Thursday, June 5, 2014

My Life Is Perfect

Beautiful wife, a son who is my everything, a beautiful house with two cars in the drive way, and the job I always dreamed of. Yet today, I wake up with a feeling of complete impending doom.Why? People can’t understand what I have to be depressed about, neither can I?

A pressure builds inside me like a pressure cooker that never releases or blows off steam. Thoughts run absolutely wildly out of control. 
Most people can scream or shout and release, but not me; I leave it inside burning me slowly from the inside to out. I sit at work with ear phones in my ears, they play no music, but I hope they will stop anyone talking to me because I just can’t bear it. Every one is against me, every action they take is a move to quicken my exit or so I think. 

All this paranoia is killing me slowly as the pressure builds and all I want to do is burst into tears or scream, but I can’t: I’m stuck on the edge or such horrendous darkness. For the last two years, I thought I had it licked, no meds, no CBT, I’m fixed! 

I’m not really Bi polar, that's just a tag some doctor decided to give me; o
h, how wrong you were. I hid my troubles when I started the new job and the elation of the new job and new friends carried me through and spells of great mania made me look amazing to my new colleagues. I was the life and sole of every party, the complete exhibitionist and I brushed off the periods of depression as a few bad days. 

But really all that has happened is that I have spiralled uncontrollably out of control. I trusted people with my secret who used it to their own ends. They used my moments of brilliance to aid their efforts and when it all fell apart, I was shipped out of the team. Gone. Oh, he is burnt out. Sure thanks. Rejection by someone you trust as a Bipolar person is so hard to take and so hard to get over. You confide and they burn you. Is over trusting a Bipolar thing too? 

I know I'll be the most fun loving person at the Christmas party. I’ll dance with everyone, no wait, oh no, I’ve gone too far…. Oh the shame. Why do I do these things? The guilt, the shame I feel for weeks is always so bad. 
And so it comes out, the secret I tried so hard to keep for fear of my progression being stopped. I break down in front of my new manager, great start! Time to let it out. For 5 years, only people I really trusted knew of my diagnosis and the secret was killing me. 

Two days ago I posted an out of sorts on Facebook, a link to a Bipolar Speaks blog “Misunderstood” saying this is me, please read. I don’t want your sympathy - just your understanding. Five people came to me, five! These are friends, not the ones who ran away, not the manager who told me keep my bipolar a secret then jettisoned me from his team when I went to him for help. 
The doom is still here, but today, I start to rebuild, there is no longer a secret, I am me. 

I care deeply for my friends and will do anything for them, I am sincere in helping people and I will never change that is me. Bipolar is something I deal with it is not me. Letting out my secret I hope will release me, more understanding from my friends and being able to ask for help without the worry of my dark secret slipping out. Well its out there on my terms now. You have nothing over me anymore Bipolar.


Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Sit By Me

Sit by me at work and break down my work into chunks. Set me deadlines of 2 hours of work to do at a time and look at the work. Tell me if I am doing well, or not.

Listen to all the most fantastic ideas I have for making work easier, how it should be run and get the powers that be to implement them, but don't make me responsible for running the program: although I come across as articulate and organised, I'm not!

Tell me when to stop training at the gym, don't let me over do it. Tell me how much I should be doing
Be there when I start to lose my temper - especially with my ex. I might well hit someone. Translate meanings of what people say to me. Am I the only one who has no idea what's being said, yet I use the language myself. What does it mean when they say these things?

You'll just have to put up with the incessant questions about people. Help me get the right reaction to situations. I've really no idea. Help me get to sleep or allow me to sleep when I need to. Be with me - most of the time. I hate being alone.

Make me do a hobby instead of working all the time. Watch TV with me and laugh with me. That'd be great. Allow me to cook and serve you.:I'm a great host and I like to make people happy. Challenge me to follow you walking up a mountain or cycling across the UK. I'd do it! But my body is so knackered from over training. That won't stop me.

Give me a sedative when I really need it. Provide a stable income so I don't feel pressured to work. Love me and make sure  know it . I would love you back so much more. Talk to me. Tell me about how you feel about things, so I can gauge my own feelings.

Tell me not to be so hard on myself. Make sure I can get medical advice the same day as I need it. Don't talk to me when I say I don't want to talk. Encourage me to get out and walk the dog - when the moods bad - if you can.

I hope others can relate to this. I just quickly wrote this list as I'm feeling mixed tonight. Oh..and please please comment!


Sunday, February 17, 2013

Just Another Deranged Dreamer

If I were ever to be diagnosed, I think Bipolar is most likely, although after explaining things to my mum and doing some research, Schizo-affective is another possibility. I think at least three other members of my family are Bipolar.

Anyway, for the sake of explanation, I’ll simply refer to it as my illness. I’ve often struggled with the idea of having an illness. Do I or don’t I? But given the effect it’s had on my life, my mind, the people around me, I have come to the conclusion that it is an illness. It’s not something I can just click my fingers and be rid of, and I’m not sure I would, even if I could. 

I’ve known all my life that something wasn’t right. As far back as I can remember, I’ve had these - I guess you could call them Waking Nightmares. The things I see in my head, they’re awful. I’ve also struggled with an abnormal relationship with food, depression and an addiction to self harm. I believe that I am a boy’s spirit trapped in this body (not necessarily because my real body is dead…perhaps I am having a prolonged out of body experience, although I think it’s more like an out of reality experience. 

When I wrote the first draft of this, it was mostly a mini bio – things that messed up my past. But I didn’t want that to be my story. Again, it’s always my story. The problem is, if you have an illness but you also have a traumatic past, everyone focuses on your past. Oh, you poor dear, that must have been so awful. But I’d still be fucking my life up even if that past hadn’t happened because I always had this inside of me, even before everything went wrong. 

The constant feeling of being watched, the disconnected feeling from life, from this body. I was self harming before I knew what self harm was. Yeah, my past was awful. I think it’s fairly safe to say that there are certain events in my past that have traumatised me. But that’s not all there is to it. This illness was inside of me before any of that happened. It’s as much a part of me as my phobia of spiders or my sarky sense of humour. 

Sometimes it’s not so bad – I’ll get this really elated feeling and I can do anything I want and have such important things to do. My life is like an hour glass. I’m high, the top is full of sand. But slowly the sand dribbles out and I go with it, get lower and lower until the top is empty. And I stew in this emptiness. I rot. And then the hourglass suddenly flips over and I’m high again. But inevitably, the sand begins to fall and it repeats and repeats. 

I’ve read many accounts on what other people think of their illness. Several said it was like cancer, only it can’t be seen. I think this is very true. It would be so much easier if there was a twin of myself beating the shit into me every day so that I could show people the bruises, the physical EVIDENCE. There. That’s why I can’t take it. That’s why I can’t do this. That is why I lie in bed but can’t sleep and it hurts to even talk.

It would take a very long time to explain my illness, if that were even possible. I fight with many demons, every moment of every day. I still don’t know who’s going to win this war. All I know is the void in me is getting bigger. I’m calm in the way that death is calm, not in the way peace is. And that’s a tiny scratch on my story.


Wednesday, January 23, 2013


Bipolar. It’s a horrible word to describe yourself as, especially when you're paranoid. It feels like I’ve created myself a nice label because I wanted an excuse. I'm ashamed to be it. Sometimes I refuse to believe that I am, but I KNOW I am. Definitely. When I get feeds on my phone through the web about bipolar, I read about it and I can relate to most things written by bipolar people.

Although, I’ve never let my life go to rat shit, always afforded the huge amounts of impulsive buying I've done and pretty much got some understanding friends who have put up with me, although some run away when I need help. And I have lost a lot of friends.

I think most people in general have no idea because I’ve been lucky and kept my head above water. Bills are paid and I can dress myself properly and I’ve (only just) kept a job. I'd be unemployed if I had a real job, although they might be able to see past the hiccups because of my brilliant moments.

I can’t expect friends to understand, just because they’ve had depression. They never understand that when I’m up and taking the kids to school, shopping etc that I'm suffering. I hide it well; I know I do as my life seems to the average person, pretty much sorted but my head isn’t. I have to sit and write this to try and get things straight. It’s like a self justification to explain to myself why I'm so shit at things, sometimes. I suppose at the moment I'm seeing the worse side. I suppose that's why I'm writing. Don't write when we're high do we, too busy sorting the world out. 

Life’s so hard. It seems simple enough but why can’t I live it without anxiety and thoughts! That fucks it all up. The thing is my mood could be in two phases, I could be massively depressed like I am now, but I can still laugh, be ‘me’ for friends. But I’m confused and I could burst into tears at any minute it’s so sad. 

Sometimes, I’m so depressed I hate the world. It makes me feels so sick. I hate my life and I really cannot be polite. That is awful as I cant even pick myself up, I hate that. It doesn’t last long though and sometimes it will only take a sentence from someone, or a TV programme. I don’t know. I feel so depressed. I can switch between mornings to afternoon. No-one has any idea.

From one bipolar person to another, we can empathize yet each of our experiences are different but with common themes. Not even I can accept that I’m impatient, speaking too much/too quickly/too loudly, overspending, acting like a total exhibitionist then feeling desperately ashamed after, impulsive sexual behaviour, indulging in dangerous and risky activities, being so under confident and shy, paranoid, then sooo so very confident.

I have racing thoughts, think I’m so special, feeling ‘on a mission’, have to get things right, want to concentrate on one thing, want to finish one thing! I get so tired of trying to explain, it's so much more than just feeling 'up and down.' These things are genuine, they are there ALL the time! My true personality, the bit that isn’t bipolar is my care for people and my absolute genuine honesty and commitment to try my best, especially for my kids. I do love everybody, trust everybody sometimes ending up being naive and get hurt...or that a bipolar thing too?


Wednesday, April 25, 2012


I’m doing well, I’ve got things to do and results to get. Ive got a lot going on, all good. I need some help badly cos I can't handle it.
I’m so excited. I dunno if excited is the right word. I have adrenaline in me all the time, makes me feel sick. I’m tense and nervous. I can’t concentrate. I’m all over the place, wanting to do this and that. I’m doing work at home and I’m wanting everything perfect so that we’ve all got something to do. I won’t let go of things in my head. I remember EVERYTHING!
It’s too much to bear. I can’t even watch a programme related to the things I need to do. I can’t watch top gear or wheeler dealers because I want to do those things. It stirs up so much emotion in me. I can’t watch Apprentice cos I want to do it. I record things and can’t watch because it will make me ill. Does anyone else feel like this?
I do occasionally feel satisfied. When I’ve worked hard all day, done lots and really ache and hurt from it. Then I’m happy. Even then, it’s got to be seen and approved of by someone. When I’m doing these things, like painting I’m always thinking how I could help do this for others. How I could be such a good wife/girlfriend for someone, they would really want me if they knew. Hubby is never here to approve or help.
I want to be cared for so badly it’s affecting my every thought. Even though I have love I need more so badly that it’s not allowing proper thoughts to come through.  I want the support so bad. It wouldn’t even take much, just a few words of reason, words to let me know I’m doing OK, that I’m still good or if I’m not. 

What I’m doing wrong? How to stop it. Help me with techniques. Help me to see things rationally. Spend a little time with me. Not much. Help me put things in order of priority and tell me to get on with it. These are the things I struggle with. Someone’s got to care, how can they not?  Is it cos I care too much for others? Because if I could help someone like this, I’d jump to do it. Only cos I recognize how easy it is to fall into a trap in your mind.
Odd thoughts. They keep me from leading a normal life. 


Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Daily Struggle

Each and everyday I battle with depression and everyday I try to conquer it and overcome it. I am exhausted and tired. I have my good days and I try to embrace them, but I find myself falling into that black hole and it sucks the life out of me.

It's a daily struggle to go to work, clean my house, take care of my kids, and be the friend and wife everyone wants me to be. At times, I feel very alone. My husband has supported my ups and downs but pressures me about working; to continue to work even though I am going through what I am going through. I have reached a point in my life where I feel I am not being true to myself. Where do you draw the line when it comes to depression?

I have to honestly say that no one really knows what I battle with. I put up a good front in the *outside world.* I am kind and well balanced outside but I am suffering inside. Sometimes, I break. I can only take so much and then I crash. All my mental anguish affects me physically. I cannot sleep, I cannot breathe sometimes, and I have done everything in my power to change, to heal, and at times, nothing works.

It's a daily struggle. Did I say that? I look tired when everyone tells me that I look great. My eyes are puffy from crying and lack of sleep. Sometimes, I feel like the only peace I get is being home and away from the outside world.

No one gets me. No one understands. This is not self-pity. This is simply my reality. I cannot stand smiling faces as everyone walks around as if they are so happy. People put their family photos on facebook as if they have the perfect life. I feel that the world is fake and I am stuck in this Disney Fantasy Movie!


Saturday, October 22, 2011

Welcome Back

So here I am again, un-dead. Once again, I’m not entirely sure what stopped me, only that it was a forced denial of my preference. Go to sleep. Don’t do this to your children. Don’t do it to your parents. Don’t make someone find you in a situation that they aren’t comfortable with, and will be traumatised by, whether they be a stranger or not, their lives, irrevocably will be changed by unexpected closeness to emotional violence.

I often wonder whether a bipolar diagnosis suffers the same extremity of emotion as every other person, the only difference being they are less capable of controlling where it takes them. There is a clear extremity of emotion attributed to being “bipolar," but is that due to the extremity of the emotion itself or the ability to control its level of descent or ascent.

In my career as professional ear to anyone I have ever met, the stories are repeatedly dark. The exterior of a person is very quickly shattered in a midnight conversation. The magnificent, beautiful girl that sometimes can’t leave the house because the pressure to be aesthetically revered is sometimes too great even for her to bear. The illustrious corporate leader whom entire companies aspire to be and cower beneath their ruthless force for profit are often as insecure as the mail boy. The differences being an extraordinary intelligence and irreverent capacity to hide fear. They still have it. They still wonder if the perpetual sycophantic musings are believable. No matter how powerful they seem, they still wonder, still feel unsure.

Mothers who are the envy of all others, the gentle, nurturing soul with the perfectly dressed, perfectly behaved children who excel in all areas and seem perfectly grounded in their soaring mansion landscape grounds with the tennis court and the pool and the helicopter pad and exquisitely crafted interior design... except she watches for the clock to hit 5 every day so she can have a glass of wine, aches for the minutes to pass, and when they do, she has 8. But that’s acceptable, to her, by then, it’s how she justifies her perfectionism.

Struggling is merely a catalyst. Only a symptom, toward the production of clarity. Evolution decrees that learnings must be gained. Elite athletes continue to shatter records, despite the seemingly impossible feat of the previous one, and so it seems does the human mind. But where if ever does the struggle stop? With the onset of perfection? But perfection is unobtainable, surely, in the face of historical evidence where we continue to improve upon nirvana day by day the goal is an endlessly moving object that naturally redefines itself as the perception of perfection is twisted by humanistic trends and beliefs and pop culture.

For me, the complete absence of nirvana has cultivated my loss of interest in life’s lessons. If the people I meet who are the alphas of their genre, the envy of their peers and the inspiration for the future – if they are torturously wounded souls then hope is somehow redundant. If pretty has too much pressure, and power too much uncertainty, and wealth too much hate for generosity, then where is the place...for hope. And not just selfish hope, but hope for children borne from your make-up, borne of your blood, and soul... and scarily mind.

Children are an unfinished replica, a malleable version of self, and with that comes the certain reminiscence of youth and mistakes of yore which if misunderstood can be quickly masticated into unwarranted blame, onto an innocent child, who then has no choice but to re-enact a prophecy of learned behavior for the sake of a parents “I told you so” indulgent maze. And even the most learned of parents who have a hands-in-the-air approach to influence, can’t be so unaffected by the mirror image of a soul in the identical eye or nose, or hand or eyebrow of their offspring.

Nature’s purpose for the likeness of child to parent cannot go unfathomed, ritualistically, in the search for the perfect human, they need traits to continue, lest a human with a single perfect trait, meet their demise without passing that single trait down to meet the perfect traits chronologically passed down by others – at some point, the statistics must meet, to enable the perfect human to be created.

And then what? It is a confronting cavalcade. For the willing accomplices of life the small battles are surmountable. Grow up, marry, buy a house, couple of kids, find the money somehow, work through jobs, focus on the children’s future. How many of them stop to truly question life and its purpose. If you don’t have an easy out in a perpetual death wish then these issues must be analysed and solved – there is no other option right? But in a twisted mind the concept of each single issue compounds daily until the longed for plight of death is a far easier option.

It is easy to see the simple option of death, it is blessed release. Yet, in the real world, its completely defeatist, and selfish. But were you to take one of life’s accomplices and add the complexity of the black dog, would the result be the same? Or would it reveal the benefit of a stoic and selfless personality type. In which case the black dog is just another hurdle, easily overcome, making the “bipolar” personality, just a sad, wasteful, selfish indulgence the world must endure.

I am nothing less than a being with feelings and musings and overly-analytical responses. But is that any different to the beauty, or the executive, or the alcoholic jewish princess? So why then, is it deserving of more attention? More understanding, more pity?

But then, the gift, the gift of delusion. What a shatteringly imperfect perfection. Your sky vs my sky. You see the moon and think, “gosh, what a pretty moon. I wonder if I should re-mortgage the house, goodness it must be time for a wax, wonder if I could get into see Rachel this week, oh gee Eric should probably finish his project tomorrow night and I must remember to polish his shoes before school before Andrea makes a comment, she is such a bitch, we should really invite her and Tom over for dinner next week it’s been ages.”

I see the moon and it unveils itself. Behind chiffon clouds that flutter teasingly in a timeless burlesque romance, as a chorus of stars sigh and emote brightly, desperately hoping for recognition, and are hopelessly outshone by an aloof, intrinsically complicated and unperturbed graceful silver floating moon. It is too perfectly uncontrived. And time escapes my mind just watching the universal play unfold, I could burst within its beauty, I could sing a perfect high c and ride its note via treble clef between here and eternity and delve into its welcoming craters, cradled, unafraid to fall. The night breeze whispers, I know it’s only for me, I know it’s filling me with its intensity, eradicating any doubt that I am one of theirs, I don’t belong to the others, humans who are laughing, foolishly, superficially, at each other.

The branches extend and envelop me in a ghost-like whirl, they remind me not to belong, they are connected, existing only for me. I can hear the voices of the world around me, I can hear them destroying the solitude that nature is so desperately yearning for, and though they urge me to fight it and deny it they shroud my soul so it can bear the brunt of the fake nothingness calling, reaching for my tiny piece of nothingness to complete its pretend puzzle. And right then and there I am sacrosanct. Immortal. I return to my pretend world, engage in perfect social lies and laugh in all the right places, to humanise. I drink too much to level the responses I would otherwise have, to the pointless, irrelevant nuances of conversation. They are none of them, worth anything to me, my mind soars so far beyond their realms, but were they to understand that isolation would ensue. Pretending is practical; practised; perfected.

“Ha ha ha, what a brilliant analogy Andrew!” Sarah, try the pumpkin salad, stop it, I know, I am a masterchef, loving myself sick – sure you can have the recipe”

“Yes Tcharli and Zi fight non-stop too, how are you dealing with the constant fighting?”

And the wind whispers good job, it’s okay, we know you’ll come back to us. And I say with my body and soul: I never left. I’m here. I belong to you, I see you even as the night falls and the silhouette of the trees gives off its fierce underground stare, I am soulfully a servant. They already know. But they nod, and retreat in response. It is understood.

They don’t see what I see, I re-energize with regular surreptitious glances to the night sky. The pretense of the night is finally over, and I smile and kiss and hug and promise to attend return hospitality and keep the smile plastered as I wave happily. And shut the door. And frown. My body releases the pressure and draws me back to the deck, where I belong, with the moon, and the stars, and the naked twisting blackness of the muted night trees. Finally.

But I will wake up tomorrow, in a man-made bed, with an innocent soft-skinned re-creation of myself snuggling in for re-assurance of their beloved existence. And the seemingly real possibility that normality is truthful. Confusion takes a back-step. To exist willfully, it simply must.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

I Want To Stop The Medication

I know, it's like a big bad word to mention stopping your medication. I would never condone it. For myself however, I find that life has become boring, uninspiring, and flat. I am an artist. Well, I used to be. Now, I have the talent, and I go through the motions, but where are the feelings? I do it because it is my job and I need to pay the bills.

In my spare time, I used to create other things aside from my everyday job as a potter, but other than silly little sketches, I don't do the stuff that I used to enjoy doing, the stuff that released so much emotion. I am sure the art reflected that emotion as well. It's not just the creativity that has been affected, but it's the desire to do things I used to do, that I enjoyed so much. It's the feelings I had that, magnified, pure and honest feelings about everything.

I have mentioned before, from my point of view now, what the medication has done, it has removed all the feelings and flattened me and it has made me less of a bitch and crazy person to everybody else. Should I really worry about what others think? Shall I mention that I am basically a hermit now as I have lost the nerve to face society. So, I technically have very little interaction to other people as it is.

I am still depressed to a degree. Not as deep as before medication, but I traded that for being slightly depressed all the time now. I have no mania now. My manias weren't dangerous or outlandish. They were not a financial crisis like many others have. My manias were pure blissfulness, happiness, energy, accomplishment, creativity. Now, I am boring! Literally boring, bored just doing what needs to be done and just making myself do it.

I think about stopping the medication or going to a very small dose to see if I can recover some of that feeling I used to have, but at the same time, I fear it. I don't fear becoming suicidal because I obsess over that at times. What I fear is undoing the repairs I have made with the people that I love. I fear the rollercoaster ride that always resulted in crashing head first into the ground and being in the deepest pit of depression for months at a time.

It is such a dilemma. I wonder though, with the clarity that I have experienced on the medication, will I be able to take that knowledge with me when I go off the medication and be able to control myself? Or will I be like I was before where I just didn't really know what I was doing at times. The times I thought that something made perfect sense and later realized it was completely stupid. I don't know.

If you have stopped your medication before, please let me know what the results were. Did you take the knowledge you gained on meds with you when you went off meds and was able to apply it towards self control? Like the old saying goes *Will I be jumping out of the frying pan into fire?*


Thursday, September 30, 2010

Turmoil Inside~Undiagnosed

There is nothing in my life at the moment, no one thing that I think is causing the problem. But I feel anxious, stressed and very ready to collapse, give up. I’m desperately sad, feel so tearful and really need to get some help to get out of these feelings that come and go. I don't want any of this and feel like people who know me think that I want to feel like this. I'm sure no-one believes me and I'm stuck what the hell to do. I don't think anyone else suffers with a broken heart like I am doing and I'm worried about the future as I feel suicidal.

Mostly, for weeks, I’m fine, coping well when everything, the full time mum, perform at work, training the gym, eat well, study and learn and am happy with everything. The days fall into place, the house gets tidied, it’s all clean, money’s managed, we do things as a family, DIY, washing’s done, kids eat well, homework done and I get to do my hobbies. But every once in a while things change for me, something kick starts it, usually I feel rejected and feel like I've done nothing to deserve it. I've tried so hard. I can’t pinpoint it. My Life’s a bit too much to handle at the moment, things aren’t as I want them to be. I’m in a lot of pain with various things with me (I’m getting it sorted!) The house isn’t so tidy, (more like not perfect) kids struggling with homework badly, childcare needs sorting out, I feel so guilty everything’s a disaster.

I’m not doing all the things to make me feel good. I’m not getting to the gym as much, my friends aren’t there to talk to – I feel they are unapproachable. I have a close colleague at work leaving, my work role is changing (for the better) I’m arguing a lot more with my partner, there’s a lot I need to do to achieve excellence in my own eyes, (little pieces of work – at home and work - for myself) and now its all too much. I’ve turned paranoid which is really awful. I don’t judge situations right, I’m feeling very sad inside and I can’t seem to sort anything to change it, cant pinpoint THE PROBLEM. I’m hoping that writing this down – it might help.

I don’t know if I’m being walked over by friends or just have too bad of an inside reaction. I’m thinking – I’m not liked by anyone, no-one cares, nothing will ever get sorted. Everythings my fault. I’ve lost a friend for life by thinking like this and I can’t bloody well stop it!!! I keep asking for help as I’m so unsure of myself. My partner, who told me he loves me, is always criticising me, blaming me for the stress I’m causing him at home. Saying I’m taking everything wrong and I’m causing all the stress in him, and I’m hard to handle – and it’s all my fault.

It’s all too much for me at the moment, I just want to be able to STOP, take a few days off and get everything caught up with, including my thoughts but I can’t because I love my work and I’ve got to show commitment, because I am committed. My absence will be noticed. I have a real role there and I want to perform well and there’s lots of good things I can do and I want to feel good. I also want to use the gym (at work) I went to Doctors a few weeks ago, I was OK but again when I start talking about my feelings I got very tearful, i told her how I felt(which is difficult) I am awaiting an appointment for diagnosis (hopefully) and she gave me diazepam.

They hardly touch me, it’s a low dose 2mg. It’s supposed to stop the worrying and anxiousness. I so desperately want to talk to someone to help figure at least a bit of it out. I really need to get some help to get these feelings in perspective. I want to see which bits of me are rational and what isn’t. What Ishould worry about, what isn’t gonna end the world and what will! When I talk about how I feel (and sit here writing) I just cry and cry. My moods explode inside me from one comment,. I feel alone, a friend I once had to offer occasional rational words of support is no longer there. I’m on edge all the time.

When I get hurt, I really do get it bad. I could just walk away and kill myself. I’ve already worked out how I would die! It’s ridiculous – I don’t want to feel like this but I’ve messed so much up now, its too difficult to go back and sort it all. I feel so guilty for all of this. I cant think how I’m gonna put things right. I feel like everyone knows what I’m like inside and they don’t want to know, just want me to go away and I feel guilty for causing at all.

It’s hard to explain in words what I'm like. Very hard. It doesn’t convey the full barrage of thoughts that are inside.I hope someone there can offer a few words. I feel up then down. I am unsure of how I am thinking or reacting, I constantly look to others how I should be feeling. I see others lives and think if I should be living that way, thinking of life in the same way. Steve says there's nothing wrong in my attitude to life but the thing is I'm not enjoying it and so desperately want to change it. At times I'm so unhappy and guilty inside - as if I've missed something I shouldn't have or I will miss something in the future.

Another thing lately is I have sinusitis ALL of the time . It is so painful. It's getting to the point where I cannot bend down it hurts so bad stuffy head all the time. If I mention this to anyone people will think I'm a hypochondriac as well!I'm feeling tonight - at the point where I cannot cope anymore, I'm trapped. I don't want to hurt my kids but I'm on physical and mental pain a lot. I see no future. I can't train because of my sinuses and I can't move on without knowing what the problem is. I can't talk to anyone because no-one wants to know, I'm such hard work even for myself.


Wednesday, July 14, 2010

My Monster

It starts with one thought appearing inside my head,
That breeds and expands so quickly.
Like a disease in controls and effects my whole body,
My heart racing and beating so quickly.

Its not real, its only a thought’ I say
‘It’s not like it will even come true’.
But the fact that I thought it is enough for me
To think that it could come true.

My heart thumps faster, my skin becomes sweaty,
As if I was running, being chased,
By a monster that is created of all my deepest fears
And knows I fear being chased.

The deeper I go, all rationality disappears,
And the darkness spreads over my mind.
Feeling like someone is suffocating me.
If only id realise it was all in my mind.

‘Go away bad thoughts’ I try to say
but its too late, the disease has spread.
This one thought is now thousand of thoughts
And is continuously trying to spread.

The sickness comes, along with the tears,
Trying hard to control this monster.
It will wear me down until I am too weak to fight
Victory for the monster.

When it gets this bad, I feel there’s only one way
To remove the monster from my mind,
For if I think no more then the thoughts can spread
But till then I continue to live with the monster.