The mourning period...

As far as my depression goes, I'm not sure I'll ever understand it. My assumption is that my brain doesn't make enough of the good stuff to keep me sane enough to cope with the easy things in life. Sometimes.
I sobbed last night, partly because this pain is really getting to me now. Three months is a rather long time to feel quite unwell, every day. Admittedly, it's not the worst thing to have by far, but it is enough to stop me being me. And I quite like me, now. I spent a long time wishing I was different or someone else or nothing at all, as in dead.

I've never been confident but in the last few years, I've "made progress", in that my confidence has grown a little. (It's actually increased a lot; compared to what it was; it's risen hugely.) The annoying, pathetic feelings like anxiety and panic feelings and constant nausea that are ever-present with this crap, frighten me somewhat, because I know when I feel that way, when I start to think too much about the food I'm eating, counting to get ready to swallow the damned food, because I'm so anxious my throat closes up and I think I'm going to choke (the same happens wth tablets). That means I'm not in control of me anymore. I desperately don't want to sink to the lows to which I have sunk before, to feel worthlessly terrible again and have a mental (literally) fight with thinking I'll be sick. Then I'd have to reason with my silly self that, even if I was going to be ill, I can't stop it but if I am I'll be so scared and and and... Better out than in.
In those thankfully not-too-common-these-days moments, it's like all those negative and horribly dark and utterly pessimistic thoughts gather in one lonely corner of my brain and conspire to bring me right down again, with a cruel "Ha ha!", *eerie echo is optional* throwing me into that seemingly endless tunnel of terror that makes me believe I'll never be well.

Actually, I think I'll always have that dark element about me. Whether it's caused by my brain or my ovaries or a spell by an invisible witch (I'm really tired today), I might never know. I do know, though, that sometimes, it's so hard to see a bright side to all this darkness and, sometimes, it's the hardest thing I have to do to not wat to give up again, nearly so completely, like I've done so many times before. How can I believe that these feelings will pass? Thinking about what I will/might do one day just makes me feel worse, now. I think of all the "normal" activities everyone I know does or has done or is doing, and I can't help but feel jealous. In a nice way. I've never had a job. I don't drive. (That last bit is not entirely true: I can drive, but I'm still learning and it's been over three months since my last lesson. Thanks Mirena.) I haven't been to university. I still haven't moved out of the family home. "Normal" activities, like going out for drinks to the pub with friends, going to gigs, to the cinema, getting on a bus on my own (I've done that all of twice and even that was a (bit) scary) - all these things are attributed to depression and periods. (These may or may not be linked. I think they are: immense grief at seven, puberty at 8; periods at 12, mental breakdown months after and then again at 14/15.)

Fucking periods. I hate them. People have told me, told me that they're not as bad as that, they're only periods, should be used to them by now. Or that I'm exaggerating, or that it's an attention-seeking ploy... It just isn't. I've had doctors and nurses say it's normal, that they'll settle down, it's psychological and that I should see a psychologist/psychiatrist, that everything in there is fine, that I'm too young for problems like that... of course, all of that, in my mind, is bullshit. Not that Bullshit.


It's just... when you have a period, you don't really expect to be at its mercy, do you? You don't really want it to dictate what you can and can't do. Or for it to start whenever it bloody (sorry) well likes and then own you as its bitch for the next 3-4 days when all you can do is rely, at 27-years-old, on your Mum to look after you. She "has" to stay with you, keep the supply of tablets very close by and put them in your mouth because you're to ill to do it yourself, she "has" to be your veritable carer, to help you get to the (thankfully downstairs) toilet and, sometimes, stay with you while you get to the business of, erm... well, your business, (the pain of which is equally terrible and frightening) because the pain is so immense and horrendous that you might be sick and/or pass out at any second. Each period is terrifying, and each time it happens, I'd do ANYTHING to stop it. I dread each one. And that's not even counting the "mini" periods about 2-5 days after the biggy has stopped, after 10 days. Then I have another two weeks of mess. and two or maybe up to 4 weeks after that, it starts all over again.


Hormone tablets don't suit me, at all. Mirena doesn't suit me. The next thing to try, once this is out, is a double whammy of drugs: tranexamic acid and keral. One is an anti-inflammatory and the other has blood-lessening qualities.


And that's not even thinking about the fear I feel at the prospect of my Mum going into hospital for cancer removal. The fucker. Leave my wonderful family alone, you bastard.
Time for more co-dydramol. Ahh yeah...