Facing the Lowest Point in My Health Journey: A Path to Recovery

Right now, my health is at an all-time low, and it feels like everything is falling apart. I’ve been battling mental health struggles for as long as I can remember, but I thought I had finally found my footing. With a new ADHD treatment, things were actually looking up for a while. For a few months, I felt like I was on top of it—my energy, my focus, my motivation—it all seemed to click.

But then, everything took a turn for the worse. Slowly but surely, the energy drained from me, and I found myself losing interest in the things that once made me feel alive. I ended up going off the ADHD meds and was put on new medication. After a blood test, I was hit with the news that I have type 2 diabetes. It’s a lot to process, and it’s left me feeling physically and mentally drained.

The worst part? I have overseas holidays planned that I’ve already paid for, but I no longer even want to go. I feel weak and fragile, scared of even the simplest tasks because I get so exhausted just doing them. It’s like I’m stuck in a constant state of fear, worrying about what comes next.

But here’s the thing: I refuse to stay stuck. I can feel the weight of this fear, but I know I need to break free from it. I will get better. I will make the necessary changes, no matter how hard it gets.

I’m incredibly lucky to have the unwavering support of my wife. She’s been by my side through all of this, offering encouragement, helping me navigate tough moments, and reminding me that I’m not alone in this journey. Her support gives me the strength to push forward, even when I feel like giving up.

It starts with the small stuff, and I have to make it count. I will commit to eating nutritious food, in the right amounts. I will begin exercising, even if it’s just light movement at first, and slowly build my strength back up. I’ve got a gym membership, and I’m not going to let it go to waste. I’ll practice mindfulness and gratitude every day, finding moments of peace even when it feels overwhelming.

It’s not going to be easy, but I know this: recovery is possible. And I’m determined to make it happen, one step at a time.

Behind the Facade

I’ve come to realise that I’ve always struggled in life. Fitting in, being happy — I always had a sense that I didn’t fully belong, but I became really good at pretending. I remember starting school at six or seven; everyone else seemed so naturally okay with fitting in and getting along. I struggled.

I didn’t really like school. I enjoyed learning about geography, history and culture, but maths was a nightmare. It became a source of anxiety whenever we did it. I could never finish my maths books and often had to take them home over summer to catch up. I received no help or tutoring, so I was anxious going back to school each year because I hadn’t finished the books. That left me feeling behind from the start. It made me feel stupid, even though I did great in English and other subjects.

Looking back, I’ve always worried a lot. That’s probably linked to the messy early years of my life — but that’s for another post. I worried about what people thought of me, how they perceived me, how I behaved or dressed. I’m trying to trace where my anxiety began.

When I was about eleven to thirteen, it intensified because of my father’s changes. He became bitter, accusatory, verbally abusive, manipulative and self-centred. Like many teenagers, I was already struggling, but his response to my changes was yelling and psychological abuse — calling me an idiot, dismissing me. I became very anxious at home; I never knew when he’d lash out. Sometimes I knew I’d done something wrong, but other times the anger was totally uncalled for. I won’t go into specifics now.

The result was bad anxiety, insomnia, headaches and depression. A deep sadness settled in me, and my days filled with daydreaming — thinking about dying, leaving, hating, and being sad. I didn’t understand then how badly I was doing, but I do now. I internalised everything and stopped showing emotions. I lied to everyone around me and built a façade of self-confidence. Disappointments came so regularly they felt normal. By thirteen I’d largely given up on a future; I couldn’t see myself growing old. I became mentally self-destructive, but no one knew because I was so good at keeping up the act.

The sadness stayed — it’s always there, lingering. I’m trying ways to keep it at bay. Sometimes I succeed; more often I don’t. So I still pretend.

I’m on a journey to live with it rather than be controlled by it. I take various medications that help somewhat. Work has been a bright spot — my colleagues are great, and I feel appreciated. The workplace feels like a safe space.

Writing this is a trigger for reflection. It’s confronting, and it opens new ways of understanding for me. I feel emotional and fragile as I write, but I’m trying to live in the present and not dwell on the past. I’m just trying to pin down when the dark clouds first rolled in and learn how to keep them at bay.

If you’ve felt the same way, know that you’re not alone.