Mental Health, and My Return to Education
This post is a fairly raw account (with a few of the more painful details kept out) of how my mental health took a serious nosedive this year, so if discussing depression or reading about it is a struggle for you, you might want to give it a miss...
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I'm so tired.
Not a little tired. The kind of tired where you don't know your ass from a hole in the ground.
It never ceases to amaze me how much every aspect of a human bean is intertwined with the others, and how much of a delicate balancing act it is to make sure that all of the bodies within the body are healthy and harmonious. That thing where when you get so sad that you can't get out of bed and just want to sleep your life away. That's been happening. In fact, that started as soon as the clocks went back, if not before, and I saw it coming. In one of my many three hour long rambling conversations with my best soulmate, I said I didn't know if I could do it this year. I said I wasn't ready for the cold and the nights drawing in before most people even finish work.
Usually the thoughts of getting cosy by candlelight in sweaters and big socks, hot comfort food, and grey gloomy days makes me feel warm and gooey inside. This year I was fearful, and my gut instinct (once again) proved me right and I can't remember the last time I've had a depressive episode this bad. Bear with me, this post isn't all doom and gloom, but mental health is poo-pooed so often, even amongst those who suffer...because your suffering isn't the same as theirs, therefore it must not be Real. It has to be talked about and voices need to be heard.
I started back at college in the middle of October and thought I was so ready. SO ready, man. For those who haven't a clue, I'm an illustration graduate, which means my degree is pretty useless in the Real World. I worked in a care home for adults with learning disabilities and challenging behaviour right out of university, for a whole year and it was hell on earth. A few good things came out of it, including the solid proof I needed to show myself that I could take care of things and be independent as the sole breadwinner. Fast forward a year and a half and I'm jobless, back at college getting my level three EYE (Early Years Educator) qualification, and suffering through a math class that I never ever thought I would have to take.
Back up a little bit to when November hit, and so did the black dog. Not a gradual descent, or a gentle nudge, we're talking picked up by a demigod and body-slammed into a concrete patio kind of action. All of a sudden, any drop of alcohol that passed my lips turned me into an inconsolable weeping mass on whatever floor happened to be nearest, and I am not an emotional drunk. Coursework and mandatory placement hours? Fuck it, I'll catch up. Sleeping 15 hours a day? Yeah I know it's just going to make me more tired, but I've not had a nap in two hours so fuck you. Spending every single day with tears pricking my eyelids and a lump in my throat? Check. Completely isolating myself from friends and family? Yup. Let those messages and texts pile up to form an effigy to Mount Doom, read 'em tomorrow. Barely able to leave the house for more than an hour without feeling overwhelmed from sensory overload and people and outside-ness? Of course.
It's been rough. And most of the time, incredibly ugly. I'm still reeling, and still exhausted. It seems like there's always something. I spent some much-needed time with my family over the Christmas holidays and backed off of college work and being at my placement entirely for the last couple of weeks before the schools all broke up. The down time where everyone else was also having down time probably saved my ass. The guilt I was feeling at not getting my shit done was just adding to how snowed under I felt. Everything seemed impossible and I felt like a failure.
We're now nearing the end of the January 2018 and although I'm struggling to pull myself out of the ashes, I'm slowly getting back on track and willing myself to focus on just me and not worry about anyone else right now. That's a hard thing for someone like myself to do, but needs must, and I'm getting there. The written work is still a looming shadow, but it's smaller and less monstrous than it was before. My mandatory hours at my placement setting aren't yet consistent, but I have a solid plan to get myself back to where I need to be on my timeline. The nights are staying lighter for a little longer, but winter is far from over. I'm taking care of my body again, even if it's a little hit and miss right now. I'm not finding joy in much of anything, but I'm doing what it takes, and I'm desperately hoping that with the return of spring, I'll have something to smile about again.
Until then, I have to rise and grind. And get myself back on my chosen path.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I'm so tired.
Not a little tired. The kind of tired where you don't know your ass from a hole in the ground.
It never ceases to amaze me how much every aspect of a human bean is intertwined with the others, and how much of a delicate balancing act it is to make sure that all of the bodies within the body are healthy and harmonious. That thing where when you get so sad that you can't get out of bed and just want to sleep your life away. That's been happening. In fact, that started as soon as the clocks went back, if not before, and I saw it coming. In one of my many three hour long rambling conversations with my best soulmate, I said I didn't know if I could do it this year. I said I wasn't ready for the cold and the nights drawing in before most people even finish work.
Usually the thoughts of getting cosy by candlelight in sweaters and big socks, hot comfort food, and grey gloomy days makes me feel warm and gooey inside. This year I was fearful, and my gut instinct (once again) proved me right and I can't remember the last time I've had a depressive episode this bad. Bear with me, this post isn't all doom and gloom, but mental health is poo-pooed so often, even amongst those who suffer...because your suffering isn't the same as theirs, therefore it must not be Real. It has to be talked about and voices need to be heard.
I started back at college in the middle of October and thought I was so ready. SO ready, man. For those who haven't a clue, I'm an illustration graduate, which means my degree is pretty useless in the Real World. I worked in a care home for adults with learning disabilities and challenging behaviour right out of university, for a whole year and it was hell on earth. A few good things came out of it, including the solid proof I needed to show myself that I could take care of things and be independent as the sole breadwinner. Fast forward a year and a half and I'm jobless, back at college getting my level three EYE (Early Years Educator) qualification, and suffering through a math class that I never ever thought I would have to take.
Back up a little bit to when November hit, and so did the black dog. Not a gradual descent, or a gentle nudge, we're talking picked up by a demigod and body-slammed into a concrete patio kind of action. All of a sudden, any drop of alcohol that passed my lips turned me into an inconsolable weeping mass on whatever floor happened to be nearest, and I am not an emotional drunk. Coursework and mandatory placement hours? Fuck it, I'll catch up. Sleeping 15 hours a day? Yeah I know it's just going to make me more tired, but I've not had a nap in two hours so fuck you. Spending every single day with tears pricking my eyelids and a lump in my throat? Check. Completely isolating myself from friends and family? Yup. Let those messages and texts pile up to form an effigy to Mount Doom, read 'em tomorrow. Barely able to leave the house for more than an hour without feeling overwhelmed from sensory overload and people and outside-ness? Of course.
It's been rough. And most of the time, incredibly ugly. I'm still reeling, and still exhausted. It seems like there's always something. I spent some much-needed time with my family over the Christmas holidays and backed off of college work and being at my placement entirely for the last couple of weeks before the schools all broke up. The down time where everyone else was also having down time probably saved my ass. The guilt I was feeling at not getting my shit done was just adding to how snowed under I felt. Everything seemed impossible and I felt like a failure.
We're now nearing the end of the January 2018 and although I'm struggling to pull myself out of the ashes, I'm slowly getting back on track and willing myself to focus on just me and not worry about anyone else right now. That's a hard thing for someone like myself to do, but needs must, and I'm getting there. The written work is still a looming shadow, but it's smaller and less monstrous than it was before. My mandatory hours at my placement setting aren't yet consistent, but I have a solid plan to get myself back to where I need to be on my timeline. The nights are staying lighter for a little longer, but winter is far from over. I'm taking care of my body again, even if it's a little hit and miss right now. I'm not finding joy in much of anything, but I'm doing what it takes, and I'm desperately hoping that with the return of spring, I'll have something to smile about again.
Until then, I have to rise and grind. And get myself back on my chosen path.
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