There are many old adages we associate with mental health. Perhaps the most commonly quoted is that on the bad days it is a struggle to even get out of bed. Despite a few close and tired shaves with that adage since my return from winter hibernation there have not been too many of those days. Then this morning arrived.
Completely out of the blue after a troubled night's sleep I woke filled with terror and couldn't move. I just wanted to be swallowed up by someone or something to take away that dread of not be able to function. My mood plummeted, my anxiety soared and for several minutes I lay motionless but mind aflame. I can't do this anymore. My mind was screaming.
What to do? Turn over. Retreat into a world of chemically induced emptiness? Run? Get up? Face that terrifying world? In the end I did the last of these options and went in. Driven mainly by fear of what people will think of another day off sick I braved the empty storm of summer at the university.
Several hours later I'm home. I have no idea what to do with myself. Do I eat? Stare at the TV? Read? What? Tired and empty. But I am relieved that I made it through the day. And the only really meaningful action of the day proved to my hesitant mind that when I'm good I'm really good. So why don't I believe myself?
Only 2 days ago I was at +2. Now I'm in free fall. The question is where will I come to rest? And when and where do I bounce back? Let us hope it is tomorrow.
I Heard a Voice.
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