I woke up this morning feeling good.
It’s been two weeks to the day since I bumped up the dose of my antidepressants, and that’s how long they say that it generally takes for them to kick in. It’s happened.
THAT’S RIGHT. THE MOMENT THAT I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR.
THE FOG HAS LIFTED.
It was then that I realised how profoundly depressed I have been for a really long time. In hindsight, probably actually since I was last on antidepressants in 2018.
I should never have come off them.
I forgot what it was like to feel good and able to deal with life.
I feel like a new person.
Well, not a totally new person. I’m still me. Just a better version of myself.
Like the night before, my worries were still there, but I didn’t feel like they were weighing as heavily on my mind as they ordinarily do.
My mum and I were planning on going for a walk, but it started pissing it down, and I didn’t feel like it anyway.
And I didn’t care that I didn’t feel like it.
I didn’t feel like a failure.
I didn’t have a shower either, and didn’t care.
I didn’t feel like a failure.
I didn’t do it just because I simply didn’t want to, and that’s OK.
The rest of the morning was fairly unremarkable. My mum and I changed my bottom sheet (which is a fucking mammoth task) and I didn’t break a nail and bleed everywhere this time, which is good.
After lunch I knew that I wanted to do something in terms of my recovery and my writing, so I decided to re-read all of my entries from when I was in hospital.
It took me the whole afternoon, and was a real eye-opener as to how far I have come. Also, as to how misdiagnosed I was when I was in hospital. I was so clearly depressed, yet not on antidepressants. How mental is that?
It was also really strange that I wrote virtually nothing about Coronavirus, and then all of a sudden in the last 5 days it completely flipped everything upside down. I was in such a little bubble – so naïve.
Reading it was completely foreign – like a different person writing, a different time, almost surreal.
I watched the 5PM government briefing with my parents. Boris is back, even though he just had a baby the day before.
My Dad fell asleep as he always does. My brother had read my blog from the day before, and texted in to the family WhatsApp chat to say that the silk paisley kimono was definitely real. He remembered that my Dad also used to have one with black and white Japanese symbols on. My mum replied that he still wears it. She knocked on my door a few minutes later, and there she was wearing it! My sister in law suggested that she put it over my Dad like a blanket while he was napping, so she did, and took a photo. He was not impressed when he woke up.
So that was all pretty funny. I do enjoy a bit of bantz.
Before dinner, I spoke to my parents about how that I’d spent my afternoon re-reading my blog from the hospital days. They said that that was a lot for me to have done, and I must be feeling really drained. It was then that I noticed my hands were shaking like a leaf – way more than normal. I’m really glad that I read it, but it did take a lot out of me.
My Dad has decided to go out in the morning, because he hasn’t done so for probably 5 weeks. My mum and I were a bit hesitant about it because of his ‘moderate’ risks, but he said that he really wanted to go out – like it would do his psyche some good.
We had pizza for dinner, and then it was time for the 8PM Thursday #clapforourcarers.
It was truly glorious.
The symbol of hope for many homes has been a rainbow drawn in the window, and just as it hit 8PM a beautiful double rainbow filled the sky.
The man down the road who runs the DJ business started playing his weird keyboard music again – ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’, and I honestly found it really emotional.
The song, the rainbow, the clapping – all on the day that the fog lifted.
Everything felt like it came together perfectly. Almost like a sign. It’s like the universe knows.
I spent some time in my room texting my friends, and then decided to go downstairs and sit with my parents because I’d enjoyed their company so much the night before.
They were watching ‘The Real Marigold Hotel’, where celebrity pensioners go to India to decide if they want to retire there. We kept laughing at Paul Chuckle constantly carrying around a glass or a bottle of whisky, and then he got the shits.
I went back upstairs at about 10PM and watched some Drag Race in bed, but I found it really difficult to sleep when I turned it off at about 11:30. I didn’t feel like I’d had enough time to ‘wind down’, and I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest even though I’d taken my sleeping pill.
All in all though, an excellent day.
I’m on the way up.