My year of falling.

It is really difficult to think back to how unhappy and sad I became when I found out that I had (and still have!) Multiple Sclerosis.

BTW, this is a long one. Make sure you go do a wee before you sit and read it.

All of those 'what ifs' constantly entered my train of thought. It felt never ending. And it did not matter what people said to me, no matter how much they cared and loved me, my thoughts felt so concrete. They weren't going anywhere.

I would have these horrible thoughts in my head. Scenarios of the worst case. Where did these thoughts come from? Where they there before? How did I think them up all alone? It would have been a great time to try my luck at writing a horror script for Hollywood.

I think I am unsure to say, confidently, that I was a happy person before MS. And I am not sure where I am going with this, but I think a lot of my close friends would agree, that I am a very pessimistic person. It takes a lot to make me see positives. My philosophy was to prepare for the worst, and you'll never be disappointed. Makes sense, no? Before I saw the Neuro in D-Town after my first MRI, I thought the C word. It wasn't the C word, so it wasn't so disappointing to hear M and S. SEE! It makes sense to think this way. You must agree? No? Yes? You see my logic though?

What I am saying is, me being sad wasn't really something that would be considered out of the ordinary.

So when I was around people over the Christmas when M was not in the country, I had plenty of reasons to be sad. But half a year later, when M did arrive home safe, I was still sad.

I was submerged in a thick pool of 'what ifs' that kept pouring in from somewhere, and I was slowly sinking. I was full of fear. Seriously man. Everyday. Thoughts of 'what ifs'. Yuk. It was horrid. And I couldn't express how I was feeling. I just wanted to cry in a dark, cold room. I could feel my family getting frustrated for my unhappy faces and attitude. But it was how it was, my life was doomed. I didn't care that other people were upset with me. I'll just do my own fucking thing, right? And if you don't like it then meh, followed by a teenage shrug of the shoulders.

I didn't want to become a burden when I eventually find my way into a wheelchair. I didn't want to even think about having a child. I never even wanted children until I met M, then I changed my mind, but now I wanted to go back to how I felt before M, no kids. But I couldn't do that to M. We had already discussed the kid thing and we were so keen. Now I was not keen. What if I get too sick and can't care for my own child? What if I have to rely on M to do everything, and my family and his family, and there I am witnessing it all, not being able to help, because I am too unwell. What a useless mother I would make.

What if I can't work one day? Will M resent me for that? I just stay at home. Looking perfectly fine, but I can't walk, or I am too tired to even make a cup of tea.

What if I have to stop driving?

What if I can't have sex anymore?

What if everyone is just being nice to me just because I am sick? No I am not sick, sorry. Sick implies getting better! What if people are only nice to me because they pity me? Oh poor Sascha. She was such a great teacher. She painted some fantastic artworks in her time and she used to dance on the dance floor like a crazy kid. She once loved the hot weather and the beach. Sascha really enjoyed stayed out until 5am partying away.

What if I start to get spasms in my legs and I look like a freak? What if that happens at the same time I get Optic Neuritis in my right eye? A half-blind spastic. Nice.

What if I stop M from doing the things he wants to do in life? No sorry love, I can't do a hiking tour of the Himalayas - where will I put my medication? What if i get tired?

Why would M want to stay with me if all of this stuff is going to happen? And my family would only feel obliged, because they are my family. It's an unwritten law. What if they need to sell their house to help pay for something for me like some motorised mobility device?

If all this stuff is going to happen to me, then what's the point in hanging around? Why drag everyone around me into this horrible life I was going to have? Let me pull you into this deep chasm, and be sure to smash your body on every sharp, unbeautiful surface as we fall. I know 'unbeautiful' is not a word.

During 2011, I saw two female psychologists.

The first was a real doozie. My age, blondie/red hair, glasses, preggas. The first session is all about getting to know me I suppose. My background, things that have happened and are happening in my life. Okay, yeah cool. But next session can we use the time a little better so I am not paying you hundreds of dollars just so I can talk about myself? Yeah, cheers thanks.

The following sessions were based around meditation and shit. Yes. Sorry. It was shit. I understand that meditation is beneficial, but sorry, not enough to get me out of this rut lady. So I ended up cancelling my other sessions.

The second one was much better. A bit of CBT. Cognitive behavioural therapy. Sounds so serious huh? Well it was. In a way. I got some homework that didn't involve 'breathing'. Reading stuff and what not. Anyway, it was good. And some of it was useful. But in the later sessions (I think I had about 7 or so all up) we kept going over the same things and it was then that she suggested I speak to my GP about some medication for my anxiety. She said that I was obsessively worrying. I thought that was pretty accurate.

That was the last session with her. She said we had one more in January if I wanted it. But I might be okay after the holidays. HANG ON. You have just told me something that we could probably work on, but now you don't want to pencil me in for one more session? Wtf?

No worries. I am not ashamed. But man, it was difficult getting some sleeping pills for my Sad Sundays a few months prior, so I am not sure how I am going to go with some anti-anxiety meds.

I saw the GP. She put me on Beta-Blockers. What a waste of time. I felt more anxious about what they were doing to me, and that was just another thing to add to my worry list. "Do not stop them suddenly". Okay doc, thanks for giving me visions of having a heart attack or some other related heart emergency. She was also hesitant on the dosage. "One pill per day...no, no, start with half". Jesus fucking christ. She is a nice doc though. She will put her hand on my shoulder or arm for a bit of comfort. Maybe all my reactions were related to my anxiety.

For a few weeks, I took these stupid red coated things. My heart rate slowed down. Just as long as it doesn't stop, I will be okay. Add that to the list!

I got sick of them. They were not helping. So before leaving D-Town for Sydney, I booked in with the lovely Dr B. Legend.

I saw Dr B. I spoke to him about the GP in D-Town and the psych.

He suggested I start on an anti-depressant called Pristiq. He explained to me, with illustrations and all, about anxiety and depression. He clearly explained to me what this drug does. He explained how I might feel when I first take them, and how I might feel if I miss a dose. He explained that I should join the MS Society in NT to try and seek out a psychologist who I can talk to about my diagnosis - not just have a nice chat about life and stuff and things. I explained that the MS Society is NT and SA combined, and that it is utter rubbish.

Okay, so time for a new drug...