When sh*t goes right

Today was quite simply one of the most terrifying days I’ve had to endure for a long time.

I went to bed last night emotionally drained from worry, crying and feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt.
I couldn’t even laugh at Taskmaster (champion of champions) as much as I normally do, which was a massive sign as to how bad things were (side note: Is Greg really getting more handsome as time goes by, or am I really just that insane?!)
I tried talking to Mr Plinky about my anxieties and concerns about the morning, but even though he was possibly trying his best, telling me I “still had to go” just wasn’t helping.

So I popped a sleeping pill and meditated until I had shut down enough to get to sleep.

And then before I knew it, it was stupid o’clock in the morning and Mr Plinky was waking me up to get ready.

It was finally the morning of my Pain Management Programme assessment to see if I qualified for help with my Fibro pain. And I was completely shitting myself.

Was I meant to go in normal clothes? Was I meant to go in my trusted yoga pants for if I had to do any exercises? Was I going to be part of a large group? Was I going to get lost in the clinic because my head is too screwed to remember what way I went in? Boe’s having seperation anxiety right now, so will he be ok with me leaving him? Was I not just better off cancelling and going back to my “G.P” (because we all know how crap they are) and just asking for better anti-depressants for the sixth time and just being fobbed off?
So many more excuses and anxieties flashed through my head in that split second of waking.

I just didn’t want to go.

I still ended up in the car though, going on a journey to hell…. it was only a 20 minute car ride, but it felt like hours. Boe knew something was up because he demanded I sit in he back with him and he held my hand for the whole journey #LoveMyLittleEmpath.

Fuck! We were late.
Nausea. Sweaty palms. Tears. Mr Plinky wouldn’t turn back to take me home though. Asshole.

Fuck. My water bottle has leaked in *that* area, which has made me look like I’ve pissed myself. Not cool. Please don’t let this be a group setting…..

Shockingly though, the world didn’t explode when I walked in to the reception area! I know, right?

It turned out not to be a group setting (which is obvious, in hindsight), the people who I needed to speak to weren’t full of attitude and trying to tell me it was all non-existant, I didn’t have to do any exercises so going in jeans and a jumper (even if they did look pissy) was the right choice, and I didn’t get lost! Result!

I had to speak to 3 different people through the morning – an occupational therapist, a psychologist and a physiotherapist, who would ask me questions about my fibro and how it impacts my day and then they’d decide if any of their 3 levels of pain management would be of any use to me.

My morning started off with seeing the occupational therapist, who thankfull was lovely – she asked me questions about how we manage day to day, what a typical day would look like in our house, how I think the pain affects me and my relationships…all just general questions about life in general. I left the room once we’d finished chatting and there were no nasty surprises. Horray!

Next I had to see the Psychologist. Which is where the magic happened.
To be honest, this week hasn’t been a very strong week for me mentally… it’s been flipping exhausting trying to fix this PND / depression / anxiety lark on my own for 2.5 years with no one stepping up to help, and I think this week it all just blew up in my face. Gone was the fire in my belly, the energy I’d refound since doing my detox… that lasted a full week, until a few things happened which ended up birsting my bubble of confidence and I was back to square one again. Yay. So I ended up letting the mind monkeys win and was having all sorts of thoughts about how I was failing as a mum and a wife, I was lonely, nobody cared, no one would miss me if anything happened, and that everyone was better off without me. And I was so tired of begging for help and getting nothing from anyone other than Megan from the children’s centre, who was obviously limited with what she could do.

Anyway, so I asnwered questions about how my mental health was (screwed, obvs), the past, the vicious cycle I was in, how much my mental health was impacting my pain levels, how my pain levels were affecting my mental health and how both were affecting my relationships (clue: it makes me a bitch).

But at the end of the chat, I felt like she really listened. Actually REALLY listened. And not only that, but she seemed to understand. I was tired of trying to work things out in my head and getting nowhere. I was tired of fighting alone when I desperately needed support and better advice. And she made it clear that I’d not be forgotten and they would do something to help. Which I so desperately wanted to believe.

Next came the physiotherapist.
We talked about exercise and if it currently fits in with my life, what benefit I get from it, how it affects my mideset etc, what they could possibly offer as part of the PMP and how I felt about certain exercises. Then he got me to attempt to touch my toes, see how hard I’d find it to get off a chair without using the arms and walk down the hall and back. Which was awkward. Not the actual walking, but walking knowing someone was watching you…..

I wasn’t with him for too long, then I had to wait around for a while until they could let me know if and what they could offer me in terms of help.

After an hour of sending memes and fb tags to my buddy Debbie, the psychologist called me back in to tell me what they’d decided.

Get this – not only were they going to put me on the 16 day PMP, but before that starts, they’re going to get me 1-1 therapy to help my mental health!
2.5 years. TWO AND A HALF YEARS of begging, and in one day it seems all my problems are solved.

I instantly felt a massive weight lift from my shoulders….. I am completely gobsmacked about it all. She said she’d see if she can find me a more local therapist and she’d get back to me either later today or Tuesday, but if they can’t, then they’d get me an appointment at the clinic….and true to her word she rang me this afternoon!

I’m so excited!

I know it’s not going to all happen instantly, but the fact that I KNOW help is on it’s way is enough. And the fact that it happened during the shittest week since 2006 was just the sign I needed.

I AM enough. I’m strong enough. And I CAN do this.

I should know by now that I’m too strong to give up. It may take a while to rebuild, but I always manage.

Even Boe is happy, because for the first time in months, while all this has been going on, he fell asleep before 7.30. His usual time lately is between 10-11 because of his seperation anxiety that he has had with me.

Triple result 😀

It’s my birthday tomorrow and I’m treating myself to a Friday morning appointment with my girl Sarah, so I’m off to pop a pill, meditate and get an extremely happy nights sleep.

Nos da, my pretties xx