Dark, dark night

*Trigger warning*

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I’m writing this from my bed on my phone, it’s 2:00am and the figurative and literal darkness of this night is overwhelming but my minds on fire.

I think today was the first time I have left my psychiatrists office feeling worse than I did when I went in.

Not because of something she said or did, I was already on the edge walking in and being in a ‘safe space’ had me bawling within 60 seconds of entering the room.

“Thank you so much for writing, I’m glad you came today. So tell me what’s going on”

“Nothing, everything, I don’t fucking know!?”

She was great and we covered some important stuff but I felt like I didn’t get what I was looking for, though I guess I don’t really know what I was looking for, a fix? A magic bullet perhaps? A lead one?
That’s not her fault, I forgot how to speak for half of the session, it is so much easier to write out my feelings. Maybe we should just chat over Twitter instead.

We reached the end of the hour so fast she didn’t even mention meds, nor did I. It occurred to me that she probably thinks I’m still taking the ones that she prescribed me last time – but I never did open that blister pack of blue & white capsules. It’s still sitting in the cupboard inside the white paper pharmacy bag. I glance at my watch, we’re already over time, I’m not going to open that can of worms right now.

“Do you have any questions?”

Yes, millions, I have all of the questions! like what do I do now? How the fuck do I manage this? How do I make it through the day alive? What about tomorrow? How can I rest when I don’t have time to be unwell let alone get better, I only have time to be magically better right now or…dead.

“No, no questions.”

I can barely utter another syllable without being overwhelmed by tears again, the waiting room is full as I walk back out into reality and I avoid looking at anything except the reception desk.

M comes up with me and organises some voodoo magic with the receptionist to get me another appointment in a week and then fortnightly for a while. I tried to say thank you without making eye contact, but I don’t think the words ever left my mouth. All I can think about as I hand over the kings ransom for services rendered, is walking out that door as quickly as possible.

The receptionist rattled off the dates of my next few appointments but I’m too busy trying to work out how I am going to last another week to listen, after that feels irrelevant.

In my haze I vaguely hear Feb 12th 10am – reality hits light a lightning bolt “shit, I can’t do that day…” I stammer, “I’m so sorry… Gotta take mum to Sydney for a dr appointment” Fuck. I totally forgot about that, I have to take her, nobody else can. I have to live that long, how the fuck am I supposed to live that long? “Okay we can sort that out next week” I nod glancing momentarily at her face and back down again.

She knows I’m about to lose it and passes me my receipt “see you next week” she says gently, “uh thanks, bye” head down, sunglasses on, earphones in.

Outside, fresh air. My head fills up with Eminem’s ‘When I’m Gone’ and I bee line down the street to the car, past all the public servants milling around on their lunch breaks. Why are there so many fucking people? I want to jump in front of a truck or a bus but none pass me. I get into the car, sit down and start hyperventilating, the drive to pick up the kids from hubbys workshop is only 20 minutes so I have to stop this crying shit quickly.

I look at my phone for a distraction, Jamoalki has just released another pod cast, that man has impeccable timing. The podcast soothes me enough to make the drive safely.

Hubby takes one look at me, hugs me and asks if I want to do the grocery shopping first, yes I do, I’m not up for an hour in the car with the children just yet.

At the shop I see the guy that I “dated” when I was 12, the one who was a good friend in early childhood, then when puberty hit reappeared as a friend with benefits, the one who at 13 knew I had few friends and didn’t no how to say no and still begged me to jerk off his friend and let his friend go down on me while he watched even though he knew I hated his friend who had bullied me for years and I was terrified of him.

The one who got angry with me when in my dissociative haze I managed to break free from the moment and find the strength to run out of the room while his mate stood there with his pants off yelling “what the hell?!”

Him. He’s apparently gay now, or so I was informed -our mothers still talk sometimes – but I hadn’t actually seen him since I unceremoniously dropped school like a hot potato in yr 10. That was 18yrs ago but apparently it’s still subconsciously an issue for me.

He didn’t see me. Thank god. But I was still a quivering puddle on the floor as I hastily left the supermarket forgetting all the important things on the list.

I got the kids, got home, made them satay chicken for dinner- I even ate some of it, not sure if that’s a breakthrough or just evidence that I’ve given up.
Watched a movie, it was sad the whole way through and then everyone died. FFS really?

I’ve been lying awake in this dark, dark room for hours now, the urge to cut myself is back from its long hiatus and so intense that I can’t distract myself from its pull any longer, I just want to feel pain, physical pain lessens mental pain for whatever bizarre reason. Control, probably. I can’t shut out this noise in my head anymore, I can’t wait a week, I can’t wait another day.

The whole world is fading away from me, the edges of my vision darken and there is a hole where my heart used to be. My soul is bleeding out and nothing can be done to stop it.

10 Comments on “Dark, dark night

  1. Oh, Kate…..most blogs bore me.

    Will I go to hell if I write that your posts never bore? (Probably!!!)

    In between the poignant harrowing parts, there were sections that made me chuckle—
    I related to the psych one in particular: “Maybe we should just chat over Twitter instead.”
    Also….
    “Watched a movie, it was sad the whole way through and then everyone died. FFS really?”

    That’s the epitome of “truth is stranger than fiction” – you couldn’t make that up!

    I feel like whatever I write is going to sound so superficial and trite.

    But I’m hoping soooooooooo much it helped to write this (amazing) post and that things aren’t so excruciating.

    Remember, no matter what. Stay.

    Please.

    Love,
    Dy
    xoxoxoxoxox
    p..s I want to check out this Jamoalki podcast…….

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh Dyane, today is a better day and gosh you are funny! We can hang out in Hell together 😉 I can be very boring (just ask my kids who are still on school holidays and SOOO BORED right now) Nothing you write is superficial or trite, you are an awesome inspiring writer!
      thanks for being so awesome xoxo

      Like

  2. Did you find relief from this post? I just find it really works. My post are pretty open and honest but I hate putting down the dark and dismal. That’s all I wrote for year’s but it’s still in there. Believe me …

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, I did find relief from it. I fell asleep around 3:30am and woke up at 6am feeling much lighter and quite refreshed. I am choosing to ignore the profile that has for a potential mood swing right now because I feel so much better than I have in ages 😉 I feel like a bit of a drag always writing about the dark stuff, but that being said, I write here first and foremost for me – it just helps me cope so much, people can choose to tune out if they don’t want to read it. So if I’m in a dark place, the blog will be and if I’m happy then the blog is far more positive. It’s swings and roundabouts, but they are an honest portrayal of whats happening in my head. xoxo

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: Have Your F’ing Cake – The Colour Of Madness

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