I’m not beating myself up, I swear. Well I’m trying not to. It’s awfully hard not to when my default mode is self loathing on an epic scale.
I fell off the wagon big time this year. I’ve been battling a hip injury since the end of last year which has really only recovered in recent weeks, so I’ve found every excuse under the sun to not go and do some other form of exercise such as the exercise bike or swimming. Instead, I fell into a spiral of self hatred and food. And wine. Oh my goodness the wine.
The thing about mental health is, that it’s fluid. It moves just like the tides. Some days the waves are quite manageable for a beginner and then other days the waves are so big and unpredictable, even a pro like Kelly Slater might think twice about putting himself out there.
So of course, in saying that, I feel generally good, however things aren’t one hundred percent and I’m trying to cope with the possibility that they may never ever be one hundred percent ever again. I’m constantly triggered. Constantly. I can’t escape it. I mean just yesterday birthing and babies came up in conversation, asking for my expertise (because remember I’m a registered nurse also, not only a mother) which of course I don’t mind helping out, honestly. It’s just the re opening of old wounds that I have to deal with afterward.
Last night it was dreams.
A few weeks ago I applied for a new job and I was successful! I start this coming Tuesday so here’s to hopefully starting afresh with even less chance of exposing myself to triggers at work. However in the last two weeks, it’s as though karma wanted to send me out with a bang.
I ended up on the resuscitation team in the operating theatres. Ordinarily I would have been okay and generally I was, but obviously it’s had an affect on my subconscious because even though at the time the only fear I had was that maybe the flashbacks would come back while I was in the theatre and I wouldn’t be able to perform my job effectively. It’s been after. Just about every night since I have had dreams about my operation. This morning it was so distressing it actually woke me up.
I’m not sure where to go from here. I feel as though I have exhausted my options with psych therapy. Medications were never an option for me. I’m not sick like I was two years ago but I’m not well either.
So I’m trying my luck at trying to fix the outside of me, so that maybe the inside of me will follow suit. I’ve gained weight this year and my clothes are too tight and I generally am reminded of how much of a failure I am every time I put pants on. It’s so ridiculous to measure my self worth on a number but I do and I know I’m worth an infinite measurement but I can’t shake the loathing.
So here’s to small goals and feeling better about myself.