So it turns out that I have high blood pressure. I’m twenty-two.
After getting over her surprise, my doctor says “If it was any higher I would start treating you for it.”
She talks about how it is hereditary and as it is a condition experienced by both my parents I am obviously pre-disposed but that it shouldn’t have become a problem until my 40s. She goes on to start discussing the diet and lifestyle changes I need to gradually implement; lower my salt intake, drink more water, exercise more, lose some weight…
and I hold my eyes open very still and try to focus on what she is saying but I can’t help it. A tear escapes from one eye, and then the other, and I begin to weep
“Oh Olivia!” she exclaims. “What’s wrong?” She slides her office chair towards the tissue box, and wheels back to hand me one.
“I can’t stop eating because I am just so so miserable!” I blurt.
I tell her about how unexplainably down I have been. How I have been eating to avoid the misery, anything and everything to avoid the cloud of grey.
I tell her about the irritability and anger.
I confess behaviours of reckless spending and incessant overeating.
My lack of personal hygiene.
I tell her how the sadness has overwhelmed my senses and collected as a sickness in the pit of my stomach. A nausea of denial that doesn’t want to admit that I have fallen unwell again.
She wants to put me back on antidepressants, just for a short term.
I swore I would never go back on medication. I hate the way it numbs and suppresses. But I just don’t know what else I could do.
I have a week to decide.
Sometimes you just need to sit in the bath tub and be sad.
And that’s all I can say about today because I am afraid the constant stream of hatred which has been occupying my mind will spill over into my words.
My familiar old friend depression experienced in a new way: Irritability, welcome to the clubhouse.
The problem with a history of depression and anxiety is that you can never know if you’re “just having one of those weeks” or if you’re sliding back down into those places you swore you’d never go again.
My thoughts are restless, brewing and culminating into a storm cloud in my mind, and the downpour is leaking from my eyes.
The drizzle of the drainpipe outside my window empathises with my heart while I try very hard to clear my head of people and places past.
They say that it takes seven years for every single cell in our bodies to renew itself. In three years time there will not be a piece of me left that he touched and violated and maybe then, with no cells left to remember, my mind will be free too.
Since my overdose on antipsychotic medication, I now struggle to swallow pills on a normal basis, for example two aspirin when I have a headache. I have to swallow with a LOT of water, follow immediately with food to help it ‘sit’ in my stomach, and even then my bodies response seems to be to vomit them up.
Is this a side-effect experienced by anyone else who has overdosed?
Everyone is SEVERELY pissing me off today. Today is a day I am afraid of my own anger.