Why my nervous breakdown is my best friend
As I struggle to recover from a severe nervous breakdown I realise that, rather than being a cruel enemy that’s holding me down, my breakdown’s nothing more than a protective best friend. It watches out for me, slowing me down whenever I try to rush my recovery, stopping me from getting ahead of myself and preventing me from having to deal with any stress that might push my brain to breaking point again.
My world fell apart a few years ago but at the time I remember thinking that, rather than seeing it as an obstacle, I’d see it as an opportunity. I’ve forgotten that a few times along the way, whenever despair has ruled over rational thought but one thing has remained clear throughout: my life had to fall apart before I was to have any chance of starting over on solid ground. I had too many unresolved issues that were keeping my head in the past.
The last few weeks have been among the worst I’ve experienced in the whole two years of my recovery, in terms of feeling that I’ll never be ‘me’ again, that I’ll never have the energy to function normally, that I’ll be forever treading water instead of powering into my future like I’m so eager to do. It feels as if I’ve been pushed right back to the start, over and over, and this episode has been particularly severe. But actually it isn’t a bad thing and it’s confirmed to me that my breakdown does in fact have my best interests at heart, despite acting like my worst enemy at times.
What it’s teaching me is plain to see but often overlooked: you can’t build something solid on shaky foundations. I’ve had absolutely no choice but to take my time and to move in deliberately small steps, because my breakdown simply won’t allow me to build myself up too fast; every time I try, it snaps me back into line and reminds me to be thorough, patient and consistent, to do the groundwork required but to make sure it’s done properly before I move on. “This is a one-time deal,” it tells me. “You don’t want to waste time coming back here.”
In the short term the experience has been indescribably frustrating but it’s now rather a comfort to me. At first I tried to rush my recovery but as time went on I realised that doing so was counterproductive; each time my breakdown dragged me down again I’d have to repeat the steps I’d already taken and it felt as though I was in a never-ending loop. I had no choice but to give in and vow take it slow in the long run because my breakdown would slap me harder each time I tried to skip through the healing phase. My breakdown’s become like a friend, something that watches out for me and stops me from getting carried away to the point of damaging my brain again. Far from being a hindrance, this has been a valuable lesson, one that I’ll be remembering every step of my 1000-miles walk: slow but steady really does win the race; rushing ahead sets you back in the long run.
I used to overlook how serious my trauma, stress, PTSD and depression were. Perhaps that was because they became my norm and were a blanket of insecurity that allowed me to hold myself back in life and to never see my potential through to anywhere useful or satisfying. Rather than dealing with my problems head-on I pushed them to the side, burying them deeper and deeper until my brain just couldn’t cope with the consequences anymore. Now I’m burying them in a different way, mixing them in thoroughly with the concrete of my foundations to form a solid base upon which I can build a future that won’t return me to the extremes of a breakdown. Rather than being a weakness, I’ve turned them into a strength.
For now, I’ll trust that by slapping my wrists and pushing me backwards from time to time, my breakdown is being a tough-talking best friend; it’s not trying to hurt me in the short term, it’s trying to save me in the long term.
