There’s the feeling of oh no, of not again, why? and what did I do wrong?
And there’s the fear of what’s to come. Will it be a short drop or the long plunge? Will it be apathy or despair? Will it last a few days, a few weeks, months or years? And always the terror of the worst of times where slicing into flesh and swallowing fistfuls of pills becomes the norm.
This time last week, I thought I had it beaten. A few weeks of freedom were behind me and I felt like I was emerging from years of enforced disguise. No tears, a lightness returning, hope at last. Now I’m back where I started and fearful of what’s to come. I’ve been battling it for a few days now, thinking I might beat it, thinking I was stronger now but today I’ve accepted the latest fall. Now I sit, uncomfortable and uneasy. The tears are flowing again for no reason. My body aches and I can’t settle. I feel like I need to step out of my body and run far away from my mind. A low level panic hovers and dissatisfaction consumes.
I crave to be alone now, not stuck in a tiny flat with two other people that I hardly know. I want to sleep until this passes again and I get a few more days or weeks of respite but wakefulness drags ahead into the distance, offering no comfort and no escape.
I’ll go back to bed now. I’ll stare at a screen and not take it in. I’ll try and distract myself with mindless games, swapping coloured shapes for no discernable reason. I’ll try and learn from previous mistakes and I’ll get ready to put the normal mask on once again.