So it's been a reeeaaaallllyyyy long time since I posted a real entry. Not counting the 'end of year meme', the last one dates from well over a year ago. It's not that nothing happened since then, it's just that I had no energy to write down my thoughts in a way that made sense, at all.
So what has happened since then? In March 2017 I entered a rehabilitation program for people who have had cancer. I didn't *really* start until June that year, but had intakes from March on. All in all I took part in it for 6 months, 2 months longer than normal. It was tough. Tough because I had zero energy, and my mental state was well off. They offered mental health support there as well, but sadly, not very helpful. I had a psychologist who did not seem to be able to see how I was doing mentally. It made me doubt myself a lot, and often times I thought I was crazy, because nothing seemed to make any sense.
On top of that I lost my job as well, and not in a nice way. After working for the organisation for 15 years, I was let go because I hadn't recovered quickly enough from the cancer treatments. And after 2 years they are legally allowed to sack you. If that wasn't bad enough, it was all done in a very impersonal way. I got a cheap bottle of wine and that was it. The head of the school I worked at for 15 years didn't even give me a hand or anything. Nothing. Needless to say it didn't help my recovery, mentally.
At the end of my rehabilitation, I got a new psychologist. She managed to understand me a lot better and in the end managed to refer me to a mental health facility in my local hospital. The waiting list was about 2 months, and in January of this year I had an intake with a psychologist and psychiatrist.
The intake was supposed to take about 2 hours max., but took 3 hours. I don't think I've ever cried as much as I did there. I also don't think my anxiety was as high there as it ever was. After 45 minutes with the psychologist, she went to get the psychiatrist. Within 5 minutes she mentioned the possibility of being submitted. She was worried for my well being. It made me ugly cry, because if anything, being submitted was something I wanted to prevent at all costs. She explained though that I suffered from severe depression and that she wanted to submit me in order to give me some time off. In the end we agreed to allow me to go home, but I would have to start a program there.
Being diagnosed with severe depression came as a shock to me. Even though I wasn't doing well at all, in my mind things weren't as bad as they thought it was. Depression was when you wouldn't leave your bed at all, and wanted to kill yourself. I didn't want to be alive perse, but wasn't suicidal either. And I still managed to go out and do stuff.
But after the intake, it was as if my entire body and mind could finally let go. I had several panic attacks and eventually ended up staying with my parents for several nights because I was scared to be on my own.
Currently I'm in therapy and on anti-depressants. I was on anxiety medication as well, but managed to quit it a while ago. The meds do indeed help, I've got more focus and I'm also able to express myself again, instead of talking slowly and forgetting words. Things are not as dark as they used to be and I see now that I was really at rock bottom. But things are not 'fine'. My self-esteem is still quite low. I still, often, feel like I'm not really here, that I'm watching my life go by from a distance. The fact that it's three years since I last worked isn't helping much either. Feels like I'm failing life and am a loser. And while being in therapy is good, I often feel I don't belong there. Because other people have much worse problems than me, because nothing seems to change. The thought that I can't be helped is still very much present. And I'm often scared that one day they will indeed tell me that this is it.
Anyway...three weeks ago I went to Ireland again. First holiday in almost 2 years. I went there for 2 weeks, because a week felt too short. Turned out that 2 weeks was too short as well. Because it took me a long, long time to just enjoy myself, to let go of the thoughts that I HAD to do something. Anyway, some pics:
The colourful town of Cobh.
I stumbled upon this deer while walking through the national park.
Muckross house and jaunting car.
Colourful boats
Derrycunnihy church
Ladies view
Bike on boat trip through all the lakes, which took 1,5 hours. I met a lovely Canadian/American couple with three of their children with whom I had a lovely chat.
Eventhough I've been to Killarney many times now, this was a route I hadn't been to before. This is looking back at the Macgillycuddy reeks, Irelands highest mountains.
Derrycunnihy woods. Full of old oaks, covered in moss.
Upper lake and the reeks, again
Derrycunnihy cascade.
More pictures: https://photographicdreams.nl
So what has happened since then? In March 2017 I entered a rehabilitation program for people who have had cancer. I didn't *really* start until June that year, but had intakes from March on. All in all I took part in it for 6 months, 2 months longer than normal. It was tough. Tough because I had zero energy, and my mental state was well off. They offered mental health support there as well, but sadly, not very helpful. I had a psychologist who did not seem to be able to see how I was doing mentally. It made me doubt myself a lot, and often times I thought I was crazy, because nothing seemed to make any sense.
On top of that I lost my job as well, and not in a nice way. After working for the organisation for 15 years, I was let go because I hadn't recovered quickly enough from the cancer treatments. And after 2 years they are legally allowed to sack you. If that wasn't bad enough, it was all done in a very impersonal way. I got a cheap bottle of wine and that was it. The head of the school I worked at for 15 years didn't even give me a hand or anything. Nothing. Needless to say it didn't help my recovery, mentally.
At the end of my rehabilitation, I got a new psychologist. She managed to understand me a lot better and in the end managed to refer me to a mental health facility in my local hospital. The waiting list was about 2 months, and in January of this year I had an intake with a psychologist and psychiatrist.
The intake was supposed to take about 2 hours max., but took 3 hours. I don't think I've ever cried as much as I did there. I also don't think my anxiety was as high there as it ever was. After 45 minutes with the psychologist, she went to get the psychiatrist. Within 5 minutes she mentioned the possibility of being submitted. She was worried for my well being. It made me ugly cry, because if anything, being submitted was something I wanted to prevent at all costs. She explained though that I suffered from severe depression and that she wanted to submit me in order to give me some time off. In the end we agreed to allow me to go home, but I would have to start a program there.
Being diagnosed with severe depression came as a shock to me. Even though I wasn't doing well at all, in my mind things weren't as bad as they thought it was. Depression was when you wouldn't leave your bed at all, and wanted to kill yourself. I didn't want to be alive perse, but wasn't suicidal either. And I still managed to go out and do stuff.
But after the intake, it was as if my entire body and mind could finally let go. I had several panic attacks and eventually ended up staying with my parents for several nights because I was scared to be on my own.
Currently I'm in therapy and on anti-depressants. I was on anxiety medication as well, but managed to quit it a while ago. The meds do indeed help, I've got more focus and I'm also able to express myself again, instead of talking slowly and forgetting words. Things are not as dark as they used to be and I see now that I was really at rock bottom. But things are not 'fine'. My self-esteem is still quite low. I still, often, feel like I'm not really here, that I'm watching my life go by from a distance. The fact that it's three years since I last worked isn't helping much either. Feels like I'm failing life and am a loser. And while being in therapy is good, I often feel I don't belong there. Because other people have much worse problems than me, because nothing seems to change. The thought that I can't be helped is still very much present. And I'm often scared that one day they will indeed tell me that this is it.
Anyway...three weeks ago I went to Ireland again. First holiday in almost 2 years. I went there for 2 weeks, because a week felt too short. Turned out that 2 weeks was too short as well. Because it took me a long, long time to just enjoy myself, to let go of the thoughts that I HAD to do something. Anyway, some pics:
The colourful town of Cobh.
I stumbled upon this deer while walking through the national park.
Muckross house and jaunting car.
Colourful boats
Derrycunnihy church
Ladies view
Bike on boat trip through all the lakes, which took 1,5 hours. I met a lovely Canadian/American couple with three of their children with whom I had a lovely chat.
Eventhough I've been to Killarney many times now, this was a route I hadn't been to before. This is looking back at the Macgillycuddy reeks, Irelands highest mountains.
Derrycunnihy woods. Full of old oaks, covered in moss.
Upper lake and the reeks, again
Derrycunnihy cascade.
More pictures: https://photographicdreams.nl
