This year for my birthday, I’m giving myself the gift of mental health. I can afford to treat myself to this, as I found employment in April and [finally] received steady health insurance this month.
Back in 2008, I was surprised to be diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Treatment for both of these began, and I was on the road to becoming a more functional being in this society. Things were looking up, and I was able to reach goals that I thought I’d never be able to do (like sticking around to see a chick flick by myself while being surrounded by female cliques of three or more).
When I was laid off from my job in December 2009, I was in a rut. I didn’t have the means to be able to keep up my treatment and had to stop. Thankfully, I was at a point where most things didn’t bother me too much and I figured that as long as I took precautions on my end (breathing exercises, going to the gym, and staying as mentally active as possible), I should be okay. And I was, up until a month ago. Small symptoms started popping up, but they were small enough for me to pass it off as just being a bad day.
It’s small day-to-day things you take for granted that made me realize I couldn’t pass things off as just being a bad day: getting out of bed, making myself presentable, interacting with people on the most basic levels… This started pushing other things to the side, things that I take pleasure in: seeing friends, blogging, baking, and volunteering with dogs.
It’s uncomfortable to be in this place, to say the least.