With hindsight, my June reading should have been a huge clue, to me anyway, as to how I was feeling. But that’s the thing about being in the middle of a fog, you can’t see your way out, let alone stop to think about what might be causing it.
To cut a long, twisting, evolving and not particularly jolly story short, I’m currently signed off work for a couple of weeks with stress and anxiety, and I should have seen the signs. But as I wasn’t paying attention to myself, the cause of the fog, I didn’t realise how bad it was until I woke one morning and discovered that I could no longer find my way out of it.
I will be fine. All the support systems have kicked in, boyfriend and friends that know are hugely supportive, the rest is helping and the fog is lifting. As I look back to June, I can now see how quickly it gathered, and the triggers behind it. That’s the thing about hindsight: it’s always 20:20.
The clue in my reading is that I completely lost the ability to focus. I started David Olusoga’s book and Toni Morrison’s but couldn’t manage more than a couple of pages at a time. Not because they are badly written, the very opposite. No, my brain was completely overwhelmed and in retreat.
So it retreated to Discworld. I gulped down all the copies I had on my shelves but I couldn’t tell you what the nuances of plot were. All I knew was that they were safe and comforting and set in a world that worked a damn sight better than the real one. I wanted to pound the streets with Captain Vimes, be taught how to Borrow by Granny Weatherwax, learn the lyrics to The Hedgehog Can Never Be Buggered with Nanny Ogg and ride Binky with Death.
I most emphatically did not want to be in reality. Does anyone right now?
The good news is that the fog is beginning to lift. A few days on the sofa and the arrival of our new addition, Mabel (there will be more about her, have no fear) have helped enormously. It's hard to remain wallowing in self-pity when a small furry head is butting against yours and there are 4 tiny paws to play with.