I had a doctor’s appointment today (unrelated to my mental health) and even though I felt on the edge of panic a few times sitting in that waiting room with strangers, I am proud to say I kept it under control, and without use of propranolol. I am making progress, I can see that, and it helps me feel hopeful for more progress.
At the same time though, I still am not any where near well. I still get so low I can barely move. I still get so panicked I can’t think. I still shy away from social situations and feel anxious about being without my husband. And I feel guilty for still having these problems. I can’t explain that very well, I guess it’s because I say I’m making progress so in my head that means no bad days, which I know is ridiculous. But still, the guilt is there, the feeling of inadequacy and failure. I’m a mess. I feel like I should be happy and yet right now I feel dejected. I feel silly for feeling dejected, and I feel stupid for writing about in on here. Quit bothering everyone else with your problems, Ella. It’s pathetic.
But then the other part of my mind says not to think like that because I don’t write this blog to get approval or recognition. I write it for me, as a form of therapy, and as something that will hopefully one day act as a record of my journey through anxiety and depression.
Good grief this post is a mess. Sorry about that. I know it’s not worded well or that coherent. I know it doesn’t make much sense. But I’m stressed and jumbled myself so it reflects my state of mind.