I’ve been ill for over two weeks with some mystery stomach issue which means I can’t eat without a lot of pain, the kind of pain that means I can’t think, or get out of bed, and sometimes makes me faint and dizzy. I was coping pretty well, letting myself rest, not stressing about work, it’ll pass. It’ll be ok.
Week two came with increased stress levels because of my ever increasing work to-do list which I was unable to do anything about.
Four lots of tablets from the GP, none of which help, one which made it worse. Blood tests that are all a-ok. 6lbs lost. Nothing obvious apart from the fact that I can’t eat anything if I want to be able to think or move.
Week three has arrived and I am all coped out. My routine is non existent, I can’t work, I spend almost all day everyday in bed watching films, TV shows or YouTube. Also reading but I finished my last book and now have book hangover which is being intensified by my BPD which isn’t exactly under control right now.
Managing a mental illness is hard enough on a good day but when you’re exhausted and in pain there’s literally nothing left to be able to manage it with. I’m doing my best to self care but it’s nowhere near enough to successfully manage it and that scares me.
My yoga practice is still in tact, in large part because I’ve found a set of asana which ease the pain for a few precious moments. My meditation practice is a challenge because it’s really a prevention not cure for me, it often makes me worse when I’m already struggling. I’ve started posting “3 good things” on Instagram to try and help me not drown in catastrophising, anxiety and depression.
Yesterday was a good day. I didn’t eat anything at all until gone 6pm, as a result the pain was so much less I could walk the dogs, shower, do some work, hoover, change my altar, feel ok for a little while. I needed that. Unfortunately after a small bowl of soup it all went to shit again.
Of course on top of that I’m scared. What if it’s something serious but also what if they don’t find anything, which is actually my bigger fear. What if they do a load of tests and find nothing. What if my mental health deteriorates so much I end up in hospital again with that. What if my entire life falls apart because of it.
That’d be the catastrophising…
So I’m writing because that’s what I do when my mental health collapses, I word vomit onto the internet. I try to make something out of it so it doesn’t feel like a pointless suffering; if somebody feels less alone then the emotional shit show isn’t for nothing.