A day of victories

Yesterday, I didn’t think I could do today.

It was our annual work Christmas lunch in London, and I’d arranged to meet my editor for a catch-up beforehand.

Even though I’ve been feeling so much better with the new meds, yesterday, it all felt too much. I was formulating my escape plans; should I be honest and flake out of yet another work get-together because of my mental health? Should I invent a sick child?

But this morning, I woke up feeling okay enough to decide I would give it a go.

And I did it.

I am so damned proud and pleased with myself that I did it, even if it *was* purely down to medication.

I had a brief ‘can I?’ moment early morning, when I realised I didn’t have any lorazepam; Ian is keeping all of my meds locked away, giving me just a small supply of each at a time, and I hadn’t realised I needed topping up.

I stuck some promethazine in my bag in case, but I didn’t need it.

I didn’t even come close.

I know that going into London shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s less than an hour door to door. I spent a good few years doing it every day before I had the kids. I know my way around and am not flummoxed by tubes and Oyster cards and the like. And I love London, I really do.

But it’s the sort of thing that *has* been a big deal lately.

So to go today, and not just feel okay about it, but actively enjoy it, is a massive deal.

I feel like I’ve won a whole load of small victories.

I stood on the tube platform and didn’t contemplate throwing myself in front of the oncoming train. That may sound flippant, but believe me, it’s not.

I helped an elderly lady with very little English to get on the right tube.

I had a really good editorial catch-up over coffee and croissants, and some lovely chat as well.

I got fined for not having a ticket on the Abbey line – they always let you buy a ticket on the train, but apparently not any more – and didn’t beat myself up about it. Yes, it was annoying, but it was £20; not worth stressing about.

Most of all, I didn’t feel awkward or out of place or panicky for one moment during our lunch. I chatted and laughed and just felt normal.

I didn’t feel like I was having to fake being okay while wanting to be anywhere else.

That felt HUGE.

I know I’ve been here before with meds changes, and have sworn that I’ve finally been given the miracle drug or miracle dose.

I know there’s no guarantee that this will continue.

But I honestly feel like me again. Not trying too hard, not overcompensating, just me.

It’s a strange situation to be in, because when I was in hospital, I was basically told that my illness is NOT biochemical and is all due to my screwed up thought processes.

If that were the case, surely 200mg of quetiapine on a nightly basis shouldn’t have made this much difference?

I’m not about to ditch the psychology, though, despite the fact that it’s very tempting to assume that I’m ‘cured’ and don’t need to go any more.

I know there’s stuff I need to work through. At the very least, there’s still a lot I have to process around the trauma of suicide attempts and hospital and the shockwaves this episode has sent through my life: family, friends, church.

So I’ll keep my appointments and hope that the two-pronged attack of therapy and meds will, eventually, get me to a place where I’m as strong as I can possibly be.

But for now, I’m just thankful for today.