I am better. At least so far, I still worry that I will go into the perilous depths again, a fear I am sure will manifest given enough time. These past few weeks, dare I say months, have been my own personal hell on earth. All the insecurities, the fears, the dreads descended down upon me like a plague that I could not shake.
Amidst the suicidal longing and the wish to be better I sat paralyzed somewhere in the middle, torn in half by a grief so deep that it had no bottom, no end. When you are in that place you think that it is just you that feels this way, crushed by the loneliness of it all, the isolation often self imposed. You get angry at the ones around you claiming to love you, saying they need you, but all you hear is the dronings on of people better off without you, with a world that would not miss you. You are so arrogant to think that it is your own unique form of suffering to exist in this special hell devised and carried out by a malicious mind that wishes for nothing more than for you to buckle under the weight of it all.
You get close of course to submitting, to thrusting blade into flesh and vein and bone, but somehow you keep it together. Keep it together long enough to finally see a doctor and that doctor gives you a pill, which you take, and the next morning you feel normal, dare I say happy? That pain that crushed you, that soul wrenching agony that plagued you is lifted and you sit wondering about it as if it were a lifetime ago, a different person entirely. All around you people are relieved and you are left wondering what all the fuss was about. However deep down you worry you will be in that hell again, you fear it if not but a little, that the abyss is waiting, the monster lurking just beneath the placid waters, ready to devour you and your hopes and dreams at a moment’s notice. Forever there part of you, yet smothered by medication and therapy.
Photo Credit Lennart Kcotsttiw