The Power of Words

I had previously written an entry on why I blogged. Basically, it helps me fix my thoughts.

This blog started when I was finally free from depression and enjoying life again following my break up from my husband, nearly 3 years ago now.

It was positive, inspiring at times, deep…and meaningful. I recently decided to revive it in the hope that I will find that positivity back.

Today I learned that I won’t be seeing the work doctor for another two weeks and my world took a turn for the worst for a while.

I was out when I saw the news via email and had a breakdown when I came home: how could I cope with another two weeks of nothingness? And I started to look around figuratively and just couldn’t find a good enough reason to stay alive.

Above my fake fireplace, rest my dog’s ashes, and above it a photo of him, enjoying himself in the river, with the words cherished and pampered. Above this, a wooden heart I carved when I was in hospital, with the word Frodo burnt across it.

He was my world my everything and, as I mentioned in a previous entry, the reason I am still here. If he hadn’t been around in my life I would have surely taken my life away when I went through my depression two and a half years ago.

He is no longer here for me.

I am holding on to dear life any way I can at the moment. I have a couple of friends who are there for me, but it doesn’t feel enough to help me through.

Stress is building up every day. Little worries to big ones, all rolling into one big pressure for me.

Yesterday I had to cope with a lodger who left it to the very last minute before leaving after I had given him notice. His behaviour had been pretty disrespectful, like a 20 year old who had little respect for my home. His girlfriend was rude to me and treated the house like hers. 30 minutes before he actually vacated, he threatened to kill himself, and so I found myself playing psychiatrist to help him through this moment. I succeeded.

I have a week to get my house ready for my new lodger, a friend I made in hospital who has been unstable in the past and I am a bit unsure how this is going to work out. She has it tough, real tough, yet she seems to be coping ok. As long as she isn’t drinking. 

I share my house with a chap who is schizophrenic – although I must say he is a great lodger, he and I really get on. We have common grounds: we understand about psychosis.

Today I also found out I didn’t get paid by work.

Add to that that my licence has been revoked. You get a pretty good idea of what living my life feels like at the moment.

BUT…I am soldiering on the best I can. Without professional support. Because I just don’t trust them. Ultimately, they put me where I am today. Three years ago. In Canada. Mr Psychiatrist who chucked me out of the mental health place 2 weeks after being admitted, when I wasn’t ready. When I wanted to stay longer because there was a safe place to process what had happened with my husband, and my best friend, and my friends, and my life.

I can hardly bear each day that I am not at work at the moment, imagine if I go to see my psychiatrist and tell him I can’t cope, how much longer my return to work might be delayed? I’d lose everything.

What is everything? My home, my future, my life.

Is it worth saving though? Today, I wonder….

Tonight though I have had two chats about this with two different friends. It helped to talk. I hope it’ll help to write too.

By newpaz

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