I started seeing a psychologist last month, after I stopped sleeping and I couldn't stop crying and life felt unmanageable. My GP tried to refer me to the reproductive mental health unit but the waitlist was five weeks long. I told my GP I couldn't continue to feel the way I was feeling for five more weeks so she suggested I see someone privately. (Which, holy cats, is crazy expensive and I wouldn't be able to do without the extended benefits I am fortunate enough to have through work.)
I'm very open about my health. I talk about what it's like to be diagnosed with cancer as a young adult. I talk about thyroid cancer specifically. I talk about the challenges of living without a thyroid. I talk about my genetic accident. I talk about all this stuff because I have felt so alone at times and connecting with other people who have been there, who know how soul-crushing results day can be, who know what it feels like to be young and still feel so old, has been invaluable to me and I want to be that person for others.
It feels strange and a bit insincere to be so open about my physical health and keep my mental health struggles under wraps. Not that I have any obligation to share my entire life on the internet, just that not talking about it feels like I'm hiding it, and hiding it feels like I'm ashamed. And I have nothing to be ashamed of.
So! *Brisk clap!* I have been working with a psychologist. I have been diagnosed with PTSD. I am feeling much better than I was in, oh, January, February, March, and part of April. I have started to feel more like myself. Last weekend, I laughed until tears ran down my face and my abs hurt. I could not even begin to guess when that happened last.
There are so many wonderful people talking about their struggles with mental health. People who will keep talking until mental health isn't taboo. People who speak for those who can't. Those people made me feel safe enough to say "me too."