I was having such a good day on Sunday. I managed a full face of make up before braving the big bad outdoors for lunch with my partner's family.
Yesterday I spent the larger part of the meeting I had to sort out my work hours and duties crying. Colleagues, bosses, even the damn head were understanding and kind and offered words of encouragement (so much for the higher ups ascertaining my condition being kept secret; but I never bought it would have been so I'm not surprised). What I spent nine and a half years trying to avoid (i.e. letting my mask fall at work) happened with gusto. While I appreciated everyone's concern, the pitying looks just made me cry harder. I'm 'that one who had a mental breakdown' now. No one said it, people don't do that. But if you're mentally unwell and good at reading people (I'm both) you'll know what I'm talking about.
Advice I received by every psychiatrist and psychologist (#sarcasm) in the room included:
- You have to get out of that hole. If you can't, you're not trying enough.
- I took Valium for a week, I know what you're going through.
- Your psychiatrist doesn't have your best interests at heart (sure, a boss would say that; he's got his best interests at heart)
- Are you staying at home twiddling your thumbs?
- Was it the job that did this to you?
That put a bit of a damper on the rest of the day and when I fell asleep I knew today would be . Sometimes you just know.
The highlight of my day was watching the waves crash against the rocks while fantasising about my funeral arrangements. Needless to say, I'm not having a very good time.