocolate is at the ready. We have t-shirts."
Well we should have t-shirts.
Note to self: need to get t-shirts for my imaginary club. In the meantime I will keep plodding along trying to get well, because I think I have given up trying to make sense of this anymore.
I'll be better in October. My brain keeps telling me that. Could be October 2030 for all I know, but thanks for the vote of confidence brain. You're what got us into this mess in the first place, you jerk. Sigh. Anyway, back to the vortex I go.


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