I'm going to gear away from talking about my experiences of being a pseudo-stepmom and talk about some things that affect many women and men in today's society.
I have struggled all my life with anxiety and depression. I can't pinpoint an exact area of my life as to what caused me to be the way I am, it's just been part of me.
I started getting help back in March. After many months of feeling like I was lost and that I was losing control I finally decided that something needed to happen. For as long as I can remember I've always had some kind of anxiety and it could be triggered with a little thing. The same goes with my depression. If I didn't feel absolutely amazing I would hit a low spot. Most times I would snap out of the low after a day or two, but it was getting to be more of a battle to get out of the rut. It was becoming difficult to get out of bed in the morning, and finding energy to do anything was damn near impossible.
The commercials on tv don't lie when they say that everything hurts and everyone is affected with depression. The same goes along with anxiety.
I couldn't relax, ever. I was always thinking about something or worrying that something was or wasn't going to happen. The dishes had to be done, the laundry couldn't go more than a day without being folded. I couldn't sit on the couch and watch a movie without fidgeting or doing something on my phone. Add the not sleeping on top of that. I felt like I was constantly needing to be on the move. I would eventually just tire out and I would crash. I wanted nothing more than to sleep. And sleep I did. There would be days where I would lay down as soon as I got home from work. It was as though my bed was my shelter. It comforted me from the pain I was feeling.
Let's add in the roller coaster of mood swings too. I would be happy, I would cry, I would be angry....all within a five minute period and I couldn't explain why. On days where I was anxious I would worry myself to the point of an anxiety attack. I would make myself so sick from it.
Back in March I decided after a lot of thinking that I needed to get help. I was in the parking garage at work having a breakdown. I hated myself, life, and didn't feel that anything could make me happy. I was going through the motions of everyday. I went into a robot mode. I questioned my relationship, wondered what would happen if I just disappeared. Would anyone notice I was gone? Would they even care? I didn't care, so why should they.
I met with my therapist for the first time on a Thursday afternoon. Getting in happened a lot quicker than I thought it was going to take. Since then I have been meeting with my therapist 2x a month to talk about things. My doctor has also helped find something to allow me to sleep a full 8 hours and also find something to level me out. I still have my moments where I feel low, but they pass. I find that I have more energy, my OCD isn't nearly as bad when I'm in a store (although I still really cannot go into a cluttered store), but more importantly I'm getting my life back. I'm getting out and experiencing things again. I'm not so wound up and worry about things.
If you know someone or yourself who has ever been depressed or has a lot of anxiety, there are people out there who can help. I denied that I needed help for a very long time. I always told myself that this will pass or that there is nothing that they can do to help me. But actually, just having someone sit down and just listen and talk helps a lot. Sometimes you can open up to someone who has no relation to you better than you can a family member because they don't have judgements against you. It was hard for me to open up, but now that I am becoming more comfortable i am finding that things to talk about come more easily. I have a long road to go, but I'm hopeful (something I didn't have before) that I'll be better.
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