The trouble with being 7000 miles away from home and just as far out of my comfort zone is that it’s hard to tell whether I’m just lonely, homesick and exhausted, or whether I’m becoming ill again.
I think it’s the former. This was never going to be an easy or comfortable experience, and I knew I was going to find it tough.
I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s proving difficult. Even if I was 100 per cent well – and I know that, despite having been pretty much okay lately, I’m still not that full 100 per cent – it would have been a challenge.
I’m a homebody; I like my routines, I like the comfiness of everyday life, I like to be where things are familiar and I can take them at my own pace.
This is a beautiful place and the holiday has been full of unforgettable experiences, but it’s not home and it doesn’t feel like somewhere that ever could be home.
To be missing home is, I know, normal – and I can be homesick while still appreciating that this is the holiday of a lifetime.
What’s not normal is feeling like the threads of the rope keeping me out of the hole are gradually snapping.
It feels like more than ‘just’ homesickness; it feels all too much like a relapse creeping up on me.
In all honesty, I don’t think it is. I think if I can ride out the next 10 days and get back to normality, my mood will stabilise again.
I won’t be plagued with anxiety dreams every time I go to sleep.
I won’t need to take diazepam to get through the day.
I won’t lean over the 22nd floor balcony just a little too far and think, ‘What if…?’
Once I’m back home and back to normality, back to friends and church and routine, back to home comforts like my own kitchen and my hot tub and the things I like to watch on TV, I will be okay.
That’s what I need to keep in mind.
I’m doing this. I didn’t think I could do it, but I *am* doing it. Yes, it’s feeling harder by the day, but I’m holding it together – on the surface, at least.
I can do it for another 10 days.
And when I get home, if the dark feelings don’t lift, I can do something about it.
But for now, I need to tell myself I’m doing well. Enjoy the new experiences as much as I can. Take things one day, hour, minute at a time. Believe with all my heart that the feelings I’m having are natural and temporary – albeit exacerbated by my mental health – and that I can and will be okay again.
I might not be able to ‘pull myself together’ or ‘get a grip’ or ‘shake it off’ but I can try my hardest to breathe, wait, and trust that this isn’t the start of something bad, but rather, something to be proud of.
I’m facing my fears and doing it anyway. I may not have much choice about it, but I’m still doing it.
Lucy's Depression Diary 