Accepting Help.

Often it takes a while to notice that we've reached a place where we need help. Where we ourselves, can no longer carry the weight and having a little bag of help over our shoulders has to be brought into the equation.

This is one of those times.

When I rang the New Year in, I felt incredibly positive. It was as if it just latched on from nowhere and I was feeling great.

I started a bullet journal, had a list of resolutions and was ready to tackle this years journey.

I was pumped, I found a new routine, I started exercising ... it was all going great until it hit.

Anxiety.

It never really goes away, it's always there lingering in the background, building up, but instead of just popping it's ugly head around the corner, it jumped in front and scared the life out of me!

Every morning I have been waking up the same, terrified of nothing, worried over nothing, the intrusive thoughts are dark and the suicidal thoughts are darker.

I kept breaking down, and the physical symptoms of anxiety were just too much. I couldn't control my breathing, like I wasn't taking in enough air. My chest is constantly tight, my muscles forever stiff and the state of my mouth from excessive biting is just ... yuck.

When the thought of me not being here, being easier for everyone else in my life grew stronger, I knew I needed help. Self-help was no longer working.

I had zero motivation to do chores, to write, to exercise. I was physically and emotionally drained, constantly felt sick. Looking over my shoulder and jumping at noises around me, just convincing myself that something bad was going to happen.

I realized I had to tell someone.

So, the husband was told everything. The thoughts, the process, the inability to cope and I reached out to friends/family members too over those following few days.

Not only did most confirm that I needed to seek help, that my mental health was incredibly fragile & important but they made me realise that I should be sending that 'I'm not okay' message on the days when I'm really not okay.

I don't do that in general. I can imagine for my readers that it's hard to believe that I am a closed book in person.

I don't speak to friends and family, especially face to face.

Writing it all down is much easier. I'm a different person online to who I am in real life. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not lying to you about who I am, I'm not over-exaggerating but I have the ability to be real behind this screen. Behind this keyboard.

As much as it might upset my friends and family to read it here first, this is just easier for me. When I sit to write a blog piece, it just flows and I cannot for the life of me explain why because if I was to start a text message to a friend about me, I would get frustrated, confused and probably delete it several times before sending.

I don't know what it is, I guess it just feels more real when it's on a personal level like that.

So, my husband found a private clinic here in the city. I reached out to them, booked an appointment and went.

The days leading up to the appointment were ... 'iffy'. I was starting to think about travelling there alone, I started to get upset that this medical professional would be the only one to understand me and that thought makes me feel lonely. I completely understand that the real people in my life struggle to grasp what is actually going on in my head, because half the time, I cannot explain it but it's a terribly lonely place to be when you can't explain yourself. It's a tough place to be when you can't help those you love to understand you.

The thought of the only person understanding of me, being a therapist was daunting.

I pushed myself to go though. My husband encouraged and helped. Luckily we were able to get his work driver to come back, take me and wait to bring me home.

Travelling alone is a big deal for me as I'm sure I've mentioned in the past so being in a car with someone I at least, briefly know and knowing that it's the same person picking me up, calmed me a little.

Until I got into the car. It was like there was no oxygen in that car at all. I was trying so hard to control my breathing, but every breath felt like I was taking in less and less air with each inhale.

I kept thinking 'I should have brought a plastic bag' over and over again because I just wanted to throw up that feeling in my gut.

What if this therapist can't help me?

What if we can't find the clinic?

What if it's not accessible by car and I have to walk down some back street alone?

What if I get attacked?

Oh god, I'm going to be early!

Too early!

I'm going to be sat in the waiting room looking like an idiot!

What if I cry? What if the therapist thinks I'm making it all up?

I made it, I didn't throw up, I didn't have to walk anywhere. I was more than 30 minutes early but the receptionist made me tea in a cup that had kittens on it. As far as I'm concerned, my day was made.

I won't go into detail of my session on that day because, I'm not ready to but I can tell you that I came out of there feeling a little more positive.

The initial session was more of a 'get to know you' 'where do we want this to go' 'let me teach you how to breath' but we've established that I need to go weekly ... at least to start with and that anxiety isn't all that needs focus right now.

But this is good news. I know my opening was potentially scary, especially to those who know me beyond this screen but I want you to know that however 'not okay' I am, i fight.

When I have those dark thoughts that tell me this world would be better off without me .... other thoughts battle them hard! My kids, my husband, my friends & family.

I'm working on me, one step at a time. The first step ... was being completely honest.