A precarious mindset today. A gooey wound that when poked and prodded releases a wave of ache. Never quite heeled and the scar is irresistibly to pick at, stabbing at it in order to release that sense of life. Pain is life. A stark and brutal reminder that I am still feeling though my heart is wrapped under weighted metal, not quiet sure how it’s still beating. It just is, pounding on that rusted enamel. I’m so afraid that it’s going to stop, whilst still wondering if I want it too.
Let’s be candid here, I woke up with one thing on my mind: Death. Both afraid of it and wanting to enact it. That double whammy of disorders working against each other, stripping my personality down to that terrible fiend – fear. That good old cock sucker that would grind their teeth on your genitalia during oral then charge you through said teeth for doing it. I’m a big ball of sorrow and ache today. Rushing through myself and quaking my bones are these thoughts of worthlessness and hopelessness. There’s a sense of finality in air, as though the world is ending or at least my own cells are crumbling to dust, that curtain call and last bow seconds away. No encore this time. Final performances, reviews are in, and I lost.
This is a very morose blog post but there’s a combination of everything. In the past week, I’ve made some harsh decisions and been through personal moments. This past week have seen grander issues strike: people have died, many are dying, and the world tentatively grows more hateful, vengeful, and…lost?
These feelings mean I’m letting little mistakes happen at work and also, because of it all, I’m not connecting to it as I used too. And, trust me, I love it so much. I love what I do, where I am, and hopefully where I’m going but I just cannot connect with it at this moment, buried under self-doubt and also this concern I cannot seem to shake. It’s also a special brand of dick-headed depression that strikes during the summer. You’re meant to be happy during summer but I’m tangled up in layers and layers of black – figuratively and literally.
OH, and because I am going through this, I feel selfish. Like I should put my thoughts on the back-burner and go and help everyone. Save the world and put it first.
Reading this, you probably realised that there is no general topic this week. I had all these ideas that have been lost in this sea of worry, remnants shipwrecked on a shore somewhere I cannot see. There’s little humour here and I apologise if this comes off as whiny like the lonely fucker I am right now.
I want to get some of my deepest emotions on a word so I can objectively tell them to fuck off; sat sweating in a train station at Northampton flipping off at my laptop. Not only that but I wanted to say some words to you, the small collective of people who read these words. I wanted to tell you that I love you.
I realise that a lot of people who read this may be feeling exactly the same way. Hard to collate their thoughts and emotions, this sudden disposition from everything in the world. There is a lot of trouble, brewing in the unbelievable heat of summer. People are dying for no reason at all – picked off my anger, rage, greed, and hate. There is a lot of mourning, people are unsure how to carry on or are, in a very British manner, carrying on but overcome by their depression and mental illness. It’s intrepid and tentative. It’s awful and appalling. But it’s OK to admit you are feeling this way.
All I can tell you is that you are not alone. You absolutely valid to feel this way. You can curve away from it and wake up alive the next day. You are not selfish for asking for help. You are not unloved for needing to sort your mental illness out.
Most importantly, this does not define you. You brain is your enemy but it is not you. You are love and you are loved.
The blues play sad melodies but those songs do not last forever.