...there's a dark dark room

I try, where possible, to cover my real tracks with a veneer of humour but there are moments when I don't have the energy to lift my head, let alone raise a rueful smile. Today is one such day. I could do like the British woman I am and hide until this dark mood passes or I can do like the writer of a blog that has most recently been used to document my life with the Black dog and tell all.

Breaths in.



Last night I sobbed so much I vomited. Twice. Full body shaking sobs. Crawling along the floor in an attempt to find a way out of the over powering emotion, the sense of loneliness, despair and failure. What triggered it? A combination of PMT, four weeks without my counsellor (at an end on Wed, thank Goodness), contact with a man who made me feel the ripping loneliness of the fact that despite being nothing but an open book throughout all my adult relationships, not one man has bothered to take the time to read the pages and the descending feeling that I am not worth reading. I fear that after four weeks without the steadying hand of my counsellor, I have just had what we would describe as a wobble.

So in the cold light of the next day I realise that this deep, deep insecurity I feel is both irrational and harmful and I can applaud myself for the fact that after weeks of hard work and years of turmoil, I can at least recognise it for what it is. I know where it's roots lie, I can see how I personally have fed and watered it and how I let the thing grow into a strangling weed by dating a man so damaged that he could do nothing but push me away and confirm all my fears that I am not good enough. Which is total bollocks. My brain knows this. My brain is in fact pointing and laughing at the little girl hiding inside my chest, curled up like a ball in fear. My brain has very little time for the drama Queen hysterics of the little girl who hates herself. My brain is in fact very very intolerant. My brain hates the ridiculous, likes to be in control and demands to understand every single aspect of the World around it. It absolutely hates uncertainty and needs to find a solution to every problem.

This is the biggest rub because in fact when it comes to human emotions and behaviours, one can never be all-knowing. We are, by our very nature, changeable. This is where my brain joins the little girl in my chest and gets hysterical. If it cannot understand something or fix something it goes off into hyper activity. It searches EVERYTHING for an answer. Talks to itself. Keeps itself awake. Refuses to let things lie for one tiny second and causes the scared little girl hiding in that ball to scream and scream and scream until she would like to rip herself out of the chest she finds herself beating against and throw herself off a cliff.

Now of course, my brain really laughs at her when she gets that dramatic and tells her to calm down and stop being ridiculous. Then it let's her wear herself out until she near enough falls asleep. Of course I say near enough because sleep will never come. My brain will not allow it. Or, it will allow it and introduce nightmares so horrifying my body, no matter how exhausted will use every last ounce of energy to pull itself awake. Only to find itself blinking into the darkness, scared of every shadow.

It's not fun, it's not funny and it's exhausting. And I have been embroiled in this battle full time for over two years. Now, let's not despair, last night's hysterics and today's inevitable sobbing hang over (which for the record leaves one feeling bruised in the chest, open like a wound, very bunged up and with eyes that look like they have been in a fight with a hay fever fairy) are in fact, nowadays rare. Which of course makes them all the more terrifying. Because I have been getting better. I have been allowed to live like a normal person for most of the last four weeks. Planning, carrying out chores, socialising, writing, reading, gardening, working and imagining life in the future. So when I descend into the madness of the disease for one evening, it's full force is more terrifyingly felt and although I know that feeling will pass and the road to recovery is once again just a side step to my left, it always leaves me feeling the vulnerability of this chemical imbalance and that in turn makes me want to tell the World all about it. Because I am not alone. More of you than care to admit it, join me on this journey. And those dark moments when we find ourselves tangled on the floor sobbing so much we make ourselves vomit, all consumed by the loneliness of the emotion we should remember that someone, somewhere feels the same way that we do. We are not alone. 

Which ultimately is why I chose to write this particular piece, knowing that for those who have never ploughed these depths and those who love and care for me, this will be a terrifying read. It's a terrifying feeling but thankfully, so far, it passes and passes ever more quickly as time goes on. For those who have ploughed these depths and know this feeling, I am with you, it will pass and you will get your life back as long as you never give up.