I had such a stressful day yesterday – I was up at 5 to co host The Circle, which was fantastic fun as always. I know a 5am start seems crazy for a show that starts at 9am, but there’s a lot of hair, make up, meetings, and script writing to be done before Paul Henry puts his grin away for the day.
I raced straight down to my car at 11.30 with a long mental list of jobs I wanted to achieve before clocking on for my radio shift at 2.30, (we are on air at 4, but we get together at 2.30) only to find my car wouldn’t start. I knew it was the starter motor from the get-go. Long story short, I spent the next 8 hours paying for taxis and reminding the RACV I existed, over and over and over and over ……
I got none of the most important jobs done, didn’t see my kids all day and at one point bit down hard on a philips-head screw that had been baked into a brownie.
Yesterday was a bad day, but I didn’t cry or freak out once. I didn’t even lose my temper until well into the 7th RACV hour, and even then it was a very minor little moment. I didn’t swear at anyone. I didn’t snap. When I finally made it to bed last night I was terribly, tired-ly proud of myself, because for the last 2 weeks I’ve been weening myself of my anti depressant, which I am going to call “x”.
I’ve been taking various anti-Ds for years. At first they were such a relief I couldn’t believe anyone wouldn’t take them. They made me feel calm, and though not “happy” exactly, I didn’t feel miserable. I was just numb, and I really liked it.
When I started taking them I was living in a place I hated, doing a job that I loved with people I hated, struggling with fertility problems, just wishing every bit of my life was different basically. I was a stressed-out powder keg of emotion with a very short fuse at home, because I was desperate and helpless at work.