Hi guys, how’s it going?
I have to apologise for the second time in as many weeks for not uploading regularly. So I thought I’d write another mental health post.
After being released from the hospital about two months ago, I threw myself into activity, after all I was now cured and therefore had to make up for the months I’d lost. I got a job, made a million doctor’s appointments, started a blog… you get the gist. And I know what the root of the problem is: I can’t accept that I have limits. I’m one of these people that are always busy and on the go and I actually love being stressed. But it all got too much and now there is a distinction between bad and good stress. That’s really hard for me to accept though, because I’ve never not been able to do something and I don’t like the feeling.
And because I’m not used to it, I still have problems figuring out what bad stress feels like. So I regularly overestimate myself and don’t even realise it until it’s too late. That’s what happened a couple of weeks ago, but I pushed through it, because I thought I’d be on holiday soon. Then my mum called me pretty freaked out, my grandma was in hospital and could I go and look after her and my granddad? Of course I said yes, but she was so freaked out that she flew home the next morning, so I spent the day before I was supposed to go to Oxford visiting my grandma, driving the family around, cooking… basically anything that meant I didn’t have to stand still. Considering the state of my grandma, it didn’t take us long to cancel the rest of our holiday. But my sister was still in Oxford and didn’t know about my grandma, so I got on that plane anyway, so I could tell her in person and bring her home.
And although I loved Oxford as a city, the task of telling my sister overshadowed all the pretty architecture. I think in my heart, I already knew that I wouldn’t see my grandma again. But I still had that little bit of hope that my gut was wrong and she would bounce back. She didn’t. She passed away at roughly the same time I arrived in Oxford as my dad would tell me that evening.
So there I was in a beuatiful city that I’d been so excited to see, trying to understand that she really was gone. Do you know what the worst part is? I couldn’t feel it. I knew I was devastated and I knew that I would miss her like crazy, but I couldn’t bring myself to be sad or cry. Believe me, I wanted to. I just couldn’t. Maybe I’m still in shock, but I haven’t been able to really, deeply feel anything in years. It’s not that I don’t care, I think I just neglected my emotions for so long that I lost the ability to access them. My therapist says it’s probably because I’ve always been so focused on what other people need and expect, that I never listened to my body. And at some point, it just became too much and my body kinda shut down.
Now you know it. My deepest, darkest secret. I didn’t feel her death as I should have. As I wanted to. What I wouldn’t give to feel something again, even if it’s pain or sadness.
As you can imagine, telling my sister was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I love that girl like crazy and seeing her hurting kinda broke my heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still happy I told her in person, it was just hard not being able to make it better.
When we got back, we spent the day with my grandpa, making sure there was food in the house, talking about funeral arrangements and just trying to wrap our heads around the situation as a family. There wasn’t a lot of talking, we were all just processing next to each other. But by the end of that day, I was exhausted. I had a cold, I was tired from basically not sleeping for three days, I felt guilty for not being able to feel the death of a loved one and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I feel so bad about it, but I left my parents house and stayed at my own flat for a few days. I just needed to breathe and be able to think about things.
So for the last couple of days, I basically just slept, trying to shake that cold and I’m only slowly getting better. The rest of the stuff is still in my mind, but I feel at least mostly alive again.
Today was the first day, I felt up to writing and getting things done, so I’m sitting here, clutching the biggest cup of tea you’ve ever seen and trying to work through the mess in my head. Sorry if this post didn’t make any sense, and I’m sorry that it’s such a depressing one, but I did promise you imperfect. And I want to try to tell you honestly how life with depression is. I’m not going to lie, this was a pretty big throwback. And I’m not sure I’m equipped to deal with it. But honestly, who is ever equipped to deal with death? So I’m trying to do my best and write it down. Writing has always been my escape, my way to deal with things and the way I can express myself best. So currently I’m writing and writing about her, how wonderful she was, about others I’ve lost and about feeling helpless and guilty.
I wish I had a happier post for you today, but since this isn’t scripted, life is sometimes pretty shit. And I realise I still have it easy, but losing a loved one, a role model is still pretty fucking shit, excuse my french.
This is it for today, just a little life update, but maybe some of you have gone through the same thing and feel like they’re alone in this. You’re not. And I would love to give all of you a hug.
As always, love, H