Well, I guess making this a regular thing didn't really happen. But I'm back for round two.
Please, try to contain your excitement.
I should probably talk about how I got better.
I've chosen the word better for a reason. There is no way I could ever say that I am back to how I was before everything went wrong, but I wouldn't say that I'm not okay either. I am just so far from the person I was then, and also the person I was before. If anyone had told 18 year old me that in a few short years I'd be the person I am now, I'd have laughed in their face and swiftly proceeded to the pub to drink myself merry and laugh about it with my friends. But I suppose there's no way of knowing how things will be after something bad happens to you.
Anyway, more on that later. For now: Part two.
I think where I left off was after I'd been to the doctor and been prescribed the magic pills. They put me on a very low dose of an antidepressant, which is often used to treat anxiety. Honestly, before going on them, I was terrified. What about the side effects? What if they made me (heaven forbid) ill?
Eventually, it was the ex who convinced me to take them. I wanted to get better, for him. I didn't want to be the pathetic ex-girlfriend who cried all the time. It might have not been the best reason for doing it, but whatever. Doing it for myself wasn't getting me anywhere, so I can't feel to bad about my stupid reasons.
I have to say, they worked like magic. It was like suddenly all the noise in my head just switched off, and I could think clearly for the first time in months. That was one of the problems, see. I wasn't thinking clearly, I was thinking too much. I was having about 8000 thoughts a minute and they were all getting tangled up and knotted, blocking my sanity. When I could finally think clearly, I could begin to rationalise the physical symptoms away. I was no longer consumed by these crippling thoughts and a broken body.
It was the biggest relief. There are no words to describe how much better I began to feel.
Of course, it didn't all happen at once and it took time. But the journey had begun.
Getting back into life was hard. I struggled with people the most. I couldn't keep up, and in all honesty, I missed being alone.
But then I met someone who made everything easy again.
We met at a society at uni, he asked me for coffee and we talked. It was scary at first, he was so confident and sure of himself. I wanted to badly to impress him. I was still so nervous, and awkward.
But eventually he fixed me. He was spontaneous, which was good. He never gave me time to think or worry, we just did them. I was honest with him about everything, and he was there for me. He has this incredible ability to explain everything that I'm feeling and thinking in a rational way, even when I don't understand it myself. He could read anybody. He was like my own personal, horse-whisperer, but.. y'know, for people.
Anyway, with his help, I found I could do more and more - and things I never thought I could do again. We would drive for hours, go for walks, spend long days and nights outside - away from my usual "safe" places.
Sometimes I would still have bad days, but some times, I wouldn't even worry at all. And if I did, he would help me through it.
Sometimes, I think I owe it all to him. I owe my life to him.
Even now, two years later, I still have the occasional bad day. I would never say that I don't worry, because I do. A lot.
But in a way I think its a good thing. It makes me feel prepared. If anything bad happens, chances are I've already thought up an escape route.
The main thing is that I can handle the worry now. It doesn't break me anymore. Sure, I may not be the person I was before all this, and I still struggle with a lot of things.
However, if I think back to how I was and compare it to how I am now, I really don't think I'm doing too bad.