The last two months have been about survival.
Nothing more.
Eight weeks of battling anxiety unlike anything I’ve experienced before – panic attacks in the shower, feeling sick every time I tried to eat (and having to make myself eat anyway – no way am I going down that road again), topped off with feeling so tense and wired that every single muscle in my body was like a coiled spring, making me flinch at every sound or unexpected movement.
Eight weeks of simultaneously sinking into a depression so low that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to haul myself out. Not wanting to go to bed at night because of the dreams that have been plaguing my sleep. Not wanting to wake up in the morning knowing that I’ll have to put on a brave and happy face and get on with the day despite the blackness curling in around me, threatening to suffocate me.
Eight weeks of a sadness so profound that I still haven’t been able to explore it properly. I’ve put it in my cardboard box, carefully labelled it with the word “Fragile” and I’m holding it at arms length, just in case it tries to catch me unawares.
Eight weeks of somehow surviving after my Dad did not survive.
In this instance, survival is all about protection.
It’s about doing what you need to do in order to stay alive. In order to keep yourself safe. In order to keep you away from the things you don’t want to feel or think about. Sometimes, all you can do is survive. Surviving takes everything you got.
But survival isn’t living. Or growing. Or moving forwards.
It’s just existing. Staying stuck. Trapped.
And while anything more than ‘just existing’ feels like an enormous mountain to climb right now, today, for the first time in eight weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope that maybe I could start to think about taking the first tentative step up that mountain.
A tiny spark of excitement whilst talking about our plans for the summer.
A little light flickering cautiously back into existence inside of me.
It didn’t last long, but it was there.
And that is all that matters.
Phone: +44 (0) 7794 595783
Email: chloe@openmindhypnotherapy.co.uk
Had not read your blog for a while, really sorry to hear but so great that you are so strong to hold it together and then give so much to your patients and I am sure to your family and friends. Thank you!
You are amazing, Kira quoted this as one of her quotes of the day too. Thank you again!
I very much hope that the sparkles get to be suns soon and the darkness lifts. Hopefully it will be like spring, which we can see now working with such force. The leaves come even after the toughest frost, and aren’t they beautiful!
Much love
Britta