Why Now? by philpotts24
Posted by SANE
20th Jul 2017

After only one, brief post, written several years ago, why am I writing now? I honestly don't know, except that I have felt so awful for so long and somewhere inside me, I know that if I don't do something different and out of the so-called comfort zone I keep hearing about, I will sink without trace. I will lose my very fragile grip on this life which frightens me almost as much as the seemingly never-ending pain of Depression.

I have always used a capital D for my illness, similarly with Anxiety. Such important words deserve to stand out.

Whenever it is suggested that I write, I become overwhelmed with inadequacy. It's all been said by others, and so much better; it is a what? Good Mental Health? I will be ridiculed, mocked; I will fall and fail,

But here I go again, trying to explain myself, to be erudite, so that others will think of me in a positive way - to Like me, even. To resonate. Be moved by my words. If one more person tells me I'm eloquent, I may well Scream! If only I could. That requires energy and energy is something which is lacking from my life.

I want to remove my mind and empty it, like a dust-bag in a vacuum cleaner, before replacing it, dust-free and lighter. All the rubbish accumulated over so many years, preventing me from taking in anything new. It is there; I read it or, rather, I skim over it because I can't absorb it. I see it, hear it, at times even feel it - but, rather like the other day, when I was vacuuming and it took me several minutes to realise that, as much as I was covering the rubbish on the floor with the brush, nothing was being drawn-in. I had forgotten to attach the hose to the machine - or maybe I had, but not properly and it had fallen out. Nothing was being absorbed. I was going through the motions but to no avail.

So it is with everything I touch - from the moment I wake to when I return to my bed. Going through the motions.

Even when I manage to do something a little different, like going to a new cinema today, the disconnection is there. Disconnected.

There is an enormous desire to connect, really connect, with people [places and things?] - it is almost a Passion but one which, ultimately, fails me.

Disappointment, Anger, Frustration, Resentment, Sadness - a cacophony of feeling, emotions, thoughts which do not allow any space for Peace.

It was suggested, with great kindness and understanding, during a Saneline conversation, that I should not 'explain', or 'tell my story', but simply say how I felt. Cut to the chase, go for the feelings. Lay them out. It is something I find so very difficult to do, possibly because I have an overwhelming need to be heard, to be accepted, to be understood. Almost a default position.

Snippets of identification - from a film, or the news. anywhere: a teenager recently talking to her Depression and expressing her anger about what it had stolen from her: friendships, memories, life - and I sat there nodding at the screen, perhaps welling-up but unable to let-go. Bad enough for a teenager, I thought, and for a supposedly mature man in his late 60s, absolutely indescribably painful.

How difficult it is to benefit from Therapy - and God knows I've had enough of it, over many years! That becomes something else with which to beat myself.

Clean and sober. Nothing stronger than Red Bush tea for several years and Still the chaos overwhelms.

I said to myself that I would write for an hour. It's now midnight. All I have to do is post..........

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