The problem when you are afflicted by several things at once is that you're never quite sure which is the culprit of how you're currently coping or as the case may be not coping.  The lines blur between what is normal and that which is not until you have to ask yourself are you okay?  Or more often than not, how not okay are you.

It’s not the words that 

I need to share

It’s the silences

that I wish you could hear.

The world is flat and grey.  A thick impressionable grey that begs to be reached through, smudged or drawn upon yet you can't even touch it.

The emptiness is overwhelming, it's not around you, it's within you.  Sometimes you exist stupefied within it as it spreads like some vacant barren expanse that you're never quite sure if you're on the precipice of waiting to fall into it or else simply in the midst of it, lost.  Other times it's those million shivering holes, vicious and paralysing.  Carniverous and invisible.

 & I can’t remember if I’m the holes

or the remains.

It's hard to explain why you don't do that which needs doing, the laundry has been ready to put away for days, the pots ready to put away too and they're right in front of you yet you're exhausted mentally because you got dressed today.  You brushed your hair. You may have even had a bath in the last few days. You're remembering to provide answers, of a sort, when spoken to.   You're lazy, they say so you obviously don't give a shit and to an extent they're right.  It's not that you don't care it's that you can't.  You have lost the capacity to care about everyday things.  There's no room to think about them when your thoughts are consumed by breathing in and breathing out.

You're overeating, again.  It's not even like you're hungry.  You don't need this food, hell you don't even want it.  Yet you're eating it.  It's like a compulsion.  You're not even sure why, is it some physical attempt to fill that void inside?  Is it just another form of self destruction, to become the hideous that you feel.

You can't control this.

You lie in bed for hours in agonising silence as you feel yourself suffocate from the inside out.  What is that noise?  That strangulated noise?  Then you realise.  It's you.  It's been so long since you cried, the sound is alien and you can't breath.

You're angry.  You're distraught. You're empty.

Your apathy is deconstructing life around you, demolishing it bit by bit.  It's no dramatic explosion it's mere crumbling through neglect.  There's a handgrenade in your mouth, you're tonguing the pin, it's all the things you can't say.  the things that would blow apart your world.

& I can’t decide the greater evil

The inability to feel

 Or the possibility of feeling

I’m terrified by the allure of

Loaded thoughts

As words poise unspoken

With the potential to blow

Apart

My world

I’m afraid to ask myself questions

In case I discover how to answer them

Everything feels wrong

I am a hand grenade

And the pin is decaying

What would happen if your life was reduced to rubble?  Sometimes you're tempted to pull the pin, just to feel something.  To destroy everything.

Some days I’m desperate for something violently radical to happen, just to check i’m still here.  Underneath all this. That somewhere somebody sees me.  Maybe in time, they’ll hear me.  

I’d introduce myself but I don’t know who I am.

Anymore.

Then there's a small break, a mere crack in the clouds and you're clambering to it on all fours attempting to drink the light in hungry gasps.  For this short time you're breathing. .  You're feeling in colours and thinking in shapes.  Everything is so vivid and bright as you stare at the most inconsequential things in exquisite awe.  There's a fluidity in your movements, an unstoppable stream of words that need to be spoken.  It's like the world's in some subtle dance against your body willing it to move as you see revelations in the clouds.  The energy is electric, you need to go here, go there, do this, so that and you're laughing.....the sensation of laughter is ripping apart your veins in it's insanity.  It feels good. You're laughing in air to empty hungry lungs.  It's like the kiss of sunlight on dead flesh, you just want to feel this for a bit longer, just a little while just a ...

It's gone again.

I'm gone again.

Trying to breath out without

breathing in

the grey turns to black

if you swallow

it swallows right back.

Running After The Rain

At the sound of your 

giggles, falling like

soft rain upon the wall

of fog i’m trapped behind

I can’t get out yet

I feel you

and for a while

the world becomes a lighter shade of grey

my heart takes a gulp

and you’re

like the sunshine

running after the rain.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas....

Yet it doesn't feel it.  Yes, i'm absolutely not feeling Christmas this year.  The tree has been up since the first as have the decorations, the turkey is in the freezer and the presents are finally all wrapped much to the relief of my back and remnants of frayed sanity. I'm blaming the weather, how terribly British of me, though to be specific i'm blaming the very distinct lack of snow.  I love snow.  Without it everything is just unforgivably grey and inexcusably cold.

It doesn't help that The Husband is an absolute Bah Humbug who'd probably quite happily delete Christmas from existence should he be able to.  I'm excited for the children yet i'd rather like to be excited, just a little bit, for me too.   It's awfully satisfying having spawn to be excited for yet it's not really the same as having an equal to be excited with.  It all feels fake and draining.  There's no immediate outside family nor friends to evoke any festivity. I used to be frightfully giddy with the sparkle, glitz and fun associated with Christmas yet now it's just all flat.  I confess I mourn the death of it's sparkle, of my sparkle.

The Parents with The Brother are finally in situ at The Motherships abode in Spain though the journey was not without it's detours, mainly a detour to a french hospital where my dad ended up as an inpatient for several days after breaking his nose, from falling on his face.  Yes, really.  Several days, an ECG, a MRI and a CT scan later and they were back en route.  Needless to say their Christmas photo's will be...interesting.

The Toddler has been recovering from the lurgy of doom with the aid of narrowly escaping a trip to the hospital, some  steroids, plenty of breastfeeding, plenty of naps, several tantrums and some antibiotics and is currently making up for not eating for nigh a week through eating 24/7 now.

After a discussion with a terribly lovely GP who i'd never had the pleasure of meeting before we mutually decided to wean me off my current meds.  Yes, near Christmas.  We apparently must have a dark sense of humour.

I've had allergies/a cold of doomy doom for several weeks now and am close to gouging my eyes out with soup spoon whilst punching my nose from my face.

We've had two excellent end of term school reports, a fabulous class assembly and an amazing nativity play and Things One and Two as of today are now officially off school for Christmas.  Oh fuck.

Add to this a myriad of woes and surprises many of which I either won't bore you with or simply can't talk about.

So yes.... Christmas. Bah Humbug ;)

Promised myself I wouldn't weep.

The thing with having long term invisible illness' is that you're either written off or else people assume that you're over it.  It's the ongoing part that people struggle to digest.  That and the general gross misunderstanding of mental illness.

If you have a migraine or a broken leg, you suffer and then it gets better.  If you have a terminal disease you either recover or you die.

If you're slashing at your wrists, having hallucinations and delusional whilst crying 24/7, you're depressed enough to warrant being depressed. The depression is visible and thus real. If you have situation or event triggered depression, people will molly coddle you for a while then it's a 'there, there dear. You'll be okay soon' which translates roughly as 'Oh gosh, how terrible! I don't know how you cope.' which then turns to a 'pull your socks up' after they deem you've had long enough to 'get over it'.

Yet, If you suffer from long term depression, anxiety or personality disorders that was triggered by nothing other than faulty wiring or genes, people rarely know what to do.  They understand neither the longevity nor the peak and troughs that accompany it. You're not seen as ill, you're just flaky and mercurial. You obviously can't have Social Anxiety because they saw you say hello to someone last week.  You're obviously not depressed because a few days ago they saw you smile and Egads, laugh. You, you faker you!

The thing with invisible illness' is, people only accept them in their most visible moments.  They only see the mask.

Mental illness isn't just about the darkness, It's the torturous rays of light that momentarily blind and panic you too.  It isn't just about the blackness, it's the fifty shades of choking grey in-between.  It's not just the drowning, it's the unexpected hard slaps that put you off balance.

It's not that you're okay or even not okay, it's the varied struggle of trying to be okay.  It's the soul cracking realisation that you may never be okay enough, again.

& the mask keeps slipping.

Here inside my head.

At first I wasn't going to post this and then when I did post it I was thinking of deleting it  Yet no matter how difficult it is to leave it here, it will stay because although people often mention mental illness such as depression and anxiety, how often do we actually talk about it? as in really talk about what it's actually like?  Hopefully you won't be able to relate to this entry but if you do, even a little at least now you know you're not alone.


How to explain to your children, why you're so crap?
They don't understand and I don't know how to explain it to them, The Husband pretends to understand depending on his mood and yet even I don't fully understand the clusterfuck tangle that is essentially me.  It's so hard to separate and dissect what is illness and what is me.  Often I fear, what if the me has in fact been devoured and beneath it all, there's nothing left.

I lost myself somewhere and I can feel her waiting for me to find her only I don't know where she is and everything is so blurry and everyday her voice fades.  Some days I can't hear her at all.

I rarely ever take my kids anywhere on my own.  I rarely take myself anywhere on my own.  It's not that I can't be arsed or that I don't want to.  I'd love to.  I just can't.

I once spent nearly four months barely leaving the house.

The Husband virtually goes everywhere with me. He keeps me focused.  I just have to follow. Often when I'm out my mind wanders; I become confused.  I become disorientated.  Sometimes I just have this nameless tangible panic; a feeling of utter dread.  Yet it's all inside, invisible.  I can feel it stretch and swell until it's choking me and yet something prohibits me from showing it, from having a voice. Just keep on walking.  I usually remember to smile and nod in the right places whilst I try to remember why and how to breath.  I've spent decades faking it, appearing to be okay.  It's like I inhaled this despicable smog and can't exhale. It's like you're drowning and everyone else around you is breathing.

At times I'll get these sudden random impulses to do something or go somewhere without knowing why or how or even if I'll stop.  Sometimes it's the beach or simply into the distance other times it's to the left or into traffic or off a bridge, just because.  So once again, I follow him.  He knows where we're going.  He knows how to get back. In the silence I'm concentrating on banishing the impulses.  Only the silence has voices, my own.  To not think, I'll talk.  And talk.  Blathering and mithering the poor Husband to death, just to stay in the here and in the now.  Just to stay grounded. I have no sense of direction.  The thought of going somewhere alone leaves be frigid and frantic.  I may never get home.  My ankles may collapse on me (again).  I may lose a child somewhere.  I might forget to go home.  I might get on a wrong bus. I might run away.

Because everything is blurring.  I'm in some bubble, that renders me unable to connect with anything or anyone.  I am neither affecting nor affected.  It's so hard to breath in here.  It's so hard to be in here. A ghost of a ghost of a ghost of someone I used to be.  I feel so numb.

I'm awkward and petrified.  Actively avoiding social interaction.  Painfully panicked when it's deemed necessary.  I lose track of conversation, I have nothing to say. I have no voice.  My name is Nobody. I drift away. Yet occasionally there's a spark and for a minute or two I remember how to talk.  I'm starving for conversation. It's like I'm given 120 seconds of air and to hide the greedy gulping gasps of it I talk...and talk....and talk. I talk too much and talk too fast. I'm smelling colours and hearing shapes  For a minute or two I'm somebody, I don't know her name yet but she's on fire.

When did everything get so bright and colourful? It's clear and beautiful and I feel like skipping.  I can feel my blood literally fizzing in my veins.  I'm fucking superwoman.  I'm a frickin' fairy.  I want to dance.  I want to fly.  I want to learn to sew and crochet and knit and make jewellery.  I want to start up eight businesses.  I  want to meet all the people I adore yet am usually too petrified to meet.  I want to go here.  I want to go there.  Throw open the windows, I'm breathing.  Turn on the lights, you can't see I'm glowing. Turn on the music, turn it up! I'm dancing, I'm singing.  Come twirl with me.  I'm naughty and flirty, i'm obsessing over house moves and holidays that will never happen. I'm writing and thinking.  I'm feeling and smiling.  My is my blood fizzing? I want to talk to everyone.   I can't sleep. My thoughts are racing until it's just a mass of never ending white noise.  I cut my hair at 2am.  I spend days bleaching it.  I know who I am.  I know who i'm going to be.  It will be awesome. It's all so fucking clear now! I take an identity off a rack and try to make it fit.  I'm awake though the night.  I need to buy these things.  I need to.  Why did I stop smoking? I want to get drunk! I'm wearing makeup!
.
I am a stone.  I'm falling. Why did she go away? why is everything so grey?  I'm about to hit the ground.  The joyful fizzing is now sparks.  I'm an inferno.  I'm raging.  I punctuate the silence with snapping.  I'm vicious and shouting.  I hate you.  I hate everything.  I'm hypersensitive to smells and sound and they send me into a simmering homicidal rage. I want to destroy everything and take it all apart. I don't deserve this!

It's dark.  So dark.  I've forgotten how to speak.  Everything is so fucked up.  Nothing will ever get any better.  I can't even cry.  I'm disgusting and stupid and ugly and fat and irritating and dirty and empty.  I'm empty.  I can barely move.  I lie awake for hours terrified and alone.  It hurts.  Everywhere.  My limbs feel like lead, my veins feel empty and bruised. I am Nothing.  Everything I've ever done was wrong.  I'm not where I'm supposed to be.  I've failed.  I'm failing.  I'm invisible.  I smile imagining the pattern the blood would make on the white bathroom tiles if I banged my head hard enough....just to make it stop.  Just for a little while.  I'm holding my breath beneath the water, just to let the silence consume me.  Just for some stolen peace. I'm not good enough.  They all deserve more.  They all deserve better.  I am a canker; I'm rotting.  The clothes don't fit.  My hair is a mess. I don't know who I am.  Why did I think this would work? Why did I think I could be someone? I don't deserve these second hand clothes or pretty shoes.  Oh god, the guilt.  Sell, why won't these things sell? Take them away from me.  I'm so alone.  I'm so scared.  The itch to externalise is overwhelming me.  Old scars throbbing. Shut up.  Shut up.  Make it all shut up. Help me disappear. I deserve this. I'm slipping.  Falling.  I'm not waving, I'm drowning.  I'm dissecting and analysing everything I said, everything I did.  I'm such a twat.  Everybody thinks it.  Everybody knows it.  They must have laughed when I walked away.  I'm just a joke.  I'm not even funny.  They're glad I walked away.  They're wondering the best way to avoid me in future.  Freak.  Freak.  She's a freak. My head hurts, it's so full. So loud in there.  It won't shut up.  God damn this voice inside my head.  Goddamn this voice it wants me dead.  I am the voice.  The voice is me.  Make it stop.  Make it stop.  I am hollow.  Things will only get worse.  There is no happy ever after.  I can't see through this misery.  It's devouring me.  I have no voice. It's so dark and I can't see. Everything is wrong.  It'll only get worse. I'm broken and I'm breaking. I deserve this.  It serves me right.  Can't breath. Why am I still here. I can't do this.  Make the pain go away.  Make it stop.

I'm numb.  I'm back in the bubble.  Disconnected and disassociated. Just keep moving.  It's just another day.  I know when to laugh and when to frown.  I don't have to feel it to do it.  I'm watching myself from the outside.  Everything is stable again.  Everything is shades of grey. Not up nor down, I just am.  For now.  I'll follow him outside for a while.  I'll try to stay focused.  I'll try to smile. I'm only a little petrified. I'll avoid you and you and you.  It's really not you, it's me.

Circles and circles and circles again.

How do you tell your children you're mental?  How do you explain to them why you're often so crap? Why Daddy takes them to the park on his own yet Mummy never does?

Treading water

Sometimes I can't decide if I'm waving or drowning.

It's like a drowning.

Sometimes it's the slow motion muffled drowning where you're under water and have no hope of surfacing yet you still fight it, you still struggle and everything is blurred and dissolving before your eyes.  A mesmorising distortion. You hold your breath and wait to sink, eyes wide shut.  It looks almost pretty yet essentially hopeless. A morbid fluid dance that ends only in darkness.  Thoughts strangle and twine around you, memories swell then fracture and you're locked in silence. A deadly serenity.  Then you just stop fighting it and you let it take you.  Seconds feel like years and there is a beauty in giving up.  It's no longer defeat it's a dark, isolated tranquillity. It doesn't hurt down here. You can't see me.

The strange days have come and you're gone

Other times it takes you unaware, like the sudden grabbing motion of a hand locking around your ankle, dragging you violently and quickly underneath the water without warning.  There's no dance, no drawn out descent it's a rapid inarticulate spiralling as vehement as it is vicious. The clarity is brutal and alarming, jagged sharp details. You're not ready.  You don't want this. You can't stop this. You're drowning and thrashing yet people smile and wave back.  I'm not waving.  I'm drowning.


Either way, you can't control this.


She's lost control again.

Here comes the rain again

Finally the rain returned, it smells renewed and fresh outside.  The rain has banished the sickly humidity and the ferocious heat.  The clouds may be grey yet nature is shining.  I don't see beauty in the sun I see it within the contemplation and reflection the grey brings that makes you have to work to focus and fathom. It's calm.  There's an essence of clarity.

Sometimes in retrospection it's the small things we do that are echoic of our state of mind that are meaningless at the time, yet wholly representative of us.

When the depression has a tight grip on my hand and we walk side by side down morbid paths I like the curtains closed, I abhor open windows, my posture is broken and bent huddled in long layers, I forget to turn on lights.  I suffocate in silence and the weight of the air. The small things that always matter yet I fail to notice at the time. I'm alone.

In the moments of clarity and as close to stable as I can get, I have an urge to open windows, to feel the air kiss my flesh, to get inebriated from a gluttony of inhaling it in frigid gasps as if to banish cobwebs from the soul. I stare at the sky as if finally believing my thoughts can touch it and touch upon others.  I sit straighter, walk taller and have an intolerance to layers revelling in air on flesh.  I turn on all the lights and let in the music again. I speak with my voice and not just in silences. I'm only lonely.

If only for today, I'm throwing open the windows for who knows when the rain will fall again.

it's always raining in my head....