Taking The Edge Off

Heyy, 

So this week I started med's. Yep that's right ladies and gentlemen I have finally opened up to the realisation that maybe medication is just what I need right now. Is it's easy for me to just come out and say it like that, no not really but then again how do you go about saying it or explaining it to someone that doesn't know or understand. 

In fact, I was quite shocked and almost borderline appalled that the doctor handed them out so easily. No silly questionnaire about how depressed I am or on a scale of one to ten of likeliness that I might top myself. Every other time I have been to the doctors (not that there have been many, gosh makes me sound like a right nut case, but there have been a few occasions) there has been a lengthy conversation about how I feel and how I have become to feel this way. Strangely I feel as though there should have been at least a little bit more push and pull. Then again maybe it was obvious and looking at my medical history it seemed the best thing for me. 

Opening this week's blog may have been quite blunt and to the point, but I must stress that I do not take decisions like these lightly and I have tried for the last few months (because the weeks of cloudiness have now turned into months) to not succumb to the need for medication in order to treat my mental health issues at the moment. Truth be told is that I never really wanted to be on them in the first place, but the fact of the matter is I need a fairly instant result in improving my mood and therefore my performance, both at and away from my desk. I know what I need. I need therapy and counselling and I need to talk about it. I know not to throw the word depression around like it is nothing. It is. 

I know people may and probably are already judging me for reaching for the pill box and questioning maybe why I am not always a miserable mess, however I would first ask them to never judge a book by its cover as you never know what someone is going through or how deep their problems lie.  Somehow breaking your leg and clearly having it in plaster makes it easier for people to talk about a illness or injury, but with disorders such as anxiety, depression and other mentally debilitating conditions it is not so easy. You have those that care and ask how you are everyday obviously wanting to hear that you are doing well. But then there are others that don't quite understand just how difficult it is. These types of people will not understand and simply asked you to pull yourself together or to pick yourself up and get on with it. Phrases like this frustrate me no end as if it was just that easy I could simply wake up and be the same bubbly and happy lass as I used to be. 

You see depression makes even the smaller things in life appear so much more prominently in your mind and bigger than in reality they probably are. On it's own I could have probably dealt with any number of the issues I am facing and that some of the problems and frustrations that I am up against at the moment are simply as a result of not being 100% myself. Unlike the last times I have felt cloudy and sad I have always been able to put it down to just one thing, rather than multiple failings. My Dad went to war, my parents divorced, I got kicked out, My boyfriend left me, Blah, Blah, Blah. But what happens when it is not just one box that is ticked but all of the above? 

For me this time is more difficult as I feel the stakes are high at this time and there is so much to lose including my job, my lifestyle and even my dream home are all on the line. I cannot mess this up and just need something to get me by. I just need to take the edge off and make everything a little less sharper. Just something that can help me just get by and work through the muddle and mess of it all. Therapy last week was helpful and I feel as though we are finally getting to where I need to focus my attention on being. They make me feel quite queasy and nauseous most of the time but I have to try and to concentrate all my efforts on what and where it is needed. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Infectious Zombie Disease That Became A Reality!

Hello-Hello, 

So I know what you are all thinking. Am I dead? No?! Well Not quite. I certainly was last week though and as Monday's are normally my night to self-consume myself with Blog writing, however last week I was barely in a position to hold a conversation or eat, let alone write something. Now I am proclaiming that it all started I suppose on Saturday night where myself and Mr. Warehouse transformed ourselves from young sweethearts in love to a flesh-eating, disease-ridden Zombie Medical Team. Mr. Warehouse was my lead Consultant Doctor and I was a nurse. Nurse Price - Hmmm?!

It was a Halloween Party and rather unlike myself I had left everything till last minute and subsequently our plans to go as the Mad Hatter, fully complete with real china tea-cup impaled on face, and Mr. Warehouse as the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland (The original, not that crap Tim Burton churned out for his dwindling bank balance). So as the weekend approached faster than I anticipated Mr. Warehouse and I gave up on the hope of a warped Disney fantasy and opted for a fancy-dress shop bought costume. Nevertheless we spent most of the afternoon making fake blood, Halloween inspired cake pops and flinging a red concoction of pantry cupboard ingredient's at each other, making the whole of our little courtyard look like we had actually killed something. Good thing the Dog was still running around. Hanging up our outfits to dry, Mr. Warehouse and I took to the warmth of the inside in order to "glam" up for the party. 

The annual bash is something that is hosted by Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife, a lovely couple who enjoy Halloween as much as Jack and Sally, celebrating it bigger than some people do Christmas. They decorate the whole house; Bathroom, Reception Rooms, Hallways, Landings, Kitchens and Back Yard - All in hauntingly beautiful arrays of cobwebs, black and creeped out dec's. I cannot wait for the moment in my life that it is appropriate enough to have my own Halloween Party, although I am almost certain it will take many years, weeks and pennies to achieve the levels Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife have achieved. 

A successful few hours later, our costumes more intact than last year (Whereby Mr. Warehouse's overalls were quite literally ripped off his back when we dressed as the Big Bad Wolf and Little 'Dead' Riding Hood) we headed off home, and I was impressed that I had gone out of a night time and enjoyed myself at a Party whilst not drinking a single drop of Alcohol. 

But it would appear that the effects of the Zombie Apocalypse did not wear off as fast as I had hoped, for as Monday afternoon approached I started to feel queasy. "Food might help" I thought. So I had my lunch, albeit late. It made the stomach cramps and nausea worse. "A glass of milk might make it better" I continued.
But again, it made everything worse. Dashing to the bathroom in order to vomit I knew I had to go to the doctors. I couldn't believe that yet again had the same symptoms I had a few weeks ago had returned and it would appear I again had a horrendous viral infection. Only this time I needed to be at work. Not just for the fact that it was a new job and I wanted to be there to learn and show I was willing, but also the simple fact they no matter how long you are with the company they do not pay sickness. 

Shockingly poorly I went to the doctors and struggled driving home, vomiting not only in the doctors surgery but also outside the local Pharmacy whilst waiting for my prescription. I knew it was Halloween it was scary how sick I was feeling. Getting home I desperately tried to manager some bolognese but that came up as quick as it went down. Water and juice was unable to stay put also and by the time I had even thought about writing last week I was bent over double throwing up or curled up on Mr. Warehouse's lap, shivering under several blankets and layers of clothes. Having enough, my beautifully caring other-half put me to bed and left the bucket now used for such occasions and a glass of water to sip on, wrapping me up in the duvet and promising to check on me every hour, which he did but if only to make sure I hadn't choked on my own stomach acid. 

Two days later I returned to work, still not feeling great but with limiting options since I wasn't getting paid for the pleasure of sitting at home in my pyjamas under a duvet with a sick bowl to hand. I am feeling much better today and throughout the last couple of days, I am just hoping it doesn't attack me again with another bout of The Zombie Sickness Bug. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx