There is something fundamentally wrong with me, I can only assume. For I do not have broken legs or arms, yet I seem to ache and stumble and fail to articulate in words on a page or screen how I’m feeling, exactly what I mean.
It’s simple, to listen, isn’t it? But I cry from deep within my veins to no avail, I can’t bear to listen to myself so why should I expect to subject another poor soul to my woe and desperation to be heard? What do I want to say, even; because I have cried every day for over a week now and there is no reason for the trickle of salt running down my cheek. Although it may glisten prettily when the sun strikes it just so, I can’t help but feel like these tears are running low, running out, leaving me empty.
I’m going for a stream of consciousness, a stream of anything would be lovely right about now, stringing words to form sentences and make sense of these delusions, illusions and confusing thoughts is taxing indeed. Treat me the same if I were to fall and break my leg? I think not. But why? Something uncontrollable and beyond my measure. Then could you not say that my emotions, my depression and the swamp-like fog mud that entraps my toes has the same effect?
My diet, my sleep, my priorities; they’ve not been perfect and I could’ve tried harder to look after myself, but we don’t, do we, when we’re at the low lows. They stop us seeing over the hedge of reason and logic and make us believe we are incapable of enacting positive, meaningful, long-lasting change in our lives.
I’ve tried all things to cut through to the other side. Exercise, social interaction, pursuing my passions, loving freely, living as best I can. Nothing is strong enough to pierce the foliage, scrape back the dead wood and help me see what lies beyond.
When you look well, when you say yes all the time for fear of passing up opportunities, when you put on a mask and try to ride out the storm; eventually, it all catches up with you. I’ve not been well for a while now and I’ve tried furiously to believe I am well, but the thoughts of ending it all to escape the daily pain are becoming too much of a cross to carry. The ten-tonne duvet isn’t lifting, and I certainly can’t shift it alone.
In the words of Freddie, I want to break free. Free from this mortal coil of constant failure, letting people down, being the guy who always says yes but can never live up to his own standards. It’s too much.
It’s too much and I don’t know what to do anymore.