BEL MOONEY
DEAR BEL
I THINK I’m becoming mentally ill but I’m not sure what treatment there could be — other than maybe the passing of time. But that hasn’t helped so far.
My close childhood friend died very suddenly of Covid at 41, leaving behind two young girls, and I miss her. The loss feels so cruel.
My husband lost his great job of a decade — due to a new manager constructively dismissing him. The incredibly long, stressful court process was delayed by the pandemic. We had no legal representation. He won, but the process had a huge mental impact — a period of anxiety/depression and loss of confidence. He now has a permanent job but the feelings remain.
Our son is now full-time homeeducated since the pandemic due to his severe medical condition being mis-managed in school.
Home education has brought us much joy but there’s an injustice: he should be able to attend school like others. This and other issues with him have drained me.
A drunk or drugged driver hit our car at 1am shunting it into the telephone pole outside our home, bringing the pole half down, and the car was a write-off.
Our home was ruined by shoddy workmanship despite using a supposedly reputable firm. The costof-living crisis has somehow made me feel utterly neurotic about everything we pay for because of how fast it has been spiralling — and I’ve been doing bizarre things like bulk buying things I don’t like or need. A sort of weird survival instinct?
All that on top of everything that everyday life brings — from family and friendship dynamics, pet death, menopause and day-to-day living.
I just want to retreat. I’m a mere shadow of my happier former self and doubt I will ever get back to who I was. I have spoken to my GP about feeling anxious and unwell but she was on her last work day before retirement and didn’t seem very interested. I was prescribed various medications which I didn’t feel were right for my symptoms.
I now feel a deep sense of daily sadness as if future life is all doom, dark and bleak and nothing will ever improve again. I do appreciate some of this is grief but I am really struggling — existing rather than living.
Should I give it more time, or seek professional help? I’m on a waiting list for talking therapies — about four months. I don’t want sympathy. I know how hard many others have it and feel guilt even for sharing, because what gives me the right to moan? Life could be far worse.