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Trying to make sense

My mental health went to pieces in the last 3 months. It’s so strange looking back now because at the time I hadn’t lost touch with reality, I was able to talk to other people about other things- I was able to discuss medication and blood tests with my careteam. I wasn’t sectioned and must’ve basically convinced everyone I was OK.

I wasn’t though. I left work on a Thursday after experiencing “symptoms” in the office. I was able to carry on working, it was the idea that if I was unstable I might be affecting the people around me negatively which finally pushed me over the edge I think.

Looking back I can see now that a part of me gave up. I’d kinda been embracing the fck it frame of mind via Tinder already, but had also already acknowledged that I can’t do meaningless very well. What’s a girl supposed to do? Stuck between a rock and a hard place. I needed to stop taking everything so seriously, but it seemed I was inherently hardwired to not function any other way.

When the idea that I was negatively affecting the people around me filtered into my thinking, it was like a part of me wanted to lash out. After 14 years of not truly living for myself, I now needed to consider leaving my job, the apparent culmination of the last 14 years, for the sake of the people around me. The idea of being unstable really fucked me in itself, I’ve spent so much mental energy denying the idea that schizophrenia is all bad, and then that word- “unstable” really hit me in all its glory.

Like a broken thing, a chemical composition which might explode at any moment. Something which can’t be trusted or relied upon. That word really fucked me.

The psychotic symptoms didn’t start badly- as always they were a double edged sword and so, SO different from 14 years ago. Looking back on it all now it’s mind-blowing how my mind kept generating.. Good and bad. Enough content to hold me, and enough good and bad to keep me revolving. There’s loads in it which I want to look into, though not quite yet. I need to give myself time and space now to process and leave the terrifying parts behind. Because as time passed there were more and more terrifying parts- and I still can’t believe how far I almost fell. I can’t believe how deeply I embraced what seemed to be happened, without being fully aware of myself doing it.

I wasn’t suicidal at any point, but the experiences, as they developed, suggested that there were reasons I should be. Things seemed to happen, which seemed to have too bigger potential repercussions. And as time passed and I got weaker, I just kinda rolled over into it. I accidentally drank detol, and then drank pints of water afterwards, without too much of an emotional reaction.

As time passed I started to acknowledge that I was depressed, but as I didn’t feel depressed I couldn’t process it.

“Get up angel princess.” There was so much which was ridiculously emotionally charged.

I’ll stop now because I’m blinking back tears; has been such a ridiculous 3 months, I want to write more but need to figure out how to structure it.

“Get up angel princess.”