I’m sat here in bed at 1.43pm, trying to read Defoe’s Roxana ready for tomorrow and I’m feeling absolutely wretched. The book it’s self it enough, so far, to make me sad enough. To think that things like that probably did happen to people and that there are women today that feel that have nothing but their bodies to offer. On top of this, since the moment I had arrived back in Falmouth, I had felt an awful degree of sadness, knowing that all of my closest friends, my boyfriend, my family, my sense of stability lost. Over the summer, I had felt myself revert back to what I would refer to as ‘my old self’, that is the version of me that is sad, lonely, lazy, and fearfully terrified. I don’t know why I refer to this frame of mind as ‘the old self’ since it is as reoccurring as the sun rise. It comes and goes in stages, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for weeks on end.
So, I was laid in bed reading Roxana when I had this awful cloud of doubt swarm over me, concerning George and my relationship. Last year, he was where I am now and I made it my vow to help him, because I love him. This year, he seems much be better and healthier in mind than he was last year and for that I am grateful. All I have ever wanted for him is to be happy. However, it now seems that I have landed myself in a spot of bother. I had grown used to our constant communication. I’d grown used to, despite being hundreds of miles away, feel safe and stable. I knew he needed me as much as I him. Now George is better I feel as a loss because I am not better. I couldn’t say that I am worse because I have seen my worst days and I don’t think I’m quite there yet.
So, I’m in a rut. I don’t want to drag George down, I don’t want to drag anyone down for that matter and I feel like this misery is my burden to bare and mine only. That by sharing this grief, I may alienate the ones I love and that it one of my biggest fears. Which is why I’m spilling my guts here, because I don’t know whom to talk to, really. I feel to low to even step outside of my bedroom. I’m having difficulty concentrating on Roxana and I’m unsure of who would be best to talk to. George is at work and I know it upsets him a lot to hear of my upset, and this makes talking about it difficult. Talking to family usually ends with ‘stop it, you’re being silly’ and then a big hug, but there’s no one here for the hug. That kind of hurts. As for friends, I’m not sure they would quite understand. I don’t even understand. Sure, I have helped friends with mental illnesses and low moods before, but I’m not sure if they would ever do the same. Which also saddens me. I’m not sure they would understand now, from not being in that frame of mind any more. It’s silly to have friends that think the same as you, knowing they will get better and you won’t. I feel selfish.
I’m not even sure about posting this but I know that I will not feel better bottling up all of this horribleness. Sometimes you need to put into practice your own advice and it can be quite liberating. I’ve quit crying now, which is a relief. It would be a pain if I had to go out and by more toilet roll. Can guarantee a head ache coming on though soon, luckily, I’ve got a load of Ibuprofen left so that shouldn’t be a problem. Get to see George tomorrow night and I know that I should feel better then. Having him around isn’t a cure, but he certainly makes me feel ten times better. I just have to wait till tomorrow and hope to god that he’s not upset or annoyed at me when we call later. Should probably get food. It’s Twenty Past Two and I still haven’t eaten yet, but I can slowly feel my appetite rising, which is nice. I get so upset that it makes me feel so sick.
Over the summer there I got so upset and worried that I actually was sick. It’s never happened before, not even at my worse. My worse is like a perpetual sadness where dark thoughts are always on my mind, it doesn’t really fluctuate, unless something big happens, and it doesn’t really go away. This is different and new. This does fluctuate. Little things can set me off. I feel sick often. I’m scared of being sick because it hurts. This is like a roller coaster. I feel fine and then all of a sudden I’ve walked into a massive wall of craziness and like a dam, all of this sadness and anger pents up with no where to go. Then it all over flows and gushes out of me in what feels like one never ending sob until my eyes are numb, my head hurts and my body aches. I get all of these ‘ideas’ about how I could make this all go away. The only one that I know makes any sense is to talk to a professional about it and hope they don’t turn me away, or laugh at me. This however, requires courage. I’ve dealt with this for about ten years. Didn’t know this was a legitimate thing until 3-4 years ago. Had a boyfriend try to force me to get my ‘head looked at’. Had another boyfriend ‘s father tell me it was due to attached spirits. Had a ‘friend’ tell me quite impolitely, let’s say, that I was mentally ill and, in agreeance with the first boyfriend, that I should find help. So, I’m going to start by trying to book a uni counsellor tomorrow. However, from my experience over Easter with the counsellors, there is quite a waiting list. Otherwise, it’ll be a visit to the doctors but I’m not really sure I’d like it to come to that. Particularly when I feel so alone.
I’ve always reminded myself when I feel like this, that I’m a warrior, a survivor, and after a while of repeating it in my head, I can believe it but right now it seems further and further away from the truth, hence where my latest poem came from. I’m a mess. I can admit that and hopefully, just hopefully, I can get better, too.
For anyone that took the time to read this, thank you. Having this blog is one of the few outlets I’ve got now. I used to play a lot of sport, which helped relieve the tension, but I find all of these things hard to do now because I’m so disorganised. Having readers like you, really does help to lift my spirits and I could never say thank you enough. See you soon x