When I'm taking a tumble over the bell curve of my depression progress it can be hard to distinguish the progress I've made. If I'm asked about the things I've accomplished recently I'll shake my head because I can't think of anything besides forcing myself to breathe through my loud sobs. The higher you climb, the harder the fall feels. Give me a few moments to recover and I might be able to tell you about that wedding I went to as a plus one, I might say that I'm feeling fairly good about decorating my office on my own- but of course I'm not quite satisfied with it yet- or I might talk about that HUGE party I attended the other week.
The party was something that I hadn't given a second thought about ever since we received the invitation. It seemed like an impossible task, so why would I allow myself to stress over it for a month or so? It was going to be full of people that I had never met, scary. There would be some people that knew far too much about me despite having never met me. Also scary. And yet I found myself turning my ear towards the talk of how amazing it would be because they throw 'legendary parties', and to be honest if a photo booth is involved it's likely that I'll be won over. A week before the big event I'd agreed to go. Of course I went back and forth in my mind about actually going. There was a certain dress code implied so I went shopping with the 'future mother-in-law' (Callie). Unfortunately as we wandered around the shops I found myself slipping into an old routine. My mum can probably remember some unbearable shopping trips with me. I just didn't want to be there, the bright lights and loud music were getting to me and in my mind I was convinced that anything I tried on would look horrendous. So why would I even bother taking something into the changing room when a public meltdown was likely. Unfortunately at the time mum was unaware of what was going on with me, I'd hidden it like a pro. I wasn't 'in a mood' and I certainly wasn't hating spending time with her. I was just incredibly uncomfortable, I was paranoid that everyone was looking at me, I was anxious and had NO self confidence. That little scenario came into play once again last week. I'd reach out and touch a dress or a top here and there, Callie would look hopeful as I had shown some interest, only for me to brush it off and say "let's just look for something for you". Once again I was having a crisis of confidence, hating the way I looked and felt in clothes. I'd decided to send a message to Robbie to say that he should just go without me and enjoy himself with our friend that was staying with us.
Typically I ended up face down in bed until an hour before everyone was leaving for the party. I had been crying most of the day, sleeping for the rest and in my waking moments kicking myself for what I was about to miss out on. Apparently I just love forcing myself into these situations where I have to shovel some food down my throat whilst finding something to wear and slapping on some make-up to hide the dark circles, all in a flash of the time I'd usually take to prepare myself for just going outside! Fortunately I had talked myself into the mindset of "it's a celebration of three people's birthdays. The attention is on them, and everyone else is just looking to have a good time". Yes, I had to meet a lot of people. Yes, it was uncomfortable at times. My clumsy self came out to play as I missed my mouth and poured half a cocktail over my lap. But oh well! I was wearing all black, we were outside in near-darkness and most people were so drunk or pre-occupied that they wouldn't have noticed. I really wish that I didn't have to depend upon having a drink or two to make myself comfortable in those situations. It definitely isn't something that should become a habit of anyone who struggles in social situations. It shouldn't be used as an alternative to getting proper help for these kinds of issues. I don't tend to drink an excessive amount as it's not fun for anyone involved, but on the rare occasions when I'm surrounded by people and feeling quite nervous, a drink can help calm my jitters and allows my shoulders to sink back down to where they are supposed to be.
Surprisingly I actually enjoyed myself, the night went by fairly quickly. The worst part of it was a conversation I had with two girls that are family friends of my fiance. I was waiting with someone at the bar and they were introduced to me. They knew that Robbie and I met at university, they knew we went to Durham. Obviously, as it turned out, they didn't know about me dropping out. I was asked how my final year went and whether I'd received my final mark before or after graduating. A party didn't seem like an appropriate place to say "I didn't finish uni, I fell into a deep depression and almost had myself committed", instead I replied with a cleverly phrased, yet honest answer which was that I left university with a 2:1. I left my second year having achieved that grade from the work I did on my own, the work that I had to attend meetings about to ensure that I could produce some work in an alternative way to everyone else on the course. I taught myself, albeit poorly, to produce social statistics and use some software which I would happily never look at or utter the name of ever again. I didn't graduate with a 2:1, I didn't receive a diploma. However, Durham awarded me with a certificate for the everything I did manage to achieve, something which will eventually take pride of place in my office to remind me of how much I gained whilst I was there and how much it almost cost me. It very nearly cost me my own life, it took away some of my sanity and it took a substantial amount of money. Despite all of that I gained a best friend who will remain my partner in crime even if we don't get to see each other much. I gained some incredible memories, some lovely and loyal friends and of course best of all, I found the person I'm going to spend the rest of my life with.
