Monday, December 26, 2016

Little demon

The exquisite pain of a grief captured inside the ribcage, as a child becoming an adult, it grows with the host, an animal in a small space.

Sneaking into the front room to pick up one of the babies, mum stampeding in, burning white hot. Then I knew I was not to be trusted to hold the babies, to love them, to keep them safe.


Baby basket, white lace and a tranquil room, twins newly minted. Unsplit silence, something for her new husband to love. my brother and I were not to be loved, I could only conform and curry favour, gain praise for being good, but that spluttering flame of anger and fury would come from nowhere when I was bad or was wrongfully accused of wrongdoing. She saw an evil in me who would perform acts of mischief and spite without my knowledge, a demon shadow. It stoked up an anger, an outrage at being so condemned.

I’ve felt the loss over and over, the pain, the inadequacy, the clandestine visits at their grandparents house and the knowledge that I was only causing trouble by turning up there, an imposter in an innocent world which didn’t want me; my heart, as it was, filled with darkness.

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Worthlessness

I wish you could take a pill for self esteem or a pill that gets rid of shame. I am so sick of feeling worthless, I have missed out on so much because I didn't think I was good enough, spending time with friends, doing exciting things. I've run away from so much. I want to do things but I'm scared that I'll decide I'm not good enough and run away, so then it becomes this fucking meta-fear of fear or lack of belief in believing in myself.

I had a shameful thought/memory come up on the way home from training and it felt so paralysing and awful and I didn't know how to get away from it or how to deal with it or how it would ever go away. And now a few minutes later I can't even remember what it was. 

Friday, December 23, 2016

Functional nouns

I’m 30 and I’ve had depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember. I’m never sure whether I like to refer to it in those terms - nouns, diseases, discrete afflictions that can be separated from the self. Illnesses that can be treated, put to one side and removed from the core personality. I am chronically unhappy, uneasy, uncomfortable in my skin, and why should I take up any space if I can’t feel at ease, pouring dissatisfaction into the world, itching and scratching at my existence and calling out to be soothed by people who can’t help me? I am exasperating. 


I’ve been asking for help since I was 14, because I felt like I wanted to die and got through emotional pain with self harm, alcohol and drugs, starving myself, binging and purging. I’ve been prescribed 7 antidepressants which seem to help at first before I crash and burn and destroy whatever I’ve been working for. Bouts of counselling where I seem to do well, I have so much insight, but insight doesn’t change things in the long run, not on its own. I feel the exasperation of professionals assigned to my care. I fall into a gutter where I function too well to be in crisis.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Automatic Writing

I didn’t really get up early enough for automatic writing. I woke up with my heart fluttering in my chest again and took a beta blocker before going back to bed for a little while. The quetiapine is giving me palpitations - my heart rate is slow enough but it feels like it’s beating strangely, too strong in my chest and not quite regular. J. is in the shower, very hot the way he likes it, and long. I need to make myself have a shower this morning, his parents are coming over to help with the house. I don’t feel like hosting, telling them what we need help with, being dressed and presentable. 

I’m feeling alone, nothing I do matters and I have these images in my head of people who know me, their indifference. Maybe I need to find a way to be comfortable with my own mediocrity, with periods of not doing anything special, so I’m not constantly doing everything I can to avoid the emptiness, to pour anaesthetic on the pain. But I’ve been doing nothing for long enough, it feels like. I suppose that feeling is symptomatic.

Thursday, December 8, 2016

Automatic Writing

Waves of dread keep coming over me as I lie in bed, waking up, finding the room in semi-darkness, wanting to be asleep, my heart tips over, I try to go back to sleep. I know it’s late, I want to rest today, I feel guilty for lying in and going back to sleep. My throat is dry and prickly. I don’t know what to do with myself today. It’s nearly 12 by the time I  give in and haul myself out of bed, deposit myself in front of my laptop. ‘Don’t let your wife know about this game!’, a ridiculous banner ad shrieks. I’m dehydrated. Strange dreams linger like wraiths. I hear the rats protesting to each other, tugging cheerfully on their water bottles, digging around the cage for treats. Birds sing faintly from behind a roller blind; I’m waiting for my heart to settle down, having woken in a mild panic each time I open my eyes. I’d like to wake in a good mood, please - not thirsty, panicky and full of dread. Birds trill quietly. I should probably exercise when I wake up; go for a brisk walk, do some star jumps, yoga. I stretch my neck a little instead and write whatever comes into my head, which isn’t much. Whining - what you see here.