Me.

12 years is a very long time to have a platform such as a blog page. I started writing when I was 14 years old. I was obsessed with Zoella and the numerous posts she made about makeup trends and “what’s in my hand bag” videos. I loved to write about my yearly favourites and share pictures from my holidays. And I genuinely loved writing and sharing little stories that people may never ever read. 

Then when I got a little older, I shared some bigger life things and in some ways it acted like a good way to get everything that I was thinking about, out of my head. Then one day, I stopped doing it.

That day, was the day when I started to bottle it all up.

Looking back over the last 12 years since starting my page, so much has happened. So much has changed. I think 14 year old Megan wouldn’t quite believe it.

But, I sit here today, at 1.21am struggling to sleep for the 15th night in a row and I think it’s time, for my own mental wellbeing, I reopen the journal that is my blog and I talk about something that has been going on since I last posted on here and something that I need to deal with in 2025.

It’s been almost 8 years since I started taking antidepressants and became engulfed with anxiety. 

Having anxiety is for me, one of the hardest things to explain. Especially when it comes to having health anxiety. 

Imagine, having a headache and instantly thinking it’s a brain tumour. You get a slight mark on your arm and bang, you have skin cancer. You’re suffering from a cold so your lymph nodes enlarged, but you’re convinced it’s Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. You’ve forgotten where you put your keys, oh is that early onset dementia? What’s that spot on your arm? You’ve got a pain in your leg, oh goodness it’s something bad and I’ll be in hospital for ages. Your cough has lingered for a day longer than the doctor advised - do I need to go back? 

Endlessly google search, endless questions and endless patterns of the same behaviour. That is me. 

My brain goes into overdrive and instantly I’m convinced I’ve not got long left. So irrational but yet to my brain, it’s the only rational explanation. The strangest thing is my guilt and awareness of how silly it is to worry so much about the slightest thing. Because I hear myself and think I sound ridiculous, but I just can’t stop.

Two years ago, I went to the doctors 3 times in two days. My own GP, the walk in centre and an 111 out of hours appointment. Why? Because I had a rash from having the flu and was convinced I had leukaemia.

I don’t know where it comes from and I don’t know why it’s there but it truly controls my life all day everyday. It stops me from socialising, from getting up in the morning and it’s something I go through ups and downs with, and something I’ve got to get sorted out.

Almost 4 weeks ago, I had an operation which led to me having to be put under general aesthetic, needing blood thinning tablets and very strong pain killers. Two days after the operation, I coughed up some blood and thought oh, that’s not quite right. I rung the ward.. “oh it’s probably a chest infection, ring your GP for advice”. So, I rung the GP expecting a chest infection to be confirmed and antibiotics to be given. Oh no, suspected blood clot on the lung, go straight to hospital to be seen. 

Upon arrival, I burst into tears, confused and convinced it was the end. Blood tests taken, “oh you have a low white blood cell count, but that’s normal after an operation”. 

Right well that is it then, a blood clot and a low WBC, that just means blood cancer, so it’s done! 

Turns out actually, they had just torn something slightly when pulling out the tube from the general aesthetic and some rest will ease it all and the blood will go and my WBC will rise, so my brain didn’t need to convince me it was over and I didn’t need to feel guilty because of the rational and irrational demon that slumbers in my head. 

Imagine the thoughts in my head after 48 hours post operation. Now, I’m still stuck in the air walker boot, on crutches with a wound that won’t heal properly yet. Even more riddled with anxiety because I can’t move much and have seen every corner of my house a million times.

Not only is my health anxiety something I have struggled with since last posting on here, but also that of a constant worry I am not good enough.

Being the person who is “different” always makes me think that I have to prove myself to be as good as one could be. It always makes me wonder if people just do things and say things because they feel bad.  And in all honesty. I hate it.

It would be so wonderful if there was a way we could switch off our brains to the negative things that overwhelm us and just focus on the positives but I know that’s not how the world rotates.

I’ve tried everything to be better. From CBT to mindfulness and meditation. But one thing always felt missing.

I’m hoping by sharing my story, it will be that missing thing. I’m hoping it will help me get through this and hoping that because it’s now out there, the weight will have been lifted and I can start working on my way to getting out of this anxiety filled black cloud I fell in almost 8 years ago.

So take this as my first entry of 2025 in the journal that is my blog. I know people may not even read this and those that do may laugh and cringe. But I’m not doing it from you, I’m doing it for me and all those other people who struggle and need a space to realise they’re not alone.

Megan x