It is a year since we reached our lowest point with anxiety. We blogged about it here but the bare bones are that we turned up to a psych appointment in tears, sobbed at her for five minutes, and went home. We didn’t even make it into the building, and we cancelled our CPN appt for later the same day. It was our worst day in terms of mental health.
It was also, we realise with the benefit of hindsight, our turning point. Never again did we want to feel like that. And the biggest change is evident in the words we used – our post from a year ago is full of “I”. After a lot of thinking and a lot of talking to other people and picking their brains, we made the first tentative moves to using “we” and to accepting that maybe the whole diagnosis thing was right – that I wasn’t just me anymore, that I couldn’t and shouldn’t be attempting to have complete control.
There are bound to be shit times ahead, but a year ago was our personal rock bottom. A lot has changed, internally and externally. The way we live our whole life has altered beyond recognition, from S and her coffee to C and her wraps, or A and the ironing. Yes, there are days when I don’t want to leave the house, but that doesn’t mean we stay home – it just means someone else goes instead. And that isn’t just ok, it’s awesome. We’re still learning, but we’re slowly getting there.