I’ve been waiting for my appointment to come through for a meeting with a mental health consultant. It has arrived today. For the 16th April. I am disappointed. And I feel really drained by it. I feel on tenterhooks. I had coffee with a friend this morning, and it was a pleasant catch up, but walking home a feeling of woe descended. I don’t understand myself how I can go from being jovial and chatty to so heavy and weepy.
April isn’t so far away, and I have marathon training that is keeping me going. The exercise helps those endorphins lift my spirits, and the physical exhaustion helps me sleep more restfully. But it feels like a long time to be on this imbalance of medicine. But then I know I’m not a high risk. My low moods don’t lead me to cliff tops, and my manic moments don’t put me in a dangerous position, broken and sprained ankles aside. But it is so exhausting being up and down, crying one minute and laughing loudly the next. And to know that I have weeks to wait until I speak to someone who might or might not be able to help the situation, well it leaves me feeling hopeless, and like a time waster at the bottom of the list.
Today I would like to just curl up and hide under the blankets, but instead i shall put on some running gear, the dog on a lead and go train. Might not be for long, might not be far, but will hopefully be enough to get myself out of my own head for a little while.