I am ill. I have serious lurgy. Okay, not serious lurgy, but my throat is sore, I have a cough, blocked sinus’ and for some reason I threw up this morning. I blame the snotty children, my very, very snotty niece in fact. I hate being ill, it’s really boring and miserable.
However I used love being ill, physically ill and that’s the point.
Being physically ill pretty much meant I could actually be mentally ill. If I couldn’t physically get out of bed because I was miserable or because the anxiety was just too much to bare being physically ill gave me the excuse I needed to stay in bed. People around me at the time didn’t always accept that mental health could be as debilitating as any physical health problem. Which meant the days I couldn’t get out of bed because of depression didn’t count as being ill, didn’t matter.
So a cold, a cough, the flu, anything like that, that counted as being ill. That was a good enough reason to stay in bed, stay at home.
Things have changed. My situation and my mental health are both better now, so days where I can’t bear to even step out my flat are much less, and the people around me understand better. So being physically ill, having cold really doesn’t have much of a good side to them any more. I still struggle a little with guilt from not doing anything when I am suffering both mentally and physically. That’s minor compared to what I used to feel for just feeling unable to get up for work in the morning.
No one should feel guilty for suffering from the symptoms of their mental health. No one should be made to feel guilty, or lazy, or bad in any way for being depressed or anxious.
Anyway. For me, rest, water and more rest.