My mental health has been at a solid and consistent 7 for most of this year.
I am content.
Last year, my mental state was a 3 on a good day. It was brutal.
I recognised that so much was wrong. Not at first though. The recognition only came when I lost recognition. There I go repeating words again. At first I didn’t recognise my thoughts and then I didn’t recognise myself. It was a scary time.
Even though the year stayed at a 3 rating, everyday felt so much worse than the one before. And then, I wasn’t sure if I was making up these negative experiences. Was I just exaggerating about how I felt? I couldn’t tell what was real or not. I was detached from myself.
I felt guilty for feeling this way. I invalidated my own feelings. After all, I had a good life. I had a family, friends, support. I had no right to be so down. This was reserved for people who didn’t have good lives. So, why me?
Truth bomb! Not everything was good. I found myself in many toxic spaces and I was a sponge, soaking it all up. I thought I was immune to such scenarios. I had control. And I did, but I hadn’t claimed it.
I claimed control when I admitted that I had every right to feel what I felt just as much as the next person. And there was help for me.
I went to therapy.
Right now my mental health is at 7. It will never be at a 10 but neither will it be at a 3 again. And this is not because I am immune. It is because now I know better.