Back when the world had just stopped being 1999 and was enjoying all that the early ‘noughties had to offer, I went a little bit crazy. There were reasons for this craziness; breast cancer took my auntie, old age took both my beloved grandad and my beloved childhood pussy-cat, the Big Brother listened to stupid advice from me and left his wife for his masseur, and I put my abusive lover onto a train and kissed goodbye to him for ever. This all happened within just seven months.
Oh, and I was being bullied at work by both a parent and by a fellow teacher.
Sucked to be me.
The craziness manifested itself in ways of which I’m not necessarily proud. I withdrew from life. Having been signed off work with depression I locked myself away in my tiny little flat. By night I drank vodka, chain-smoked till the ashtray was overflowing and chatted to sometimes odd, sometimes charming, very rarely lovely, guys online.
By day I slept.
I also took risks, the most stupid of which was meeting guys in London for ‘fun’. This was only twice, but it was dangerous and ill-thought out.
The craziness didn’t last for long. I gave up my beautiful little flat and toddled off home to Mumsy for some tlc. A few months later I met Blokey and the rest is history.
I have a lot of ‘what ifs‘ to ponder about concerning this odd little period of my life, and I’m mostly thinking about it now because if I wasn’t where I am right now (in a loving marriage, with a fabulous relationship with Mumsy) I think I’d be heading back to CrazyTown with a one-way ticket.
As it stands, I’ve been to the GP. I said I didn’t want to take antiDs. He asked what I wanted. I said I’d like counselling. He’s going to refer me.
My biggest ‘what if‘ of my craziness episode is wondering where I’d be now if I’d asked for counselling back when the world was enjoying its new adventure in the 21st Century. However, I think I’d be in the same place I am now. I’ve stumbled upon recollections, signs, the writings of people connected to me, which have made me a different person to the one I was in my mid-twenties. I’ve put the jigsaw pieces together and I’m solving the puzzle. I think that counselling will help … it may not complete the puzzle, but it may render it complete with just a few token pieces missing.
And it might be a waste of time, but I won’t know if I don’t try.
I had counselling once when I was at uni. I think it was towards the end of my first year, so I was still an impressionable eighteen year old. I was told I wasn’t depressed, he didn’t know what I was doing there and it was a waste of time. I saw him twice. I feel very angry now that he didn’t take the time to listen to me, didn’t crack away at the defences I’d built up and realise that I was very fucked up indeedy.
But I’m grateful that he didn’t because I wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t be the woman that I am if he’d been good at his job. And it’s very hard to explain that I actually like being me; it feels safe and comfortable. That was the hardest part about going to see my GP and admitting I need some sort of help or support. If counselling (and/or pills; he’s told me to consider them) do achieve what I want it/them to achieve then it means I might change. And I can’t bear the idea that I might change.
But I do feel calmer now, and that’s a blessed relief.
And I will write a happy happy happy post one day.
(i’m also having bloods taken so they can check my thyroid … i don’t want it to be my thyroid because i do need counselling, but i suppose it would be good to know that my deeply ingrained feelings are just being exacerbated by something medically treatable.)