Well, this got deep quickly, didn’t it?
On Saturday, I went to a Fem Soc social at a bar, and four cocktails happened before my anxiety rose to the point where I had to take myself off to the toilets and try and calm myself down whilst avoiding crying and ruining my face. I swiftly made my excuses and got out of there, and actually made it home before the tears arrived (and my housemate thought she had triggered me and felt really guilty, woops).
So I went to bed in a bit of a state, to say the least. And woke up the next morning with not a normal hangover, but what I have decided to name a ‘sadness hangover’, because it has happened enough times to warrant a name. I define a sadness hangover as the headache, aching bones and muscles, foggy brain, extreme tiredness, sluggishness, irritability, sickness and general zombie-like state of the next day after waking up the morning (or early afternoon) after a bad flare up of anxiety/depression. It sucks.
And it now being Monday evening, I am only just beginning to get over it. Hopefully if I get a good enough night’s sleep I will have a much better day tomorrow. If I didn’t believe that, I don’t think I’d ever get out of the slump; it would mean going backwards, downwards into the pit of my own brain and giving into the voice in my head. And that belief what getting better is about.
I think a part of ‘recovery’, from depression particularly, is accepting that it’s a process. That sounds gross and therapist-y and bleugh, but true, at least for me. Sometimes I feel like shit, but I know that another time in the future I’m going to feel fucking awesome. When the shit times occur I like to remember that there is a massive difference between having this glimmer of hope, even if it is being quietened by the loud mouth bastard that says ‘EVERYTHING SUCKS, YOU SUCK, WHAT’S EVEN THE POINT? GO BACK TO BED AND MAYBE BASH YOUR HEAD AGAINST A WALL A FEW TIMES ON YOUR WAY’, and the complete, earnest, all-encompassing lack of hope, and defeat in the face of the voices, that I had in the past.
I had an anxiety attack on the bus this morning, but that’s okay because now I’m at home in my Winnie the Pooh onesie eating toast with honey on it, and everything is all right for now.