Muscle Memory

Muscle memory- wake up, get dressed, drive to work. Approx half way through the journey to work the two cans of sugar free energy drink and 3 no doze tablets secretly ingested start to kick in and you wake up and wonder what the hell you are doing here, again. You swear today won’t be like yesterday, set yourself new rules, new dates, new rituals. Get to work, today is like yesterday, new rules broken, dates become meaningless, old rituals take over as though you are out of your own body simply watching you find yourself walking powerlessly through the same old destructive pattern. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance?

Rinse, repeat.

Each day your will grows weaker, your resolve is dying, it’s too hard now, it’s too late.

The drugs that were supposed to take away the beast and set me free have taken away the beauty too. You are gone and I’m on my own, flying blind.

Stockholm syndrome.

We were too bonded, the love I had for my captor too strong. When something has become such a very big part of you, you can’t just take it away – it was the only part of you that made sense, the one that took the lead, made the decisions and…. I suppose you were the dominator. I was the submissive, I lost my voice and spoke for me when I could not. Although you caused me such terrible pain and hurt me so badly, I felt loved by you, safe.

Now my heart is broken, wounds too deep my soul disconnected and bailed out before I did. Too late for this, better things to do.

My eyes water constantly from the smoke screen I am trying to hold up, I will soon drown in the pool from these tears. Finally a chance to quietly slip away.

Summer Car

I like sitting in the car in the middle of summer, It’s nice to be alone in my own space. A place I can cry without being seen, it’s like I have my own invisible force field protecting me. There is also something really comforting about the heat, it’s like a warm if not slightly sufforcating hug.

Perhaps it’s in the knowledge that if I sat here long enough the heat could swallow me up forever.

 

Two days, two moods, two options, too hard to choose.

I wish I could drag a blade across my flesh and watch the blood run down my arm. Let all the sins and sadness seep slowly from my wrists and pool upon the floor.

Forbidden wishes are usually only denied because they frighten the naive – similar to people who were enslaved because they were not understood, I wont be held against my will so I am instead chained within my own shell. Please release me, set me free.

Be careful what you wish for...

I like to think that im not generally a violent person.

Well not towards others anyway.

There are very few people in this world that I have truly wished bodily harm upon – in fact there is pretty much only one. One person whom I honestly have contemplated taking a hit out on, lucky for the person in question I have never had the money or the means to do more that wish him harm with all my might.

This morning I got a text message informing me that he was in ICU in hospital on life support. I had this immediate rush of emotions that made me shiver deep into my core. It had actually happened.

I suddenly felt guilty for feeling so deeply… well I don’t even know… maybe a combination of extatic joy, excitement, disbelief and sudden sadness for the 11yr old daughter he has caused so much emotional pain to – she was already feeling guilty and conflicted about her increasing dislike of her own dad as she had grown older she was becoming more aware of the narcissistic games he would play against her mother hurting his own child along the way, her emotions just collateral damage.

I wondered what she was making of it, I worried that she would be blaming herself in the way an 11yr old will when something bad happens to someone they hate. She, such an emotional child already, so very at risk for developing long term psychological scars, she the talented young lady I had watched grow from a newborn baby into an independent thinking intelligent young women.

I hate to see her hurting, I am fiercely proud of her accomplishments as though she was my own child. I think of her like a neice and her mother, my best friend, like a sister.

I still sit here typing, despite the guilt I am still so desperately hoping that he never regains consciousness. I don’t wish him any pain, despite the amount he has caused others, but just to gently slip away to a place where he can no longer hurt anyone, I think particularly his younger daughter who has not yet reached an age where she can be permanently affected by him – While I know she will be saddened forever to not know her dad, the loss of a parent is a terrible cross to bear. But the reality is that she is the winner in all of this, only remembering her father through photographs and the kind words of strangers – after all, nobody speaks ill of the dead.

Hypocrite

I seem to be spending an awful lot of time at work referring suicidal ppl to social workers, telling them how we will help them and that they are amazing just for trying.

Fuck I’m full of it, I hear the words come out of my mouth and I want to throw up a little. As a bystander I have to assume that these ppl don’t want to die, that they just need help. Doing this makes me realise that that is the same for the ppl that try to ‘help’ me – they don’t understand how well thought out my actions are, that it is more than a freak out to a situation.

Currently trying to come up with a decently practiced argument to support my decision, one that ppl will realise is my actual thought out choice, not something thrown upon me by a devilish mental illness hell bent on destroying me. Really, if we spent less time stopping ppl killing themselves we would be breeding a stronger race ;-)

I suppose I have become an accidental non practising Buddhist – I have hit nirvana and have no further business here, I’m impatient to become one with the earth again. Every day that I live is so fake – going through the motions – I don’t really see any benefit in it at all, I am done, quest complete. The date I was aiming for isn’t going to work unfortunately, the substitute date is the last possible option – I suppose that makes sense really, of course it is – whatever the date is it will be the last option, cause there are no more options once you’re dead LOL.

Just like the object you are looking for is always in the last place you look!

Beginnings, Endings and the Beginning of the End

I wander around the world now as a vague reflection of my former self. I know what my ideals were, I understand their importance and while I still regret nothing, I also feel nothing.

The drugs they gave me to cease my bodies natural ebb and flow have now rendered me numb. Apparently this is the perfect place to be, ‘normal’ or so they say.

I couldn’t imagine always wanting to live a ‘normal’ life, void of divine spirituality and completed sense of self. Never experiencing the intensity of pure fun, joy and excitement mixed with the energy of a thousand four year olds.

Nor however, could I believe in a world without the extreme sense of despair and hopelessness that comes from unchangeable circumstances or being racked with guilt over something real or perceived or often, no reason at all other than to remind you to appreciate the times of experiencing vivid life and self-awareness.

One thing I have been thankful for not experiencing was the ‘voices’ so many people speak of intruding into their minds and scaring them into psychosis.

At least I thought that I hadn’t, until I stopped taking the antipsychotic they put me on. Suddenly I have music playing around me, as though a string quartet or an orchestra is warming up or playing in the distance, it’s faint and somewhat beautiful, but it’s there, where it wasn’t before.

I also hear a voice coming back, an intrusive voice that I had always attributed to a pattern of self-thought and not an entity of its own – the voice from my eating disorder, the one that keeps me in line, that reminds me of my youth in an encouraging, scornful and often violent manner.

I had barely noticed it had gone missing recently– too much other stuff going on, but God, the binging. The binging that has reached critical levels – levels I may never be able to return from. I was inadvertently watching myself from the outside and wondering how the fuck I was letting this happen, the auto pilot on button stuck like glue.

The dirty little secret is that I want this voice to come back. I need it to come back. I must be held accountable for my actions and this is the only way I think it will be possible. I need to look upon the criticism and judgement as constructive, a challenge and a God to be obeyed at all costs. The depression that comes from living with the voice is nothing compared to the dire pit of hell that stem from the consequences of a world of silence and dirty normality.

I would rather let the voice take me over and let my new found lack of fear be my final undoing. Since the overdose I no longer feel frightened of pain or death at all. Not even a tiny twinge of concern or fear of future regret. I think that after taking the pills and feeling completely at peace with it even several hours later reassured me that it was the right course of action, I chose my fete and now I am but a mere ghost caught between worlds but able to interact, just waiting for my time to come so I can move on to where I am supposed to be.

The trouble is I am impatient, I don’t like waiting and I don’t want to wait now. I wonder if patience could in fact my life lesson this time around. God knows I breezed through the usual trials and tribulations that one must master so quickly that I must have learned them before. I completed what I came to do but if that is in fact my life lesson (and possibly acceptance – which I have for almost everything) I must learn it and not end my human existence by my own hand or I will simply have to do it all over again. I just want to move on, I am READY to move on.

The School Of Life

We all spend hours, days sometimes weeks pondering the meaning of life, finding the point of it all, I mean surely there is a point to it all, right? The trouble is while we look for the meaning of life we are constantly focusing on all the negative aspects such as Aunt Joan died of cancer, why? What was God/Allah/Buddah’s plan? When we focus on the worst parts we are turning a blind eye to the many good things that occurred before this event. One might say that so many people were devastated by Aunt Joans death that the funeral was packed – rather than thinking how wonderful it was to have an opportunity to share a part of their life with a wonderful person like Joan who had clearly touched so many peoples lives.

The meaning of life isn’t about the great plan from a higher being, it is actually very simple:

It is to simply live. No different to the ants or the sunflowers we are here to live, just that we as humans are lucky enough to have free will over our decisions and surroundings, intelligent enough to influence the world around us and emotional enough to love, laugh and cry.

That thing you are doing when you are not asking ‘why?’ the thing you do unconsciously every day. That, is living and that IS the point to it all. When you are looking at the negatives, you are blinding yourself to the reality of what you have, the positives that are all around you and the lessons you are able to learn and the fun to be had in Earths playground it is the school of life.

You only get one shot at this life, make the most of it until your lessons are learned, then retire to pasture or wave farewell with dignity.

They look at me...

They look at me, judgingly and then they ask "why?" What the hell is so wrong with your world? And it’s a hard question to answer, well perhaps it’s actually very easy to answer – There is nothing wrong with my world. Its picture perfect actually, the only thing that is wrong, is, well me.

You see the thing is that I have become a ghost, just a ghost that everybody sees… and I cant go on haunting myself forever – and I will, because I am the unintended master of self sabotage.

My head is fuzzy from the exhaustion of living, eyes too heavy to lift. The drugs only a mast to the outside world so perfectly fake that although I know the watchers are always watching, nobody really sees what is hidden beneath.

If I could have convinced myself, things may have changed but now my workds are the only relics left from the invisible demons of my mind. Demons so consuming and buried so deep within that nobody could ever find them.

If you’ll excuse me know, I need to go and put some music on. These lyrics in my head are killing me even faster than before. Although, perhaps there is time for one last cup of tea before I lay back on the cool earth and let the sun go down around me. After all, the only real proof of life having even existed at all is in the memories of its time and the wallowing of its death.

Terminal Mind

I see depression as a terminal illness, responding to treatment for a time, but for many it inevitably comes back more aggressive than ever. The cycle continuing, drug after drug until eventually one day the medications will stop working altogether and quite understandably, one simply loses the will to fight any longer.

Don’t ask me to be ok, I can’t and knowing that only makes it harder.

After struggling with general existence for so long, the thought of suicide becomes so ingrained in your being that it’s not even a thought in it’s own right anymore, but as unconscious as taking a breath of air.

For such a long time, dates are important. Timing, is important – not too close to a birthday/anniversary/special holiday etc. Then eventually you realise that there is never going to be a good time. Much like having a baby there is always a reason to put it off even though your heart aches for it so. One day you will find that the pieces simply fall together at just the right moment and you will take the plunge. And much like making a baby, once the deed is done there is no going back, it is done forever.

As I write these words I have a sense of guilt. I feel like I should be offering my readers some sort of happily ever after, a traditional phoenix from the ashes story.

Sadly, much like Lithium the truth can be a bitter pill to swallow. There is no happy ending here, It always was and always will be a roller coaster ride. The best I can offer is a retelling of the lessons I learned throughout my journey.

The highs are like buying cocaine that you can’t really afford. It’s so damn irrisitable but there is a terrible price you will have to pay later, one way or another.

…and the siren song of Mania lures me in deeper still. Now I am standing at the crossroads, I can still make a choice but of course, I already know that I will choose the path in the wrong direction. It’s impossible to say no as you feel the clarity wash over you, nothing matters now anyway, after all you have a world to conquer. Places to go, people to see! The consequences? Laters’ problem.

 

………….After all, we cant sue god because the world didn’t come with a trigger warning.