My husband stumbled across my first journal I started keeping for my therapist 3.5 yrs ago. I had been looking for it ever since my diagnosis, certain that it would shine some sort of light or make something click. I don’t know.
It didn’t really do either, but it does feel like a treasured piece of history. Something to put in the list of “things to grab when the house is on fire and you aren’t coming back for anything”. My husbands cat isn’t on that list. She’s such a bitch.
I thought I might share some (or all…who knows) entries with you. So, to set you up, the following entry is 3 months after I found out about my dad’s death and buried him. I had turned into a dysfunctional ball of goo who couldn’t even open a jar of peanut butter.
June 14th 2009
Wanted to sleep more, considered cancelling appointment.
Slight anxiety both in & out of the house.
Came home, took both kids out for a couple hrs. to give J time for school work.
Still anxiety – thinking about making sure we don’t drop anything, keeping the kids quiet, nothing bad or stressful happening.
Things sitting around are making me anxious (like the weed eater, clutter on shelves, food on counter).
Laundry is all dirty.
If I start to do anything, my anxiety rises. I’ll feel like I can’t do it fast enough & it will never get done. So, I avoid doing anything, & things keep building up.
Mind feels busy
Mind moving fast
Looking back, with the knowledge that 3.5 yrs of therapy provides, I know that I felt so out of control with my life that I was trying very hard to control every little detail to make me feel better. Safer. More secure. Like there was no chance a random phone call could change my world.
But it did. I didn’t know it then, but I had a very long road of self discovery to travel.
The phrase my Granny threw at me over the phone “I was manic-depressive, and your Daddy was too”, sent me on my first ever mental health Google search. The first page I went to, and the one I felt was most helpful, was Seaneen’s (and her other blog). I ended up contacting her and telling her about my Dad, and that her page has helped me understand very much. And then 3 years later I get to contact her again and tell her how my life ended up being so tumultuous and that I too had been diagnosed. She’s kinda famous, but has always been sweet enough to message me back – and she is always sincere. And beautiful.