I’ve always had a difficult relationship with food since day 1 really. As a fussy vegetarian child, my diet consisted mostly of baked beans, lentil soup and potato in its many guises.
But, in time I grew to love food for the most part. Though the last week has shown me that in crisis, my body just doesn’t want fuel. Food can bring out great emotional responses in people, triggering memories, both positive and negative. But when you feel empty, where’s the joy?
I hadn’t eaten for almost 36 hours by the time I arrived at the doctor’s surgery. Not through any sort of blind dieting, but my appetite had upped and gone. Just like my get up and go.
Resolve and determination to change myself dragged me into that appointment. And I began on my road to recovery for the umpteenth time. My gp was really supportive and confirmed my severe depression, putting me back on a previously successful medication regime.
Some people will argue that pills don’t build skills. But for me, before I start thinking about any further self help, I need to redress my chemical imbalance. This is a long road which many think will be a quick fix, but I’ve never found it to be that way.
Having made the decision to speak out about my depression, I knew that I had to maintain some of the things that keep me going in life. Work is definitely one of those things, I have a great job surrounded by great people. This gives me a reason to drag myself up in the morning however hard it may feel.
Though starting difficult conversations has never been easy, compiling a blog a week behind allows me time to reflect on the weeks events, thoughts and feelings.
I feel these conversations are starting now, and that can only be a good thing. Suffering in silence isn’t the way to go. I’ve thrown a happy face on far too many times to know its really unhealthy. Time will tell if the stigma around mental health will change.
But this is me, this my stuggle, my difficulties, my relapse and it will become my recovery.