Am trying so hard not to cry currently. Not because there’s anything wrong with crying, but just because I already have a banging headache and trying to type with tears in my eyes would be problematic. My concentration is already pretty poor. I feel like my mental health has plateaued at a very low level. I’m existing and that’s about it. While I don’t have any plans to do anything dire, if I’m honest I don’t have much in the way of plans to do anything at all. I don’t want to get out of bed. I don’t want to get a bath. I certainly don’t want to shave my legs. I don’t want to cook, or eat, or do laundry or go for a walk. I want to stay in bed and hide.

I definitely don’t want to have to go and sit outside in the cold to be able to see my friends. There’s no point arranging a walk with anyone because I can only walk for ten minutes. I know I’m kind of stating the obvious here, but I’m so, so sick of restrictions now. I appreciate the need to control the virus, but I’m losing it rapidly. Humans were never created to be solitary beings.

A few weeks back I was assessed by the community mental health team. The outcome of that was they have decided to send a support worker out to see me and write my crisis plan. It makes the fact that I’ve been managing my own deteriorating mental health since March, including a crisis in September/October feel a bit unappreciated to be honest. And their aim, once the crisis plan is written? Discharge me again. Just reflecting the level of care considered appropriate for someone with severe and enduring mental health problems in the face of a global pandemic. Is it surprising I’m fighting back tears?

I still haven’t beaten the unwelcome infection. I received a call this week requesting I return to the sexual health clinic as their initial diagnosis proved incorrect and I would need a different antibiotic to treat the infection I actually have. So consequently I’m now on my third course of antibiotics and struggling hard to remain hopeful for an end to the itch. I have been warned there’s every chance I could end up with thrush after so much antibiotic therapy, so one intimate itch could well be replaced with another. Genuinely I just want my bits to feel like they belong to me again. Safe sex guys. Voice of experience.

I guess in the face of the new tier restrictions announced today, and the recent guidelines for the Christmas period as well, it just brings home to me how isolating Christmas is if you don’t have much family. There are no other households I can envisage welcoming a grumpy widow for Christmas. My son will continue to socialise in parks and on walks and will probably spend Christmas with friends. And I don’t begrudge that. I just feel sad. A month from the festivities and all I feel is dread. I don’t have family to spend it with. What I do have is an awesome network of friends, with whom I frequent coffee shops and pubs the whole year round. And whom it will be very difficult for me to meet for the foreseeable future.

I’m a depressive. I fight a battle for my sanity every day. I wish I could be cheerier. More positive. Optimistic. But when life is as difficult as it currently is, that’s hard. This ongoing situation is exhausting. For everyone, but especially those who struggle with their mental health. Today it caught up with me. Months of frustration and stress. I’m going to go for that cry now.

Please take of yourselves 👼🏻