What an incredibly shitty week. So I’m struggling. Which is probably evident from my lack of posting. But I’m struggling in a different way at the moment.
See I started this blog because I was struggling, I was struggling, but that struggle motivated me to write. I felt I could open up about that struggle. But right now. I’m not sure I understand what is wrong with me anymore. Right now I’m struggling so much that I can hardly motivate myself to think let alone write and that’s hard because writing is something I love doing and it makes me sad when I have no motivation to do it. But I have been so much better since I began writing this, it has been the best and worst thing to happen to me. It has made me more open, it’s made me understand myself better, it’s made me able to express things better and see that I am not alone. But, it has also bought back a torrent of things I had not realised were affecting me so much. Subconscious thoughts I did not realise had an impact on my health.
Christmas is my favourite time of the year. I am Christmas spirit. I know it doesn’t seem like very much gets me excited by the way I write, but Christmas has always been one of the most important times of the year for me but this year I’m struggling to be excited. I thought it was my impending doctor’s appointment yesterday, which was dragging my Christmas spirit down. But post doctors I feel the same.
Christmas was always important to me, when I was little I used to write my Christmas list to Santa in October. Of course it would change dramatically over the two months leading up to Christmas. But, I was so excited. My Christmases were spent having dinner at my grandma and granddads house, with my parents, brother and my aunt, uncle and two cousins. it was perfect. And Whilst I know things don’t last forever, I was heartbroken the first year it didn’t happen. And even though it’s been 8 years since the last time we did that.
This tradition ended the year my cousin died. I was 18. My cousin died in the November, and Christmas of that year was not a good one. And they have gradually got worse. Maybe worse is the wrong word. Maybe things have shifted is the best way to describe it. When I was young, my favourite part of Christmas was present’s. As I got older it was the time off of school combined with presents and enjoying Christmas day with my family. But now. Christmas isn’t the same. For any of us. For me, Christmas now only makes me happy because it is an excuse for me to make others happy. My need to make everyone happy means I spend a lot of money at Christmas that I don’t really need to or should. On average I spend about £150 on my brother. Buying him silly things I know he will love.
I guess, there are two reasons that I focus on my brother so much at Christmas. I was never particularly close to my cousin that died. I hadn’t seen him for a long time when he became ill. But when he died, I remember thinking how heartbroken I would be if it was my brother. And how hard it must have been for my cousins that were his siblings. I guess my irrational fears of death spread further than I think. I always imagine everyone in my life will die suddenly. But not my brother. I am always terrified he will get some terrible illness and suffer for a long time before he dies and that I won’t be able to do anything for him.
I just want to feel excited about Christmas, I want to feel as excited as the picture I am making people believe about me. I can’t let my mask slip at Christmas, I have to be the Christmas spirit, because people rely on me to be excited about Christmas. And that is a burden sometimes.
I hoped that after I visited my doctor I would be calm enough to let my Christmas spirit kick in. But, I was wrong. I saw my doctor, I told him about my mood swing, that horrible one where I wanted to kill myself. I told him I was having panic attacks. So what did he do? He lowered my Citalopram. And told me he would have to refer me if this continued. This made me feel worse. I feel he has finally given up on me just like everyone else does. I realise it must be truly demanding trying to help me.
When I worked at the college, there was a student in the class who was incredibly depressed, she was struggling greatly with her mental health. She confided in a fellow staff member. The next week he was given time off for mental health problems. He wrote an email to my boss, he stated in it that in not being able to help that student it had made him realise that he wasn’t doing so well himself. This is something I am terrified of. I wouldn’t want to make anyone feel worse because they can’t help me. And that’s how I feel about my doctor. He didn’t seem himself, he has been hinting to me that there are staff members in the surgery that suffer with mental health problems. Maybe one is him. Maybe I am making him worse. It must be hard being a doctor and not being able to make someone better. I understand the need to help people. I just wish that I had the ability to shut it off, and move on. Like he seems to have.
The Elephant in the Room