Sunday, June 26, 2011

I can always give up later

*** FOREWARNING: This is not a happy blog post. This may act as a trigger so if you are in a vulnerable place skip this one. Inspired by the likes of bipolar fragments, @youshouldsee, and @beckami I am going to try to express the other side of mental illness. Mental Health is not just roses and recovery. This post is an explination *of sorts* as to why I've not blogged in three weeks. As with any recovery there may be relapses. This is what happens after I have a relapse. ***

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Silence wakes me.

The fan drones back and forth.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Keep doing it. If I stop trying is my body going to give up on me? Why is it taking so much effort to just Breathe in. Breathe out. Steady. Don't stop. Keep gently breathing in, long steady breath out. Stop clenching your jaw. Relax your neck and jaw. So stiff and tense, my neck hurts. My head hurts like today may host yet another migraine. I should get up and get a glass of water and stretch but I don't ever want to get up again.

There is a dinstinct clicking as the fan makes each round. Pinching my eyes closed, hiding from the light. They feel swollen and moist, like they might slip open if I don't press them shut with extrodinary force.

Breathe in. Breathe out. In through my nose, out through my mouth.

I feel sick. Maybe if I go back to sleep today won't matter. Panic sets in. My stomach lurches. All I feel is someone playing the accordian with my stomach and pain from deep inside my chest. I feel a resounding hollowness like someone is inflating my heart with awkward, jagged edged memories that I can't quite make out at this distance from sanity. The dark and hollow space where I used to camp out in this body makes me heavy like gravity is my enemy. I am the enemy. This space between places is leaving me numb with agony.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The fan keeps a sense of stagnacy from consuming me. I hate the noise. Don't turn it off or you'll be alone. click... click... click... click is my company.

Breathe in, Breathe out.

Unclench your jaw. My mouth is dry and tastes awful. I should get up. A drink would make me feel better. Do I even have any clean glasses? How pathetic, no clean glasses. I could drink from the jug. Even worse you pig, just wash a glass and don't be so lazy. Maybe I'll just throw myself in the shower with the hope that might jolt me back to life.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I look at my hand outreached and limp in front of my face. Inches from my nose I see every hair follicle and tiny square of aging skin. I sigh from lack of recognition. This is my hand. This is my hand? This is my life?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Using all of my will and convinced of my irreversible weakness, pathetic for having to try, I turn my hand over and stare at my wrist. Two tiny blue veins clearly visible beneath my translucent untanned skin. I don't have to endure. In fact, I don't have to do anything. Empowerment starts to wash over me. I can get up and get in the tub right now. Not much mess at all, I bet the landlord could have this place re rented in two weeks. Images flash through my mind like a slideshow from a vacation I thought I would never of planned. Where am I? I'm in the tub full of blood. Full of me. I tidy little mess of death in the tub to be cleaned up by someone who doesn't take their life for granted.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Deeper now.

STOP! My mind screams for a moments of peace. I am still in my bed, crumpled under the blankets like a wilted flower waiting to be tossed in the bin. I already have a shaving razor with the safety edge ripped off. Ready, waiting, and well hid in case of emergency. I'll just get that out, jump in the tub and be done with it.

Breathe in. Breathe out. click... click... click... click. Breathe in, breathe out.

If I have to get up anyways I might as well get that glass of water. It'll only take a second to wash up the glass.

Breathe in, breathe out. click... click... click... click.

If I can get up I'll stay up for now. If it gets bad maybe one little slice on my leg.


And if that doesn't do the trick...

... in.

I can always give up later.


I'll just go back to sleep for a little while longer.

... out.


  1. Absolutely harrowing. Thank you for sharing with us (and that you feel inspired by my writing makes me feel a well of emotion). This is the reality of mental health, it can't all be wellness because these setbacks are the reason why we struggle. I've said it so many times and I will again: I'm proud of you for writing, living and giving voice to mental health.

  2. Wow, that was a brilliant post. I completely feel where you are coming from

  3. Keep breathing, and kudos for being open about this. Your willingness to show such vulnerability shows that you are much braver than you give yourself credit for :)

    I know, I know.... I should listen to myself :P Thanks for the mention!