No matter how much I think I've changed, or "recovered", there's always the Big Dark hovering the background waiting to devour. Lately it's been creeping around making its evil presence felt in subtle ways. A couple of episodes of binge eating. Some temper tantrums. Shortness of breath, tightness of chest. Whether it can be blamed on PMS or the medication change is something that will come to light in time, but the overall negativity of mood at the moment is scaring me shitless. Housemate Michelle said to me last night "What's your problem, you've got a job, somewhere to live, a boyfriend..." and although it was said entirely in jest, she really has a point. Outwardly, there is no reason for my uneasy feeling. No external trigger for these nerves that are starting to stretch out like barbed wire.
I am considering going back on the antipsychotic, Solian. I definitely wonder if the binge eating is related to going off the meds, as one of the main reasons for Doc A prescribing it was to help with my eating. I've started "inhaling" food again, instead of maintaining mindfulness and enjoying food in a relaxed and slow way. I ate a huge bag of potato chips in less than half an hour on Monday, and then polished off a number of chocolate bars. It reminded me of the bad old days before my weight loss surgery when I would regularly binge like that. I have no idea what triggered it, if anything. Although there have been some nasty thoughts hovering around lately.
As much as I am happy and in love, and definitely feel "loved", part of me wonders when it will all start to go bad. When Neil will see how pathetic and ugly I am, when he will realise the huge mistake he's made, when he will run away and never look back. It's a constant struggle to keep these stupid, pointless, damaging, groundless fears at bay. If a short time passes when we don't have sex, I think "It's the beginning of the end, he's gone off me already." If he doesn't text me until lunchtime I think "Remember the beginning of our relationship, when the first thing he did every morning was text?" Who am I to second guess and question such a decent and honest man?? I don't deserve him if I'm going to act in such a self-destructive way.
One of the things I constantly say, and believe, is that relapse is part of recovery. I suppose this is one of those moments of relapse, when old habits and thought patterns threaten to sabotage my current happiness. I'm trying so hard not to be terrified that the Cymbalta is losing effectiveness, and that another breakdown is imminent. So far I am managing to keep up at work, and still show a fairly cheerful front to Neil and everyone else. The Big Crazy is still held at bay, which is something positive I suppose. While I maintain control, and have insight, I have hope that I will get through this time of darkness.
*Post title is from This Woman's Work (Kate Bush) - melancholy as suits my mood...