Bed, all I know is bed. I’m weepy and my head is threatening to implode from all the thoughts I am trying to avoid. I watch TV after TV, “Netflix and Existential Dread”, there is no chill. I am so sick of feeling like this! And to think I thought I had grown out of it, gotten over it. Bullshit, because time and time again, I find myself back here. Too scared to follow the thoughts down into the infinite depths of despair and wondering and trying to find answers, but too deep to see the surface. There is no sun sparkling there. There is nothing for me out of this hole, and this is why I fall into it. For today, this is all I know. Misery, a lost cause, no reason to reach around for a foothold out. I live here, in the hole. I live here, and there is no room for anyone else. This is why I have no friends, there is no space for friends in a brain that is miserable. It is a tight space full of huge, unanswerable questions, cluttered with self-pity and emptiness. Full of nothing, because that’s me, nothing.
I have foggy memories of times where I have felt the sun on my skin, where I have felt alive and full of ideas and laughter and plans.
I have felt open where I am now closed.
Movement where I am now stuck.
Space where I am now enclosed.
These times tease me from the other side. “You’re better than this”, they say. I don’t want to be another mentally ill member of society. I grew up afraid of this, my family made it look like it was something to hide. “Don’t ask for help, then they’ll know what you are!” But what am i!?!?!?
I am unable to get out of bed. I am unable to pick up the phone. I am unable to walk the dog. I am unable to go to the shops.
Today I send a message, telling someone I’m not feeling very good. Telling them not to worry, that I didn’t need help, but that I simply needed to tell someone. I don’t want to hide it forever. I need to learn to ask for help. I know I need to talk to someone about it but I need a new mental health plan and THAT means I need to go to the doctors and I HATE going to the doctors. Maybe because my family doctor was a man and I knew to be afraid of men. I am angry that is takes so much courage to ask for help.
I’m scared that I’ll wallow in this forever.
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