So just over a week back in work – and it has been the proverbial curate’s egg, good in parts bad in parts. (Makes tangential visit to google to find out where the phrase came from)
It was really good to be back in action on the first Sunday, and though I was underwhelmed by my efforts at Monday’s funeral the congregation was all very positive, and I even fitted in a trip to the gym afterwards. Elsewhere in the week I had meetings, coffee morning, visits and catching up with youth club admin.
The start of the week was a high point, I was glad to be back and coming at things fresh, I really felt better than I have in a long time. By Wednesday eve I was emotionally flagging, and on Thursday when an early call let me know that the only thing on the agenda was cancelled, I was ready to call it my day off and spent most of it under the duvet. I did go out to do some errands as a force of will by teatime, but it was hard going. Friday was a slow start until the gas check engineer arrived when I got myself more organised for a day of admin and achieved a lot before facing my first day back at youth club.
Saturday was a write off – a pyjama day again, whilst fighting a computer infection and thinking about sermons – or mostly not. Sunday was good again – a cosy communion with those who braved the icy pavements at my nearest church and a sermon that somehow came together on the day. It was another of the ‘world is my oyster’ days with an afternoon trip to the gym followed by facing up to the youth club finances for the weeks I had missed, and with the evening service cancelled for fear of ice in the dark I had enough time to finish the job. Then this morning another crash day – and as the only day clear of diary commitments (since I am in meetings on my usual day off) decided to roll over and stay there.
It is still early days on the new antidepressants, and at first it can feel like being brought up from the depths to that sudden gasp of air and bright light. I remember from last time as well – it can kick in so suddenly that it is like a diver at risk of bends.
But just because I have been dragged from the depths to the surface doesn’t mean I am fully ready to swim or surf the waves. Just as to a drowning person that first rush of oxygen is almost overwhelming and intoxicating – but it is just the start of the process. It can feel very threatening to feel the release and then have the waves come back over and catch you off guard. When you are underwater you are not trying to breathe, even the tiniest baby has the instinct to hold their breath in water. On the surface your mouth is open and when the wave comes you end up swallowing water. At first that seems worse than before but that is the stage I am at now and these swings are part of it.
Don’t be under any illusions – I can be rational about it now on here but earlier today I felt totally beaten down and overwhelmed, even forcing myself to the gym to ‘do something’ didn’t get my happy chemicals up, I was pushing myself to avoid weeping at one point. Just one of those swallowing and spluttering moments.
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