2015 begins

I feel very wobbly about it.

I’ve never liked New Year. The arbitrary change in date that occasions a change in lifestyle, outlook, habits.

The dawn of 2015 feels even more pressured.

So many people have said, ‘2015 will be your year.’

But what if it isn’t?

If I had a physical illness, no one would expect me to wake up on January 1st cured.

Why is it different with a mental illness?

I will put things into perspective here. I do feel so, so much better. I am sleeping again, I’m having fun with my children, I’m keeping on top of work and the house, I have been keeping bad thoughts at bay.

But I still feel so vulnerable.

I know I have no right to expect pity or empathy or anything like that for trying to kill myself, but it happened, and it has changed me. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about it. Sometimes I’m thanking God that he preserved my life; sometimes I’m wondering how I can do it better next time. But it’s always on my mind. Will this recede with time?

Then Ian sits down and tells me we need to Set Targets for 2015. Get fit, get healthy, lose weight, get our house in order, book a holiday, get our son’s probable learning difficulties assessed.

I really can’t do targets at the moment.

I am trying, I really am. I booked a course of klutzy mummy dance classes earlier. And then thought – hang on, I will have to do them in long sleeves.

I am okay. I’m praying, reading the Bible, exercising positive thinking.

I just feel so shaky.