Rolling in the deep….

i have bad patches. 

days when life is dark 

days when I’m dripping in sadness 

sometimes the days are weeks 

or

months

but

there is light. glimpses of life.

i struggle. it’s exhausting. I hate it.

there is purpose, though.

i do fight it.
i have a very definite tipping point.

my serious relapses follow an identical pattern 

insomnia cloaks me in a miserable fog

panic stacks come knocking 

guilt, shame, blood 

until i’m paralysed.

every minute of every day becomes intolerable 

the outside world is terrifying 

opening my eyes each morning is overwhelming

i attempt to soothe myself with scalpels 

and

opiates

but

nothing works, nothing lasts. 
i’ve crossed that threshold 

i’m in it.

everyday is silent & grey….

I had a gastroscopy yesterday. I’ve had one before and whilst it was unpleasant, it was fairly straight forward. Yesterday’s procedure did not go so well. For whatever reason my body didn’t tolerate the procedure well. It became a painful and frightening experience.
I’m ok.
They didn’t find anything life threatening, just further deterioration of my existing conditions. I’m sore and tired, but there is no lasting damage.
So, why do I feel so awful?
It feels pathetic to admit this
But
It’s because I’m alone.
It would be so nice to have someone to hold my hand through these times. I don’t want to complain because I know I am lucky in lots of ways. I have friends and family who love me. I am grateful for all the help they give me. The truth is there is only so much I can ask of them. They have partners, responsibilities, lives. Hence, most of the time, I am on my own with this.
And it is lonely.
Spending days trapped in my house (&my head) without any human contact. Being ill limits what I can do so much. Pain can override my ability to even read or watch a film. This leaves me alone with my thoughts.
Thoughts that can quickly spiral into dangerous places.
Hope easily slips away when you’re struggling to get out of bed. It feels like my physical health will never improve & that hammers away at any progress I make with my mental health. Reclaiming my life gets further away with each flare up & new diagnosis.
I suppose this post is mostly about me feeling sorry for myself. I’m scared that the life I want is simply not possible now. I’m not sure that anyone in my life really understands how I isolated I am. Nor do I know how to talk about these feelings.
I’m pouring it out here in an attempt to feel maybe even little less alone.

there is no such thing in life as normal…

i don’t feel good today
everything is too close to the surface
i am fragile
and
raw

I think, perhaps, I’m not really here
nothing feels real
except
the
fear

that’s too real
too deep
too much

I’d run away if I had anywhere to run to
but
It’s me I want to hide from

I want to climb out of my skin
and
my head

i need a little holiday from my life
an opportunity to be calm.
no guilt or pain.
Oh, what I’d give to just be normal

all those years that my body worked exactly as it should
and
my head behaved itself
and
i didn’t know i should be reveling in it
i didn’t know how fucking remarkable that was

i wish i could remember how that felt.