A Diary of Secrets - Deb Shugg

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and lonely and I’m not sure that anyone really understands what’s going on; least of all me. I’m afraid to dream because my dreams distress me too much and I’m afraid to wake up because I’m so overwhelmed with anxiety.

      On Saturday morning I visited the doctor because I’m such a mess. I tried to explain what’s wrong but I couldn’t stop crying to say anything. Harold ends up speaking for me and it annoys me. There I was in the midst of an “anxiety attack” anticipating a world disaster with my husband speaking on my behalf. I’m not sure what I’ve become.

      The doctor gently explained that things have probably got on top of me and that it will pass. He says once the temporary anxiety passes everything will return to normal. I have a prescription for anti nausea pills to help me eat better, but I’m not sure they’re helping. I think the nausea is in my head rather than my stomach. I bought myself some flowers. I’m trying to convince myself that things will get better but I really don’t think they can.

       20th July

      I asked mum to take me to a homeopath this week to see if there was something he could do. I sobbed the whole time I was with him and he confirmed that I’m in a terrible “state”. He blended me a “potion” of something I drank while I was there. It tasted like straight alcohol and I felt great almost straight away. So good in-fact that I stopped at a fried chicken restaurant on the way home for something to eat!

      I can’t believe how good I felt and for a moment in time I could feel what it was like to be free of the burden of anxiety.

      The homeopath mixed me a combination of medicines that I take during the day. He says they will help me to feel better and cope with whatever I’m not coping with.

       28th July

      I’m amazed. I have always been suspicious of natural medicines, however they have had an amazing effect on me.

      What’s changed exactly I can’t define but I’m feeling less tearful, less depressed and more “even”. Mornings have always been one of the worse times of day for me and they still are but once I work through the first hour or so of the day, I can function in a more “normal” way. Well, maybe a way that’s more acceptable to the people around me and myself.

      I can eat small amounts of food at meal times. I’ve lost six kilograms in the past weeks and while my appetite’s improving I’m not going to break any weight gaining records. I’m still limited to drinking only bottled or boiled water and tea. But the return of a little solid food into my diet is a visible, tangible and measurable return to okay.

      The freedom’s refreshing and I might even be coming to the end of whatever it is that’s scaring me, causing me to become a nothing.

      It’s been three weeks since we sold the house and we’re still looking for another house to buy. I can’t find anything that’s just right. I’m sure something will turn up but I’m a little worried that we might end up with nowhere to live if we don’t get it sorted.

      I’m worried that we might have to rent somewhere for a while. I know in my head that it’s no big deal but every time I think about it I feel sick.

       8th August

      I’ve started to think I might not recover from this at all. I’m sick with worry about what might happen. The anxiety is worse than ever and the potions don’t seem to be working anymore. More weight is falling off and I’m desperately trying to hold on to what my life has been.

      The natural medicines seemed to provide a turning point but now even that hope is fading into a hazy memory. My downhill slide is generating its own fear and I can’t even get out the front door. Everything is ten times harder now and I don’t know what to do.

      I’m unbelievably afraid and have no idea why. This fear of fear itself is greater than I have ever experienced. I imagine tragedy where there is none and I’m incapable of explaining why. I’m beginning to believe in my own craziness.

      Like any mother I’ve always been very protective of my children. But now, I can’t bear to be away from them in case something terrible happens to them. But, I can’t bear to let them see what I’ve become. I crave to be alone but can’t let myself.

      I just want to kill myself.

      There must be something so terribly wrong with me that I won’t ever be “normal”. I’ll never be understood. I’ll never function without help. I’m probably going to end up institutionalised just to relieve my family of the burden of caring for me. I think I’m at breaking point and I don’t know what to do.

      It’s too hard. I can’t do it.

      I don’t want to move house anymore. I need to stay here so everything will be alright.

       15th August

      I’m really upset about not having anywhere to live. My life is a mess and I don’t know what to do. Everyone thinks the decision to move house is the trigger for my “temporary anxiety state”.

      We’re waiting to settle the sale and I’m so desperate to escape from this agony that I made enquiries with our lawyer about pulling out of the sale agreement. It’s a long shot but I’m hoping that if it works I can get my life back.

      I just want to be normal.

      Harold’s been furious with me since I told him what I was doing and he couldn’t believe it. He can’t believe that I can’t sell the house.

      I’m devastated.

      I thought Harold would understand but now I have nowhere to turn. Nothing I can do. I pleaded with him to help me get our house back but he refused. I have to do something to stop this. I can’t take it anymore.

      I can’t even look at the “For Sale” sign at the front of our house. I wish they would come and take it away but it’s left there to terrorise me.

      I’m looking for anything to stop the pain and undo this mess I’m in but there’s no way out. It’s too much. I dread every waking moment. If only I could sleep 24 hours a day.

       2nd September

      I went to see the doctor again, this time with mum. I’m sure he thinks I’m crazy because I can’t stop crying. If I am crazy maybe I can stop worrying about what I’ve become.

      Mum held my hand and told me everything will be okay. I don’t believe her. “Think of something nice” she said.

      The doctor told me that I’ve tried it my way but now he wants to take control. He wrote me a prescription for anti-depressants and a referral to a psychologist for help. I don’t want to take medication and I’m afraid. Even antibiotics, which have their place, are not high on my to-do list unless they’re absolutely necessary.

      Now I’m reduced to medication. “Debbie’s little helpers!” I resisted to begin with but he insisted because he was “very concerned” about me and so he will no longer give me a choice.

      Mum prefers to use a homeopath but now she’s actually agreed with the doctor’s pronouncement. She held my hand and even though she probably felt otherwise, she gave her permission for me to take the medication. I’m 33 years old and in my mind my mother’s permission is required in order for me to take the damn medication!

      Really, I just want the pain to stop. Right now I would do anything to make it go away with, or without, my mother’s permission.

       17th September

      There are two weeks left until we move and even though we now have somewhere else to go now, I know I won’t be able to do it. I can’t leave my home. They will have to drag me from it kicking and screaming. I can taste acidic fear in my mouth and I know there’s no going back. My fantasies that everything could be undone are gone and I have to face the reality

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