How I coped with a mental health crisis 

If you’ve been reading for a while, you will know that lately I’ve been very up and down. Well, mainly down. But I’ve been working so very hard at getting better. 

  • I speak to my GP
  • I take medication
  • I’ve been referred for counselling 
  • I exercise 
  • I get outside
  • I take time to relax
  • I write 
  • I talk 
  • I do things that make me happy
  • I see friends
  • I hug
  • I eat healthy food
  • I eat chocolate
  • I wear clothes that make me feel good
  • I shower
  • I keep the house clean 
  • I take on projects 
  • I make plans 

I do all of these things despite just wanting to curl up in bed. I want to shut out the world and hide from the stress and anxiety. I want to be enveloped by the depression. But I also want to be well and be happy. So I work so very very hard to be mentally well. 

The thing is, doing all of that, is exhausting. The amount of physical and mental stamina it takes to just get through the day is overwhelming. So I am worn out. Worn down. And, quite frankly, fed up. And vulnerable. I am so busy trying to hold it together, things can easily knock me. If someone says something hurtful, it really hurts. If something is stressful, my chest gets tight and I start to panic. The last few months have become unbearable. 

But I keep going. 

I want to be happy. I want to be me again. 

But there’s only so long anyone can push so hard. And today I snapped. I gave in. I crumbled. 

I couldn’t push any further. I couldn’t try anymore. The thoughts of wanting to not be here became visions of busy roads, pill bottles, tall buildings. I was just so tired of trying and failing to be ok. The weight of how hard it is to try felt unbearable. The burden felt too heavy. 

I knew that this was a crisis point. I was not coping. I was in danger. I was really scared. 

At this moment of crisis I was in town. Walking back to my car. Not ideal. I was choking back tears. Head down. Trying not to be seen. Wishing I was home and berating myself for leaving my cocoon. My instinct said get home. Get to safety. But when I reached my car, I had my most terrifying realisation: I didn’t trust myself to drive home. I didn’t trust that I would make it home alive. 

So I picked up my phone. I dialled 116 123. The Samaritans. I spoke to a lovely lady for 45 minutes. Well, I snotty sobbed at her. But she lead me through my feelings and helped me see things from a different perspective. And I felt like I could get home. I gave myself permission to rest. Then I phoned M and talked to him. I talked to my mum. I know it is hard to hear for them but it would be so much worse if I didn’t talk and put myself in a worse position. 

My eyes are puffy. My head is banging. But I made it through one of my darkest moments and I’m proud of how I handled it today. There may be worse to come, but I believe, without doubt, that I will beat this. 



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