Okay, well, I genuinely meant to post something every single day in December, but the best laid plans and all that! This isn’t a scheduled post and it’s a bit rambly and pointless, so apologies if you get bored!
I basically spent this weekend and the last two days between my bed of pain and my sofa of sickness. I’ve watched several documentaries (the BBC ‘Storyville’ series is truly excellent), caught up on Masterchef, picked all my nail varnish off and re done it again, and had more than one bath a day. And finally I’m starting to feel a bit human again.
I was reading Hannah Gale’s post (I know I never shut up about her, but her blog is my FAVOURITE – it’s all honest and true and still mega lolz), about how she always gets a little – not ill, necessarily, but not right – at this time of year, and it really struck a chord with me. This time last year, I wasn’t looking after myself. I burnt the candle at both ends and right through the middle as well. I was working a relatively new job, dieting intensely for my wedding, and I was suffering from costochondritis – an inflammation of the lining on your rib cage, which basically feels like chest pain and makes you think you’re having a heart attack about five times a day. And yet instead of staying in I went out – all the time. I went to work drinks and I met all my friends on multiple occasions and I drank four glasses of wine on Tuesday nights and then got up and went to the gym at 6am, and at the same time did the washing and made the bed and passed out every night feeling ill and drunk and confused by why I never seemed to feel any better.
I barely blogged last December. This post, one of the only ones I wrote, might seem positive, but in reality is a tumultuous nod to how I felt at the time- in all honesty, like I was about to die, and so I needed to write down everything I loved so that the people left behind would remember it. Which I know is insanely dramatic, but now that I read it again, the severe anxiety and the panic and depression and nights of insomnia that brought with it is so vivid it almost crushes me. I am happy that right now, remembering that pain is a bit like remembering a horrible nightmare in the middle of the daytime. It’s still horrible, but I’m not afraid anymore.
Slowly, over the last year, I have realised that my ‘fear of missing out’ has gone too far. I have this real desire to suck the marrow out of life, to ‘live life to the fullest’ and all that – and to me that became an inability to turn down anything. Drinks of any variety, dinners I couldn’t afford with people I didn’t especially want to see, cramming multiple nights out into one – ‘I’ll go for dinner with X, then meet you all for drinks afterwards…’ a whirlwind of Prosecco and reapplying lipstick and endless hangovers and weird bruises and black circles under my eyes. My best friend, one of the only people I discussed my crazy anxiety with, expressed her concern that maybe I was overdoing it slightly – ‘Even your Instagram makes me feel exhausted,’ she said, only half joking, ‘You’re always somewhere.’
And nowhere does it become more difficult to prevent yourself from always being somewhere than at this time of year, when suddenly everyone wants to meet up, and there are parties and drinks and everything seems sparkly and nice and you want to go, you don’t want to spend your whole week in eating salads and going to the gym. That’s why this weekend, I overdid it. I went to work drinks on Friday and drank far too much white wine, then went to a friends’ house afterwards for a games evening and attempted to soak it up with some high calorie party food. The next day I was hungover but I drank through it to attend a 30th in Camden and then on Sunday, with the aid of a Domino’s pizza, I was up again in time for mulled wine and party snacks with some school friends.
Then, of course, I got sick.
It was like someone hitting me over the head with it – I can’t do this. It isn’t even fun. It ruins everything, overdoing it, and I’m not 18 anymore so I don’t want to act it. For the last few days I have really taken care of myself properly again and I already feel so much better, so I am going to keep it up now – water, early nights, workouts, sauna, moisturiser, vegetables. So that I can enjoy the nights out I do want with the people that matter. And keep blogging about happy, positive things!
I don't know - does anyone else feel like this sometimes, like they're torn between wanting to enjoy everything but also just wanting to stay in bed with the duvet cover over their head? Or do I just have SAD? I'd be really interested to know anyone's thoughts on this - it's always nice to know you're not totally crazy. (Or that you are, and that you should seek help!) Either way, let me know!