I write these posts in my desperate moments - like drawing a candle into the dark,
so that I might see a little clearer. It is true, and it is me, and that is why I must expel it.
While I don't expect anyone to follow me there - if you find yourself in dark places too,
we can walk the halls together and hold each others hand.
* * *
You know what it's like? It's as if someone suddenly turned up the volume, and after all this time, I hadn't really learnt to control anything, but just dull out the sound. I hate feeling like I'm losing my mind.
But then, I try to pull myself back into the moment, by remembering that nothing has really happened between yesterday and today; between last week - last month, to right now - except that itty-bitty pill. I refuse to let myself believe that all the control comes from a pill.
Talk about feeling absolutely powerless. Slave to a pill forever? Is it possible that I could be so much of a fucking head-case that this could be my actual reality? It's not fair. It's not fair. Now, nothing was made to be fair.
It's just so exhausting. Questioning every thought that gallops across your mind; if you can't trust all of them, how can you trust any of them? But then, thoughts can tell you when to be cautious and when to be brave; to know when to pull the sword or the armour, or both, or neither and run. Take your hand off the burning surface... don't stand there.
Pain is always subjective. A grimace, a sudden wash of white - mostly cause and effect. But, emotional pain, that comes from somewhere unseen. It cannot be tested, scanned or diagnosed. I become locked inside a chamber of my own making, and it is just the worst existence. No wonder 'mental-health' is a dirty word - who the fuck wants to share this shit?
I don't want to be 'sick', I don't think I am; I think I just feel too much... I think too much. "Ahh, but is it helpful?" Judy would ask me, "it might be true, but is it helpful?" Nope, none of this is helpful.
It just wasn't meant to be this hard.