One of the things about recovery from a severe mental health crisis that isn’t often discussed is learning how to “adult” again.
Struggling to pay your bills even though you have the money, making important phone calls, doing the laundry so that you have clean underwear, grocery shopping so you don’t starve and anything else that one would consider grown-up survival stuff.
Most of these adult skills go down the proverbial shitter when you’re suffering from a bad case of the sadz (or anything else that messes with your wellbeing.)
Re-learning them and then doing them on a consistent basis is a real bitch.
Life is hard enough for regular people, imagine how suckass it is for people who are just coming out of a bad turn.
People like me, for example!!
There was once a time when I had adulting pretty well mastered, without really having to think much about it. Nowadays, the mental energy that I use to do many of these basically simple tasks really knocks me over easily, with just a feather.
Yes, that’s why my blog is named Knocked Over By A Feather. I took it from a comment that my husband made back in 2012, when I was having my initial mental breakdown.
I spent my morning paying bills. A couple of them are now completely paid off. That felt good. The others only have a small balance left. (Utility bills have a nasty way of coming back every month, just like a menstrual cycle.)
My house taxes have always been a struggle, but I pay what I can every month online, slowly chipping away at it. How I’d love to pay it off in full, but I don’t see that happening unless we go without food.
I mean, everyone in my household is well-cushioned, thanks to the two churches that I go to regularly. It’s extremely helpful and I am never made to feel less than because I need help feeding my family.
If you would have told me 6 years ago that I’d be waiting for free food in a basement of a church, I would have said no way, man. Save that food for the people who really need it.
It just so happens that at this moment in time, I’m the one in need.
I had to make an important phone call, which I absolutely despise doing. The case worker isn’t friendly one iota, just strictly business. I followed her lead and chewed on my cuticle (anxiety finds a way out somehow) until she said that she’d be sending me the info that I needed within 3-5 business days.
But I survived. I didn’t get hives or feel like I wanted to vomit. Yay.
I’d love to be a kid again, when all I really had to worry about was getting bullied in school. Upon further thought, maybe paying my electric bill isn’t so bad after all.
I asked my longtime close blog friend Alice if she’d like to be an author here when she’s feeling up to it and she said yes. The way I see it, she’s been knocked over by a feather herself. My days of posting prolifically is coming to an end, so I figured that she could fill in the blank spaces with her snarky commentary and own battle with depression/anxiety.
It’s a rainy and chilly July day here in the western suburbs of Cleveland. Wherever you happen to call home, I hope that the climate is pleasant.