This week has been an odd little bundle of complications. Of frustrations and blindsided punches. I’ve been left feeling tired, but thanks in part, well ok mostly to good medication, and an unstoppable desire to keep fighting the good fight, I have ridden through it. Saturday sees me heading out to the city – yep, leaving the comfort and security of my bed, and taking a stroll around my beautiful city on a warm, sunny, Autumnal day.
One of my ‘bundles’ was a teleconference with the ‘select committee’ that consisted of representatives from the various political parties, and the press and then me giving my oral submission as to why rape crisis centres in New Zealand should qualify for more funding. I was terrified! I knew the majority of oral submissions would be professionally given and I had never done such a thing before. I felt so anxious after the call, I literally almost passed out. A little dramatic I know. It was in part the crass and cold nature of the call as well as the introduction to the large audience listening. I wish I had the capacity to listen to it back. I am of course my own worse critic, so I have started to doubt the things I said and worried I didn’t get my point across very well.
My husband was away for a night and a couple of weeks ago there is not a single chance I could have coped with that, but we all survived unscathed.
I’m taking good care of my health, I know when to rest, I know to avoid too much stimuli via television programmes or movies that will prompt my PTSD symptoms, my therapy sessions are less intense, I know to continue with my daily objectives but not push beyond that.
Some people, they see taking medication as a weakness, or they worry that the medication means they are not ‘truly’ happy. It is sad that people have a chemical imbalance in their brain, like people can’t control their insulin, or their heart rate. We must all take measures, dietary, holistically, physically, and medically to reach a healthy balance. I don’t feel weak because I take medication. I don’t feel like I’ve failed, and I certainly don’t feel fake. I don’t believe I’m meant to feel like I live in the bowels of hell every waking moment! And the pills aren’t magic, I’m not dancing along the streets either. It takes work – credit where it’s due people.
Don’t judge anyone that takes a paracetamol for a headache, insulin for diatebes, antidepressants for depression, quietiepine for the psychosis aspect of a terrible low, that needs a pacemaker for a tired heart, glasses to aid vision, in fact anything you don’t understand or doesn’t sit comfortably within the realms of what exists in your existance.
Everyone is on a journey. It takes a hell of a lot of courage to speak up. And I say to anyone, ANYONE that is feeling so terribly dark and low and alone, simply, LIVE. There are many more experiences to have in this life. A few weeks ago I wanted nothing more than to go sleep and never to wake up. I asked for help. I got the right medication. And I don’t care what anyone says to that. It’s my quite literally, my life.