It is a very strange feeling to me. Feeling content.
For the first time in a very long time I feel content. Happy even with the hand that life has dealt me. I have become quite the domestic goddess and housewife. I enjoy taking pride in our home, keeping it fairly tidy (there is only so much a naturally untidy person can do when they have a 3.5 year old child!), cooking nice meals when well enough. Certainly with the colder evenings demanding good old casseroles and stews it is a heck of a lot easier physically; to just throw stuff into a large pot or the slow cooker and wait. No standing over the stove for what feels like an age. With nursery being an easy, short stroll in 10 minutes even with me and Harry, I have even been doing my fair share of those as well.
I guess a lot of my contentment comes from feeling secure in our home but a lot also comes from feeling like I am doing my bit around the flat as well, I feel I have a purpose again.
It is funny how you don't notice these things until you are in a better place. I hadn't realised I felt I didn't have a role until I had one again.
Yet despite this I still have the anxiety and depression, lingering in the background, teasing me almost.
Just a couple of weeks ago I decided to stop my medication. Now before you all tell me off I had already had my dose halved by my GP a couple of months ago so was on a fairly low one anyway. Yet within a day or two, the husband noticed just by my mood and asked me if I had run out. He then gently probed and suggested that whilst I may have felt I could manage without, for him to notice within a day or so perhaps I still need them for a little longer, so reluctantly I requested a repeat prescription.
I know that no one can be happy all of the time. I realise that every person on the planet is entitled to have a down day or two every now again. The problem I have is I worry that feeling low is a sign of returning to the dark place that I would like to never visit again. The anxious moments make me wonder if I need CBT again. I struggle to find where normal behaviour ends and the mental illnesses resurface. Will I ever know where that line is?
I am pretty sure it cannot be normal to get upset, in tears almost, when your 3.5 year old occasionally requests cuddles with Daddy instead of Mummy. I am convinced it cannot be normal to get upset at times over friendships broken months ago. It definitely isn't normal to assume that the fellow parents on the school already decided they don't want to become friends when you've never so much as said hello.
I just wish there was some klaxon in the sky that went off to warn me when things hit a crisis; at least then I would know and wouldn't be endlessly questioning myself, waiting for the black hole to come.