The last couple of weeks have very busy. Very tiring. There has been no wind time down at all. Where my husband and I have tried to make time, something has come up and interrupted our efforts. Sleep has been irregular and listless. We made one final ditch attempt to have dinner one evening – time for just him and I to talk away from the demands of the house and the children. We asked a member of staff from our son’s kindy to look after the children one evening. On any other time we both would have acknowledged that we were too spent and drained but knew we had to make the effort. The evening was nice, the food wonderful, an old favourite restaurant of ours. It didn’t defy our expectations. We chatted and laughed and soaked up the ambience. Happy to forget all of the issues at hand for a few precious hours.
Driving home, I’m not even sure what we argued about. But we stopped for gas. As my husband left me in the car I suddenly realised I had drunk too much wine. I felt vulnerable. The glare of the gas station lights seemed to expose me. Dressed for dinner, make up beginning to wear I looked so tired and worn. I felt suddenly very alone. I had laughed only an hour ago along with a waiter about wine as though I had the confidence of a dozen men. Now I sat peering ominously over the dashboard, looking for the security of my husband. Conscious that beyond the penetrative lights of the forecourt lay the foreboding darkness of unspeakable danger.
Suffice to say, when he returned I just wanted the night over and to get home.
When home I rushed upstairs and hid away until I was sure the babysitter had left.
The panic rose like a champagne bubble, fast, furious, unstoppable. It’s been a while since I had a proper panic attack. I’m so disappointed that our night ended like that.
The days have just fell, one after another. I have, as far as I’ve been concerned been doing what I should be. My husband has asked if I feel ‘low’ but I just feel as anyone would. It’s winter, I’m cold, miserable, overwhelmed, we have a lot going on, I have a house and kids to sort out. I have been managing my therapy. I thought I had everything compartmentalised.
I saw my psychiatrist today. I remained chipper for the appointment. So I was surprised when she told me she thought I seemed a bit low and more flat than previously. I had genuinely thought I was improving minus a few blips.
Admittedly I have decreased my medication quite quickly. Clearly too quickly, she wants me to move back up again – which is terribly disappointing.
I feel like I’m trying to juggle balls here and frankly I’m not doing a very good job.