I was going to do a video talking about why doing the 40000 steps for the Black Dog Institute’s One Foot Forward Challenge, but I suck at the whole talking about my emotions verbally, and I am feeling a lot of them of late so it would just end up being a garbled mess. It’s not to garner sympathy that I share with, nor to encourage people to donate, but rather share what is sometimes happening behind the quiet facade people see.
When I was a teenager, I struggled with my mental health, but back then teen anxiety and depression were still very much something that no one talked about because of the stigma attached. I was sixteen, my connection with my friends was a thin thread, becoming tauter every day, ready to snap. When I did talk about how I was feeling overwhelmed, instead of support and kindness, I was told ‘make sure you do it right’, leading me to believe I was worth nothing, that my life had no meaning. No wonder I clammed up emotionally after my first attempts to open up were met with intense scorn. It also meant that I didn’t develop proper coping skills, instead spiralling when things got tough, falling apart each time, rebuilding over a weak foundation.
I have been through therapy a couple of times, dealing with grief over the loss of a family member and also at the time of my parents divorce.
I have also been on anti-depressants for short times, as well as tried St Johns Wort, although the latter had the side effect of nausea on a daily basis and it scared me off of taking them. One of the times I was on anti-depressants, I had actually gone to the doctor for medication for nerve pain after a case of the Shingles, and was put on the tablets without the doctors talking to me about the side effects or with a mental health plan to support me.
After my aneurysm ruptured, while I was still in the hospital in Melbourne, waiting for news that there was a bed for me to go to in the hospital in Ballarat, I had a horrible anxiety/panic attack. All that I wanted to do was leave one hospital and go to another but I wasn’t able to until there was somewhere for me to go. My dad was there, and later my mum. Afterwards they both noted that they had never seen me have such a bad attack. I was virtually catatonic at one point, caught in the loop of ‘I want to get out of here’ and being able to break myself out of that loop for several hours, couldn’t eat and barely drank any water. I think I exhausted myself later that night and, after a visit from a friend, I settled.
During COVID, the isolation necessary to keep me safe has highlighted how far I have come, and also how far I have to go on my mental health journey. I have my anxious moments and plenty of when my depression feels like it is going to overwhelm me all over again and I have struggled to keep on top of things like I usually do .
What helps me:
- walking
- Driving to random places
- Crying
- Watching old Whose Line is it Anyway clips on YouTube
- Writing really bad poetry
- Silly SnapChats
- Memes
- Pet shaming stories
My name is Patrica, my demons are depression and anxiety.
This is only a part of my story, there are other elements that I am not brave enough, or strong enough to share yet.
Stay safe, and travel well people. To those who are struggling, I am here for you, I am listening. You are enough, you are important and you are valued. Even if we don’t speak, or are not close enough for you to feel like you can or want to talk to me, you are not alone in your journey.
We are all survivors and we will keep on fighting our demons with weapons of our choice.
