Mental Health Moment

Actually, my mental health at the moment is debatable, hence the fact that I am taking a moment to (hopefully) improve it.

I am extremely stressed right now, and my mood, ability to concentrate, yada, yada, yada have deteriorated right back down to a 2. At least it’s not a 1, right?

I feel like I am a paint-scrape away from sobbing hysterically. The thing that appeals most to me right now is hiding away in my bedroom under the covers for about a year.

I hesitate to put this down, because I know it will freak out my mother (who reads my blog), but… I am also having suicidal thoughts. Not very serious ones, though. They are at about what I would call Stage 1, where my thoughts just slide to thinking that things would be a hell of a lot better if I killed myself, that the pain would be reduced. If I were at Stage 2 (planning ways) or Stage 3 (getting the items necessary), I would be really worried. I just have to make sure that I am looking after myself

So what is the problem? Well, for starters I regret telling my manager that I felt ready to move to the next level and wanted a challenge. He has given me a whopper of a project with a “needs to be done yesterday” time frame. It’s an area that none of our team have any experience in and even though I attended an education session on the requirements of the project today, I am none the wiser. Plus I am still doing my regular job.

I sort of went off the deep end last night when I lost it over a sheet that wouldn’t go on straight on the bed. Neat bed sheets are important to me. I can’t sleep if the sheets aren’t right. (What do you mean, obsessive compulsive?) So anyway, I lost it and screamed and took it out on John. I think he was a teensy bit scared but I am not sure if it was of me or for me. Maybe a bit of both.

So, I am trying to take steps to ensure that my state of well-being does not go down any further. I can’t have any more time off, so I just have to weather through this, no matter how hard it is. I don’t know how to tell my manager that I am not dealing terribly well with the stress without him thinking that I am not dealing well with the work.

Why is there not another option?

God, I am a whinger, aren’t I?


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February 2003
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