the infinite elation, pain, and terror of a psychological illness
friendless and nowhere to go but here
About a month ago I was in hospital, and so ill that the nurse said that I looked like a bad advertisement for death. I had lots of scans, tests, and examinations, some treatment, and after a few days I was discharged, supposedly fit and healthy. I believed I was cured of my ills ~ I don’t believe that anymore. I think I’m still very unwell.
Whatever ails me does not seem like a physical illness ~ I’m still meeting my 10,000 steps a day meditative walking target, I’m not sitting in the armchair all day, too knackered to do anything but watch TV, I haven’t taken myself to bed, and I’m not on any medication at all. I don’t think my body is sick, I think it’s my mind.
(I take some of that back, when I comes right down to it I’m physically not that strong.)
I have a very strange set of unmatched symptoms. To begin with there is the red V shaped mark on my forehead. It’s prominent, angry looking, and if you met me it’d be the very first thing you noticed. I’ve had that red V shape appear on my forehead ever since I was a young boy, and it has always been a certain sign that I was pretty poorly.
It’s like having the mark of Cain, and it tells me that in one way or another I’m fucked.
The headache I’ve got now I’ve had for three or four days. Everything I eat tastes like cardboard, (apart from chocolate). And I’m dropping things; keys, books, a full mug of coffee, (that makes a hell of a mess), and this morning while I was doing the laundry I dropped the electric iron. That thing was plugged-in and hot, but I didn’t want it hitting the tiled floor in my kitchen pointy end first, so I caught it before it hit the tiles. How the fuck I had the presence of mind to catch the iron by its power-chord I have no idea, but I did and I didn’t get burned.
Oh, and another thing, I am saying and writing the F word a lot, (and a few other choice cuss words), and that is just not the polite English Gentleman I am usually.
Generally I feel like a young boy who has been sent to see the school headmaster for a dressing-down and some corporal punishment, and that young boy hasn’t a clue what he’s done wrong, or why he’s being punished.
You know what? I think I haven’t been so well lately.
Some say that the sick never truly lose the chaos within. And that a sick thought can devour your being more thoroughly than a fever. All I know is the bravest thing I ever did was continue to live when I wanted to die.
feeling like that lost little boy today