This week has been filled with extreme highs and lows: the disjointed dance of those brightly painted horses on a Carousel, alternating up and down in a steady and stomach churning rhythm. My emotions are caught within a yo-yo spin of grief and joy; I feel them reeling and straining, bouncing and recoiling, stretching and shortening – a furious, screeching cycle beyond my control. It occasionally dwindles to a painful, sluggish pace only to accelerate into a maddening dash towards… I have no idea.
Where am I heading? What’s the point of this experience? How can I stop the ride and walk away?
I have no idea. About anything, least of all myself. I am in orbit, dragged by a gravitational force from the smallest, blackest, burnt out remnants of my soul. My inner core lies exhausted and scarred with a map of ruptured hopes, dreams, loves and self-esteem. Try as I might, I cannot heal my own worthlessness. I cannot heal what’s broken. I am not whole. I am not in control. I am not fixed. I am still damaged and broken.
I have fought against so much since October 2012 and while I confess that I am much improved in my demeanour, thoughts and actions, I still do not belong. There is still them and myself. I am so alone and in a state of constant flux, spinning from happy to sad, confident to worthless, hopeful to suicidal.
I will not try to kill myself and I refuse to die, yet I know that I am better off dead. I would be better off under ground, encased in Earth, with bones and flesh rotting in tandem, feeding the insects and sating the hunger of the land. I belong to Death. I have never belonged anywhere else and I never shall. I am spinning away from my own needs and desires… perhaps that is why the carousel never stops; why my emotions still yo-yo upwards and downwards with dizzying intent. Perhaps I am meant to follow my heart and meet my death, instead of running from my desires.
I suspect that as long as I live, I will always feel out of place and wrong. I doubt I shall ever lead a normal life, because I still feel inferior to everyone else. I cannot shake off the wounds from the past, and I have instead adapted to their presence. I feel like a lesser version of my old self and the problem I face is that my old self was always deemed to be worthless by others. What hope is there for this new, broken version to find acceptance?
My therapy session on Tuesday was brutal and I know much of my current anxiety stems from that experience so I can only pray that my emotions will level over the coming weeks and the Carousel grinds to a relieving halt. I believe this ride is possibly a rite of passage for all those seeking help through therapy. The cleansing of a wound almost always stings and perhaps this week marks the sterilisation of the past and a route towards a less painful future.
I do not know. Perhaps that is wishful thinking. All I can do is push forward and brave each low with every high.