i lost all my drafts and it feels like I’m gone too
When I get out of bed I don’t think. Any thoughts that aren’t directly related to what I have to do are pushed away. I separate the two halves of my brain, emotion over there, busyness here. I IGNORE my own self, shut it up, close the door, brush it under the carpet. I can’t afford to give time to my thoughts of ‘how am I going to get through today’ or ‘so I woke up again unfortunately’ or any of those destructive, self harming sonnets my head has to expound upon. I wake up every morning with a profound sadness. I want to disappear and when it’s at its worst, when the hold on me is so strong all I can do is become a smaller version of myself… Then, I shrink. And I resist. It’s a physical burden, chaining my concrete feet to the floor. I move but it’s slow and it’s difficult and it’s laborious. Each shuffling step I take is holding me back, weak legs. My body is weighed down. No freedom of movement, slow and steady but still, movement of some kind. I move because I have to, I have stuff to get done for other people, I can’t let them down. They need me. And yet. I don’t want to be here. My every ignored thought takes me down those other roads, where there is peace and no more pain. Where I don’t have to do anything or be anything or have anything or want anything. Where I’m not here, and I’m not sad anymore.
I look forward to the day I don’t mourn my own self. Because this is no life at all
I published them privately here, from way back when the blog was new, before I switched over to this style and site.
I read it, and I realised. I’ve come so far. But in other ways I’ve not travelled at all. Sometimes it’s like we learn and even though we learn and grow and change and move… Some things never change. They stay the same, unmoving, unchanging. And that’s why anxiety is such an utter bastard. That’s why whoever suffers with it, whenever they suffer with it, is instantly transported to a realm of otherness. It’s hateful.