Emily Violett. My Life.

Refilling this on a Sunday night is bittersweet. Not just because of the coating on each pill, but because it symbolises both how far I’ve come and how far I have left to go. On the one hand I’m aware, while popping each pill out of its packaging, that I can’t function without these little guys. That I cannot cope with life, it’s too much, it’s overwhelming and I don’t want to carry on anymore. Each tablet contributes to my life in a way I depend on. That can be a scary realisation. On the other hand I’m reminded that I have control of my own medication again. I’m safe to take charge of it. It’s not a danger for me to have all of these pills within my reach anymore. I’m reminded that I have the power to decide what’s best for me, to know what works and what doesn’t. For a few months I have been taking a low dose antipsychotic, used as a mood stabiliser. I’m not ashamed of that. Unfortunately after three months I decided that the side effects I was having from this med...

You know those days when even the simplest of tasks are impossible, like showering or even just brushing your hair?  When you finally get the strength to do it, sometimes people tell you they’re proud of you. I’ve said it to others too. But shouldn’t we be even more proud of the days we struggle the most but still get through? The days we don’t want to do anything. The days we don’t want to exist anymore. I feel like it’s important to be proud of finally showering, finally changing out of the clothes you’ve spent the past 4 days in. You know the clothes I mean. The baggy hoodie or the dressing gown. The top underneath that hasn’t seen the light of day since that hoodie zip went up last Tuesday. Those socks that you have to keep twisting back round the right way three times a day.  Yes, I’m proud of myself on the days I can shower and brush my teeth. But I’m also proud of myself on the days I can’t. Because those are the days I’m fighting the hardest.