Today is a good day.
After Saturday's events, I haven't been feeling anywhere close to 100%. It was hard to walk back in the doors at PAX, but I was spurred on by the thoughts of all the support I'd received. And I'm glad I did.
It was a little weird, though. I had many people telling me how strong and courageous they thought I was, when in reality I felt anything but. I couldn't shake the feeling that at any moment I was going to flip out and run again.
I took Sunday pretty easy. I chatted to a lot of people, gave and received SO MANY hugs, and didn't drink. I had a decent dinner, and a quiet night, surrounded by a few close work friends and many, many glasses of water.
Monday was worse. I'd been working myself up about the flight home from Melbourne I was due to take that afternoon, and already in a semi-fragile state, was worried I'd have another attack and not be able to get on the plane. Panic set in. Breathing techniques held it at bay, but even the thought of heading to the airport would set me back a step.
My partner Rae was amazing. We brainstormed solutions. I'd planned to take a week off (ironically to destress) on the Gold Coast, so I already had time off work. That meant that in theoty, I could stay another night and build up to getting back on the plane.
But I was still scared.
There was an overnight train heading back that night, and after convincing myself that it would be like a hotel room that moved closer to home, I decided to go for it.
It wasn't without it's small challenges though. Trackwork meant that it'd be a coach ride to Broadmeadows, and then the train. Another variable. And there was a long 5 hour wait between deciding, and doing.
I'm honestly not sure what made me able to get through it. I legitimately felt that at any moment The Thought would come into my head again. Even after the coach ride had ended, and we waited for the XPT to arrive, there was some doubt I'd manage it.
Thankfully, I had the (pretty expensive) sleeper berth all to myself, and could sit, listen to music, and breathe. All things considered, it was actually a rather nice journey. I'm not sure when I first fell asleep, but I woke up as we stopped at Wangaratta, feeling slightly worried that I hadn't even hit NSW yet. And then I woke up again as the train took a sharp turn, rocking back and forth enough to fling my phone off the windowsill. And then again sometime around 4am. And finally, to a knock on the door delivering me my complimentary (read: included in the exorbitant price) 'Continental' breakfast.
I don't know why it's called that, but there was nothing continental about it. I'm pretty sure trains are the last place you can find those weird 'barely a mouthful' cups of juice or water with the foil lids, too.
And these humourous little thoughts helped. It wasn't long before familiar stations were flashing past (and my phone had decided to connect back to the real world after hours of no signal), and I was off the train. Yes, it took 12 hours, but I slept for most of them, surely.
Once home, I went straight back to bed. After staying at the Hilton in Melbourne, the cardboard pillow and prison-slab mattress on the train weren't exactly comfortable, and I longed to feel the safety and security of my own bed, in my own room, in my own home.
And then I awoke. The feeling of impending dread had lifted, both with the knowledge that I'd made it home, and the excitement of taking the first step on my journey to mental health.
I'm booked in to see a new GP tomorrow, so we can discuss a referral to a specialist. I can feel the calm coming, and the storm is dying down.
