In a holding pattern
Hey!
How’s it going? A couple of weeks ago I told you I was feeling blue. The colour hasn’t changed in the days since. But I spoke to a GP, who immediately signed me off work. I’ll be out of the office until the middle of September, at the very least.
He told me I need to take care of three sides of myself: the biological, the psychological, and the social. The first, he said, was about hormones. Everything I’m feeling now needs time to reset and get back to how it ought to be, and that can’t happen without stepping away from all the things that are causing any kind of distress. The second was about talking to my family and friends with intention, and also to look into therapy. And the third was about making sure I’m taking part in life. Even a five minute walk round the block counts, he said.
I was grateful for this sense of permission. I didn’t know what was going on with me, or what to do about it. I’m not good at advocating for myself or seeking help, so I don’t often speak to medical professionals about anything. It helped to have someone acknowledge how I was feeling and sort of take control, in a way. I was looking for someone to say, ‘this is what you need right now’.
So between now and next Wednesday, the next time I’ll write, I have no obligations. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. It’s over to me.
I’m staring at movies rather than watching them. I’m not motivated to go browse our favourite book shops. I’m even worse at replying to people than usual. What would reliably bring me joy just isn’t doing it for me anymore. But maybe now I’ve been prescribed time away from work and told to focus on the little things that help, that will change. I have such capacity for excitement and enthusiasm, and I miss it.
Broadly what I’m experiencing is burnout. It’s an all-encompassing term; it’s not specific enough for anyone to really know what you’re feeling. It’s coupled with some wobbly mental health and an undiagnosed dollop of neurodivergence. My brain is like white noise. I am told to rest, when I’m not sure my head has ever gone at less than 70mph.
I am so frustrated by it all. There’s a part of me that steps outside my body, looks at me and says, ‘get a grip’. You have always managed to do x, y, and z, so why can’t you now? That part of me understands I am competent and capable. On good days, I can do a million more things than on bad ones.
The other, more forgiving part, finds it harder to take the wheel. I’m doing my best to accept I’m unwell, that I need help with it, and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s difficult to give the kind of grace to yourself you more readily give to others. Everyone I’ve spoken to about taking time off work and talking to a GP has been immensely proud. I think it’s because they so rarely see me put myself first. But I couldn’t have continued with the way things were.
It’s all so unpredictable. I wish I could hand everyone in my life my instruction manual, but I would have to rewrite it each morning. I have no say in which version of me shows up on any given day. Doing anything is always difficult, there is always a barrier to overcome, but sometimes the energy I need to overcome it just isn’t there. I am always against something, I am exhausted by its presence, this maze to navigate, wall to climb over, bullet to dodge. It takes a new shape at random and I need to learn how to adapt all over again. I am never still.
It is especially difficult to describe to people who haven’t known me so long, or outside of certain situations, that I’ve always found life to be such a challenge. They will only have seen temporary performances. I can enjoy a party, I can get through a shift, I can actually do lots more than my recent blogging would imply! Masking has become an everyday term, everyone knows what it means. I need to drop the mask for now to speak honestly about what’s going on. I don’t have the strength to lift it to my face.
I have been trying, and will try with renewed optimism having spoken to a doctor. My partner and I have started playing Astro Bot again, which takes me back to rainy January nights. Fairy lights, blankets, playing a level each. ‘Our shows’ are coming back now that it’s basically autumn; we arranged our whole evening last night around the return of the Great British Bake Off. I’ve never seen Twin Peaks, so we’ve started watching that too, as my partner says it’s the perfect time of year for it. I’m reading Katabasis.
I make a point of writing something here each week. I didn’t share last week’s post on social media, I wasn’t particularly proud of it, but that’s not the point. I think as long as I’m doing something, I still feel alive, like I’m still taking part. It doesn’t matter if I’m unhappy with how something turns out, it’s about the fact I did it anyway.
It’s dreich outside today, so I’ve planned to go out for a walk tomorrow. I’ll try get to the cinema at some point soon. By next Wednesday, I’d love to say I’d managed a few little things. Not as a way of putting pressure on myself, but to actively try and find what brings some colour back to my life.
I don’t think I’ll keep writing about this. Understandably, it’s taken up a lot of mental space. I just try to talk about something real each week, because so much of my internet experience these days is filled with AI slop and performative outrage. I honestly just like having a yap about something that matters. I write each post as if you’ve sat down across from me, asked ‘how’re things?’, and I overdid it instead of saying ‘fine, you?’ If the one thing I achieve this week is having something different to talk about when you next ask, I’ll take that as a W.
Speak soon,
Scott