Life of secrets
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When covid hit, I had a nervous breakdown. I feel like I went straight in with that piece of information but I’m sort of trying to tell a story and wasn’t sure how to start….
I was just getting back with my husband. We had only just been married a year, most of that was spent separated. He was living in a room, which was the majority of the problem but he wouldn’t admit it. So he stayed living there. I was back and forth between there and my mums, while we were reconciling. We were in the middle of buying a property - a small 2 bed house with a garage for only 295. It would be worth about 350 now. But anyway, the sale fell through when covid it and I had a breakdown.
I guess I’d had some pretty rough few years and then I got married and that was shit, the sale was stressful and all for nothing and I genuinely thought covid was the start of the end of the world. I cried for hours on the phone to R while he reassured me multiple times a day, that it was not the end of the world but nobody could console me.
I decided to stop smoking. I thought, if it’s the end of the world, I have to stop smoking. I also stopped going to psychics which was oddly easy, compared to how hard it is for me to stop now. The smoking was difficult. I had withdrawals. Actual withdrawals. Like I was coming off drugs - which I suppose I was in a way, since tobacco is a drug.
I couldn’t do anything but cry. I couldn’t go to work, I couldn’t go out because the world looked too scary with masks and few people out. I couldn’t talk to anyone aside from a handful of people because they kept talking about covid. And for me, covid was the end. I had crippling anxiety. I mean…. Real bad. I was literally a walking, barely breathing, ball of anxiety. I would sit in bed, hyperventilating. For hours.
We ended up moving to my mums during the first lockdown. She was extremely unsupportive. I remember loud crying in the bathroom on the floor and she told me to shut up. I was BAWLING. I think because she didn’t want me there and made it clear, and I’d just lost my house, my marriage was shit and it was the end of the world.
And she told me to shut up.
So I called my doctor and asked to go on antidepressants. Couldn’t tell my husband because he was against taking them and his opinion was I just needed to work out more. THAT would cure all my problems, apparently.
So I went on antidepressants and therefore began to feel better, and became motivated to work out and was happier and my husband thought he was right.
I know those pills saved me more than doing 10 thousand steps a day.
I want to go back on them. I’ll stop the story there.
Since then, I constantly feel on edge about the world coming to an end. Armageddon. It’s on my mind constantly. But I know I’m doing things wrong and can’t stop because I’m struggling with anxiety so bad and now R isn’t around to reassure me anymore, I’m pretty much a mess.
I feel I’ve got PTSD when it comes to my religion and I genuinely don’t know how to deal with it. I’ve cut myself off from most of the world. I don’t want to see anyone from my religion - if I do, I instantly feel sick.
And now with a similar situation with trying to buy a house again and it’s not going smoothly has left me feeling really unsure about my future.
I don’t think anyone can help me.