AKA – The Big Scary
I think before we get into the nitty gritty of it all, I should say that I believe I have had anxiety since I was a little girl. The depression hit in my teenage years. We won’t get into family history, suffice to say, it exists. It wasn’t until I moved out of home that I started seeing psychologists regularly and we really began to talk about medication. I kept saying no.
At the start of 2020 (pre-pandemic, pre-moving 3 hours away from family and friends), I finally said yes to medication. And it helped. Except that I couldn’t cry. But that didn’t seem to matter so much.
Fast forward, to February 2020, we move. Well, I move, hubby’s transfer is still waiting to be approved. We find a house to rent in March. A month into my new job (and a week after moving into the house), we’re in full blown pandemic world and I’m working from home, managing a team I barely know, and suddenly my new boss is on an extended period of leave.
All good. I’m coping. Hubby finally joins me full time in May. We’re all in lockdown/iso madness of zoom dinners, and pantry re-organisations and late working nights and pivoting. And it’s a scary time, but we’re watching Tiger King and are realising how much we can get done in a day (on a good day, anyway).
By the end of 2020, we’re kinda over it but still cautious. Rules are lifted. We return to the office. Lockdowns are re-inforced, we return home. There is no normal for anyone. Not for me. Not for my team (by this point I had a new boss). Not for our clients. 2021 saw us in and out, in and out. We were frustrated, with the world, with ourselves, with everything.
The Breakdown Begins
Technically speaking, the breakdown began mid-late 2021.
Around September I started drinking more, I was still working from home and my husband would come home from work to find me lying in the fetal position on the floor of the office, sometimes crying, sometimes just staring out the window. Then there was the great Victorian earthquake. And I think ultimately, that’s really what started the spiral into not coping at all and religious trauma being brought to the forefront.
We carried on for a little longer before after a telehealth appointment with my GP, she demanded an in person visit with me and my husband. Thus began talks of the first hospital visit.
My first hospital stay was 10 days in November 2021 – I saw my Psychiatrist there once, their group sessions were ad hoc at best, we changed my meds and then it was bye bye see you later you can join our outpatient program on Zoom. It was a disaster, I won’t say more about it except the one thing in it’s favour was that it was an all women’s ward.
Come February 2022, we knew I needed more. GP recommended a couple of other hospitals but settled on the one that could admit me quickest. I saw my Psychiatrist every day except Tuesdays. The program was flexible but it existed. I continued on with the same meds but started Transcrainal Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) and it was like I started to see colour again. That was a two week stay. TMS often requires maintenance, it’s different for everyone, I just had to pay attention to how I was feeling.
May 2022, knowing I was coming up to a busy period at work and that although I was OK I could tell I was sliding. So I went back in for another couple of weeks, except this time I tried to work while I was there because I felt so much guilt at the time I was taking off and being acutely aware of the impact it was having on my team and the wider department.
Taking Leave From Work
June 2022, I start leave without pay because I am in the most fortunate, most privileged position of being able to receive a temporary disability payment through my superannuation fund. It’s significantly less than I was bringing home by working full time but it’s enough for us to remain comfortable.
I spent weeks in bed. I had been in survival mode for so long that my body just kind of gave up on me. I had plans to do so many things. To organise our new house. To keep it pristine. To make sure the pup was finally, properly trained. Instead, day in, day out, I was in bed. Only to jump up at 4pm in a flurry of guilt and shame to rush around and to something so hubby wouldn’t think I was doing nothing.
September rolled around, and I was back for more TMS. We changed up the program, I was in for 30 days and I left feeling the best I had since all of this began. We come to the conclusion that I do in fact have Pre-Menstrual Dysphoria Disorder (PMDD) and that I was due for a change in IUD and hopefully that would help. I feel comfortable with the term religious trauma. But I came home to flood warnings and evacuations and I ended up back in hospital in December. (I should note here, that I am also in the fortunate position to have excellent private health cover).
We go back to the old program because staff were concerned that I was back so soon, nobody factored in all that was happened between the two visits. This was my worst visit by far. I was so low going in, having the worst of the worst thoughts. I begged to stay a little longer, worried that I wasn’t well enough to go home. But they sent me home anyway.
I survived. Obviously. But it was hard.
And now here we are.
March 2023
My meds have changed, again. I’m waiting to have the money together for an ADHD assessment. I’m due to go back to work in July, which is scary for a whole host of reasons. But first, I’ve probably got another hospital visit ahead of me. I am going to advocate for myself, ask for the 30 days/sessions because that is the best I have felt and I want that back.
I have really low days and really high days. If I have an event it can take me a day or two to recover. I have days where everything is grey and helpless and hopeless and pointless. And I have days where the spark inside of me ignites and I think that maybe, just maybe I’m coming through the other side. And throughout it all I’ve had my brilliant GP and Psychologist by my side.
This is just an overview, and has taken me a very long time to write because it was hard putting it out there. It’s difficult to be vulnerable. Especially when you’ve spent you’re life pretending to be tough. But we all need to be vulnerable sometimes. We need to be brave enough to open up, to share just a tiny bit of ourselves, to let people in. How else can I possibly begin to heal?