1066 All Stars

Not for the first time, I find myself emerging out of a period of low mood, wondering what all the fuss was about.

I try to make a concerted effort to blog my thoughts during these periods but do not always do so when I come out of the other side. This can lead to an imbalance of my writing where it may appear the dark times outweigh the lighter times.

As a result, I have bountiful writing to reflect back on that captures these darker moments and I almost find them an embarrassment. The depth of feeling and the peeling away of layers exposes a side of me I no longer recognise, no matter how raw and real it felt at the time.

That is exacerbated this time round as I have chosen to undertake further therapy. Instead of taking comfort from this positive step, I feel like a fraud. The complication is that there has recently been something very specific troubling me and although the underlying cause is undoubtedly deep rooted, the surface level sadness has now dissipated. I start to wonder then, was I just sulking? Do I really need more therapy? Is this just life and I need to get on with it?

Or is this in fact just another aspect of my illness speaking? I feel better today. That's great, because I felt awful last week. And pretty crummy the week before that. And I felt low in March and April when I was overwhelmed at the thought of a new job, ran away from it as fast as I could and first thought about seeing a counsellor. Not to mention in February when I crashed and burned, ultimately resulting in me going back onto anti-depressants. And that's just 2016.

In between are the less obvious symptoms. The constant tiredness, the lack of concentration, the zoning out, the lack of patience with the children, the withdrawal and isolation, the self judgement, procrastination and rumination.

Rather than being a fraud, there is a danger that I come to simply accept a lower quality of mental health as being a part of normal life. I deserve better.