This is a reminder for me for when I'm so far down I can't think straight or make a decision, let alone a rational one, but if it can help someone else in a similar situation, then that's a bonus.
1. Acknowledge that I have the problem, and no-one else can fix it except me.
2. Acknowledge that admitting I need help isn't a sign of weakness (and I struggle with this a lot). Often it just means I need another perspective.
3. Realise that as I go into a bad period, I often go through grief stages - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance - and it's generally not possible to skip any stage. If I try, it only means a delay, and it will come anyway, so I may as well recognise what is happening and let it go through.
4. Seek help. Specific help. For me, under our current health system, this means going to the GP (and pre-rehearsing what I'm going to say, because I normally don't talk a lot about this stuff, despite how it may appear here) and asking for a mental health plan and a referral to someone (and the free visits that you get if you go through the right process) - a psychologist, a social worker or similar. In my experience, psychiatrists often want to medicate, and the strongest mood-altering drug I'm interested in is coffee, so I avoid them. What helps me (and this took years to work out) is talking. Not to friends or family so much. Not to anyone who knows my family or friends. Someone completely separate from the rest of my life, who is paid to sit there and listen to whatever I need to get out. And not someone who will tell me what to do. They can make suggestions, they can give me possible strategies to use, they can try to give me homework (but I never do it). And it can be hard to find the right person who I feel comfortable and 'safe' with, but it's important.
5. Write lists. Depending on how bad things are, my lists can be simple reminders of things I must remember, like appointments, work commitments, children's activities, or they can be detailed lists of everything I need to get through, so I don't have to stop and think (because I can be incapable of any sort of ordered thought, and end up going in circles and achieving nothing. And the point of the list is achieving something - crossing things off, no matter how small, so I have physical proof that I can do something useful and I can keep going.
6. When I start to get things back together, I start picking up the pieces, because there's always something I've damaged in the process. It usually involves apologies to my husband and children (because they've been easy targets and they've put up with a lot they shouldn't have to). And then I need to go and find my friends, put aside my pride, and apologise for my absence or stuff I may have said, and hope that I'm forgiven (and the real friends do forgive, even if they don't necessarily understand). I tend to disappear when things are bad, and that can be seen as a rejection by more extroverted people, but it's really a defence mechanism - it's about me, not them. Being an introvert, in the sense that I get my strength internally, rather than from others, I tend to not expect much from other people, and I think that's a good thing. I can't imagine going through this as an extrovert, and trying to draw strength from others who don't necessarily understand (in terms of it not being in their experience) and who don't know what I need (because I'm certainly not capable of asking for help from those closest to me).
7. I try to find something positive in the situation. Heh - Pollyanna's back! But there's always something. My lesson this time is that I can't control everything. Obvious, but it's somehow just become more real to me. If I consciously let go my innate need for control, then things will work out ok somehow. Perhaps not in the way I would have chosen, but they will work out, and it may mean I have a new experience or see something in a completely different way.
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