1066 All Stars

Today I made the decision to go back on to anti-depressants.

It is something I have been considering for some time. My mood has been fluctuating wildly, including significant low points. My anxiety levels have been consistently high, setting me off at innocuous circumstances, in particular around the children.

And yet there is a sense of failure and regret. Over two years on from therapy, where I thought I had left the pills behind, I have a sense of having regressed. My blog writing, so often a source of pride and progression, now feels fraudulent. Who am I to shout to the world about how far I have come when I have slipped back into a reliance on drugs?

But this is of course nonsense. I have not regressed. There is no shame, no failure. In fact, quite the opposite. I recognised that something was wrong, saw that my behaviour and mood had fallen and rather than obstinately soldiering on, took steps to address it. This is not weakness, it is bravery. I am proud of myself for having the courage to recognise that I needed help. 

It was with a sense of conviction that I explained my circumstances to the GP, calmly and lucidly and found the support of a professional who understood. This is the right thing for me at the right time. A chance to press the pause button of my mind and take a deep breath before jumping back into the pool. In the journey of life, this is not a backwards step, merely a detour.

Mental illness is not something to be ashamed of. Nor is asking for help.