Taste of my own medicine


Nothing I like more than pretending I’ve got my shit together.

But alas, nothing I have less than my shit being together.

Sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I’ll submit my electricity meter on time and think “wow Mollie you’re doing great” but then I don’t put the bins out for two weeks or forget to make dinner.

There I am, elbow-deep in the black bin trying to push down 100 bin bags to squeeze in another and trust me when I say that in those moments, I most definitely do not have it together.

That reminds me… must put the bin out tonight.

I do the basics. I get to work. I do my work. I pay my bills. I buy food and cook it (apart from when I don’t).

Things that I’m not good at are car maintenance (until it’s totally and utterly ballsed… like, turns off four times on the way to work ballsed). Not losing my rag at minor inconveniences. Booking in a haircut pre-dreadlock. Tasting my own medicine.

Love dishing advice, me.

And to be honest I’m pretty good at it. I’m logical and have always got a good idea of the bigger picture. Can’t be taking it for myself though, can I? That would be too easy. Better cause myself a whole host of issues. Great idea. Nice one Mollie 10 points.

I’m great at helping friends through rough patches but never saw my ‘rough patch’ as anything more than how I just felt. I thought I was probably just a salty chick with a negative outlook because that’s who I was. I think maybe I’m not that person and I’ve just got used to feeling that way.

Last mental health day I wrote “personally, I have got away somewhat ‘lightly’ with mental health problems. I don’t struggle a huge amount and nowhere near as much as some people.” Well, if that wasn’t me setting myself up for a loss then I don’t know what would be.

I’ve probably had the worst couple of months I’ve ever had mentally.

I’d say I was probably really good at not recognising it myself and playing things down until it all turned to tits. I’m my own worst enemy and I do nothing about it.

Well I’ve started doing something about it now but it’s still hard. I talk pretty openly about it. I’m not much of a serious conversation haver, I’d much rather make a joke of something or poke humour in it to take the edge off (I’ll always do that) but I still talk about it.

When I didn’t talk about it, it built up in me so much that one morning I just had what I think the people like to call ‘a breakdown’.

Got up and cried. Got dressed and cried. Went to the doctors to book an appointment to remove my implant and cried on the way. Couldn’t get one so I cried. Sat in the car in the car park and cried some more. When I say cried, I mean like hysterically full-blown shit fest probably Grammy worthy cry.

The only person I know in my town pulled up next to me like some little angel Gabriel in a Clio and spoke to me. I’m not a hugger and neither is she so that worked out well. She pat me on my shoulder and I chilled out a little.

I think from then on that knowing the relief I felt after just chatting for five minutes made me realise that hey, when I say to other people ‘you need to talk about it’ that maybe I needed to talk, too.

Drove back home. Cried on my doorstep. Went and laid on the sofa. Cried for hours. I mean the whole thing was quite ridiculous now I look back. It’s been sporadically that bad since but talking helps.

Things I’ve learnt over the summer:

Talk. Just fucking talk.

Crying is helpful, don’t hold it in.

You can’t have all that quick wit and shiny hair and still be allowed mental stability. It’d be unfair.

St Moritz is way cheaper than Bondi Sands and comes out darker, too.

Therapy isn’t a bad thing.

M x

 

I thought I’d include these.

I went out for my friend’s hen party (hence looking completely different to how I usually do… it’s the lashes). I had to drive 3 hours back home to be there. I was dreading it. I spent the whole morning forcing myself to go. When I was packing my car I started the hysteric crying thing again (I know, loser). Couldn’t stop, did it the whole way home.

Got ready. Cried on my way to the bar. Had to go home to redo my eye makeup. Spent the first hour of being there focusing on nothing else other than my voice not shaking and trying to smile. Had a couple of shots and chilled out a bit. El classico.

Just because someone looks okay, doesn’t mean they are… y’know?

Mollie Abrey

Head of Content

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