“Is there a single incident to which you can attribute your current bout of depression and anxiety?” the mental health assessor asked, not necessarily using those exact words, but that was the meaning.
“Well, it’s like this, ” I replied. “I carry around this depression and anxiety malarkey pretty well all the time but sometimes it gets worse and on some occasions it becomes unmanageable.” My loyal reader will know precisely what caused me to get ill this time. Until today, I didn’t realise quite how ill I have been.
The likely diagnosis appears to be moderate to severe depression (so I am much better than I was around a year ago) and moderate levels of anxiety, which for me is “normal”. And the authorities are going to sort some treatment out for me which is very good news. I never turn down any kind of treatment. In depth therapy to run-of-the-mill counselling, I really don’t care. Every little helps.
Those among you who have been assessed for this kind of stuff will know how utterly exhausting the assessment can be. If you are like me, with an absurdly long history of mental illness, it is very painful and it can be a question of – as it was today – “where do I begin?” I was asked when my problems started and replied, somewhat sheepishly, when I was about 12 when I developed severe night terrors and panic attacks. Happily, I was referred to a child psychotherapist and the night terrors gradually disappeared. The panic attacks remain occasional and extremely unwelcome visitors and are, frankly, the least of my problems. The night terrors and panic attacks faded away, leaving the door open long enough for Messrs Depression and Anxiety to set up home.
I could have written this blog many hundreds of times over the years and probably have written it hundreds of times. I don’t care. The long slog called life takes yet another turn, this time hopefully one for the better. Really hoping that 2018 is better than 2017.
