I don't remember ever NOT feeling anxious. As a child, I didn't want to leave the safety of the home and go to school. There were many other instances of not wanting to interact with others and looking back, I now see it is all rooted in anxiety.
However, this post is more about the struggles of trying to juggle anxiety, work, a home life, and also MS; Multiple Sclerosis. I won't bore you with details of what the disease can entail; everyone knows where Google is.
I was diagnosed with MS at 21 years old. It started with blurry vision in one eye that got progressively worse until I was colour blind in that eye. It took about 18 months to actually receive a diagnosis. I was studying toward a diploma in art and design.
Over the next few years, I've had a few more relapses (usually vision related) and battled with depression over the course, but leaving university and entering the world of work has been a bigger struggle than I could ever imagine.
My first job was working in Aldi. It was a fast-paced, hard working job which I thought I could do. I was wrong. The MS left me fatigued and exhausted. I was covered in bruises from not being able to properly handle heavy items due to my poor grip. At the same time, my boyfriend was made redundant and I was the sole income for the house. My anxiety got worse as I felt more trapped and stressed with work and, as can be the case with MS, I relapsed again. I admitted to my mother one night whilst a bit tipsy that I was thinking of crashing my car just so I wouldn't have to go to work.
In the mean time, I had been applying for other jobs. In my local home town there's a veterinary practice. I'd applied for jobs there since I was 16, as I loved animals and couldn't think of a better role for someone who didn't really know what they wanted to do in life. It felt like a literal life saver when I received an email offering me a reception position. I was ecstatic.
As could be expected for an already anxious person, I was very nervous starting out. Who isn't? However, I settled in well, I got on with my colleagues, and I picked up the role quickly. My boss commended me for being an excellent receptionist.
Then, the anxiety started to creep back in. I couldn't understand it. I was doing well in my job. Surely I should be feeling less anxious as time went on, not worse? I decided I needed to go to my doctor. I was prescribed medication that made me worse. After a few weeks of trial and error, I found medication that seemed to work. I woke up one morning and it was as if someone had flipped a switch and suddenly my anxiety was turned off. I went back to work, pleased that I was combating it.
A few months went by. The anxiety started creeping in again. I returned to my doctor. He upped my dose. This happened twice more within the year.
I went to see a counsellor through the council's mental health service. She was very helpful, but our sessions came to an end and I never felt I really found a solution or explanation for the anxiety. I also began feeling very guilty due to the amount of time I had taken off work unwell; it was only a small team and everyone felt the pressure when someone wasn't in.
I started thinking I should leave work, as I just couldn't take disappointing others as well as myself any more. I spoke with my boss and manager, who have been more than supportive throughout the whole ordeal, and I decided to try reducing my hours. This would give me more time at home, and surely more time for rest (which is important for MS sufferers to hopefully keep a relapse at bay). It didn't work. I was off work again. This time, I was certain I would leave my job. It was just before Christmas, and I just buried my head for a few weeks and tried to enjoy life. I felt happy when I knew I wasn't going to work. My boyfriend and I got on better because I wasn't so inwardly focused on my own anxiety, and I had the motivation to start doing some art again and put more effort into things I had almost forgotten I enjoyed: playing musical instruments, painting, and I was simply...happy.
After Christmas, I requested a meeting with work to discuss the situation. My boyfriend had his work contract come to an end, and so we were back to a single income household. I had an idea that if I could move away from reception to a part-time office-based role, at least I wouldn't have to put on a facade of "happy receptionist" if I was struggling that day. I went back to work, part-time in the office, and tried to continue with my new job. I was pleased with myself. I hadn't let the anxiety best me. I was still in work.
Then, two weeks ago, I relapsed again. My vision went blurry, and colour blindness in one eye returned. I was put on steroids by the relapse clinic, to which I reacted with a strange, scary bout of aggressive sleepwalking. I remember nothing, but I destroyed a lot of things in my house and woke up covered in bruises.
Mentally, I don't quite know where I stand. At the moment, I cannot deal with work. It's difficult to admit when you've been beaten, but maybe it's for the best. If I have to give up my mental health, my partner, or my job, I guess the job has to go.
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