I have moments where I forget the horrors of Wednesday (and I don’t just mean in regards to my own personal situation, but also about the victims of the Grenfell Tower tragedy).
When those moments are happening I feel, dare I say it, normal?
Which, once I’ve acknowledged that I feel ok, is usually enough to bring on the panic and paranoia.
Because if I have moments where I feel ok, then am I well? Did I imagine all the years of anxiety, depression and stress?
Which then leads me to worry, which makes me ill, which makes the problem worse.
The Doctor has told me to go out, see friends, have and savour a coffee, get regular exercise, feel the sunshine on my skin.
Mental Health is not like another illness. It often has no obvious sign, not in the way a broken leg does at least.
The things that help make mental health better are not usually the things you would tell a sick person to do, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t as essential medicine as a pill or a syrup would be.
I need to give myself permission to be happy, to get better, to not suffer.