How do I stop the screaming in my head. For the last 20 minutes its been constant. I despair sometimes, wondering if I’ll ever be alright again. I don’t mean physically, I’ve accepted that’s never going to happen (although accepted is far fetched, grudging acceptance may be closer to the mark). Mentally I feel worse than I do physically, especially today. The day started much like any other; got up, showered, dried my hair, had breakfast etc. I was not working today as I’d booked the day off to be with my husband, at his suggestion. We’ve spent a lot of time recently de-cluttering, what a fucking thankless task that is. Feels more like swirling around in all of your belongings, being reminded of the hopes and dreams you once had, only to find them boxed up at the back of the cupboard with the rest of your sad little life. It’s cold again today and I’ve spent the last hour in bed, out of boredom rather than any other reason. Everything aches, I’ve eaten badly again today. I cannot seem to take care of myself, I get angry with myself for not taking care of myself, for not nurturing myself, for not being kind to myself and then I blame those around for not taking care of me either. I feel in a chicken and egg situation; what came first my mental anguish or my physical breakdown; which one do I attend to first. As I sit writing this my husband is in the background, his mere presence is getting on my nerves, his breathing, his sighing, his inability to fucking understand what is going on with me!!! Yet it’s not his fault. All I can do is fight down the urge to lash out at him, so I ignore him and his breathing and sighing becomes louder and louder. FFS, he’s spent the last few hours in his ‘man-cave’ ignoring me, how can it be that as soon as I get up and move around he’s there asking, pleading “what’s wrong?”, “are you O.K?”. I swear if he asks what’s for dinner I might throw this ruddy computer at him. I am hoping writing this will help release frustration, will settle me down so I can pretend once again everything is OK. I can feel it dissipate a little, I no longer want to kill the man sitting on the sofa behind me. Although I swear if he speaks I may punch his face in. Five more minutes and I’ll be alright. The darkness will have passed and I’ll be back in the the dreary grey area of my life, which is manageable. Five more minutes is all I need…
Fucking hell. I’m going down and I can’t stop it. I feel exhausted, tearful, angry. I’m out of control; the more I try, the more I feel everything getting further away. I’m all alone in this big, shitty world. I feel the dark thoughts descend and the bile rise up. I am angry; disappointed that no-one can see me struggle. No-one can see how desperate I have become. But how can they. I’ve mastered the art of pretence. I also think I’ve mastered the art of turning people off, even though I’ve never tried to. I feel I send out a vibe of desperation which everyone ignores, ‘cos no-one really wants to get involved. It’s too time-consuming, too messy, not their problem. People only want to be around happy, fun people; they don’t have time for other people’s depression, ‘cos they’re just a heartbeat away from their own. The truth is everyone is alone in this shitty world, everyone is desperate and everyone has mastered the art of pretence. God forbid their mask of happiness should fall and we should see behind the pretence. There’d be mayhem!!
I envision a hundred million people out there, typing away on blogs, feeling the same as me. Desperate for a connection, desperate for someone to notice. But while we live in a world with Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, Twitter and a multitude of other distracting social media platforms and apps we will never re-connect in the real world as human beings who need each other, and who need to be noticed. In the meantime we will continue to type, telling our sad little stories of our sad lonely existences, peppered with recipe ideas or dieting tips with the odd photo of our cats and dogs. All the while hoping that someone, somewhere reads it and understands, hoping against hope they will reach out and connect with us through some shared emotion, disease or love of the same thing. Strange thing is, I can’t connect with my husband, who sits upstairs, unless its via email or messaging. I started this blog at his suggestion; he thought it would be good for me to write down my ideas and thoughts about political and world affairs. I started it with that idea in mind, but it has sort of morphed into a whinging journal, an emotional catharsis; a platform to share my pain with the world and to help him (my husband) understand my feelings of desperation (that’s if he continues to read it). When we talk face-to-face we end up fighting, neither of us listening properly, not really understanding what is required from the other; me desperate for his attention, him desperate for mine. Both of us too exhausted, caught up in our own world of depression to really see the other. I’m sure there are millions of couples out there in the same position. I sometimes envy people with children ‘cos they’re too distracted by providing and caring for their kids they probably don’t have time to dwell on their own inadequacies as a person.
Anyway, now that I’ve got that off my chest I’m feeling better; here’s a photo of my cat, Popi. She’s been a bit under the weather recently, but a trip to the vet and a jab of antibiotics and pain killer, hopefully she’ll be back to normal soon.