I Miss...

I miss feeling real. Like a real person with real thoughts, opinions and interests.
I miss dreaming. Dreaming of things we know are impossible but still fantasise about them coming true.
I miss having something to look forward to. I love the feeling of excitement that I cling to throughout the days and nights. It is the one thing I have to hold onto.
I miss the weekends. Where there are endless combinations of events and the days disappear as quickly as they came.
I miss going out. The anticipation, the wardrobe malfunctions and make-up disasters that never really matter when you get there, because the chaos and music and alcohol wash it all away.
I miss talking to people. Having a regular conversation about regular things without feeling like you owe them something you can't give.
I miss being invited. I don't care where. I just wish someone would ask.
I miss having real friends. Like the one you tell everything to and never once think you're being judged.
I miss feeling in control. By thinking logically and analytically, so that everything has a possibility of making sense.
I miss feeling loved. By someone; anyone. Because sometimes I just need a hug.

Dreams

I have complained of being tired for weeks now. So many nights I lay watching the clock, counting down the hours until daybreak, until eventually I dropped off only to wake to a screaming alarm a few short hours later. Recently, with thanks to a pharmaceutical company I can now get to sleep without a second thought. Waking up is harder though, as my body struggles to function and my eyes rebel against the daylight.
It has to be a positive that I can sleep a full night away though? Then why can't I operate as efficiently as I did when I lay awake throughout the night? It is as if my increasing hours of sleep are directly proportional to my escalating exhaustion.
I go to bed tired, wake up tired, and am living every breath of my life tired. Last night I excitedly went to bed early, eagerly awaiting the Saturday morning sleep-in. Well, that I got. I slept for over 13 hours but couldn't bring myself to get up. Perhaps just one more hour?
So as I lay contemplating my options, I had a sudden flashback of my mid-sleep thoughts. The more I think about it now, the more I can remember from the nights over the past week and the dreams that have possessed me.
They are so vivid and intense that I think maybe they are the excuse for my weariness. Last night I was chased by friends possessed by the enemy. I have dreamt of the people around me turning into witches and deceiving me in the depths of the night. I have been held hostage in a haunted house despite my tearful pleads to be set free. I have re-lived events from the past with others filling in for the missing characters. I have run, flown, screamed and cried my way through the darkened hours and it makes me wonder if perhaps that is why I feel so haggard?
Perhaps things weren't as bad as I had thought they were? It is the nights that are worse.

A Step Away from the Wrong Direction

What do we do? What do we do in this life to make it worthwhile? Or to even just pass the time?
For the first time in weeks my head finally feels screwed on, perhaps not correctly adjusted, but it's on. I can manage a smile, the thought of potential curry puffs for dinner excites me, and I don't feel like I want to die. Not that I think I ever really wanted to die in the conventional sense, but perhaps more literally as death suggests a termination of ones thoughts and processes.
It made me wonder how one seemingly regular Friday could bring about such a change? I woke beyond exhausted, snoozed a few too many times and prevented being late for work by about 3 seconds. I felt sick to my core for the better part of the morning, became frustrated when my colleagues made pointless comments about my mood as if they really gave a shit anyway, and sat through morning tea listening to some random carry on about how she thought psych patients were worse than them all put together and that you can still be crazy beneath a seemingly 'normal' exterior. Seriously, shut the fuck up. So at lunchtime, which I was actually ready for today, I dragged my feet and my massive water bottle outside to avoid the mind-numbing superficial chatter of the tea room.
Mrs Boss said she thought I seemed better. I wasn't sure how she could tell. Could she see inside my head? I wasn't sure if she was right or if I'm just getting better at living it. Perhaps sometimes I am better? When Mr T called last night I felt my heart lift, and it remained suspended for a full half hour. That's got to count for something, right?
But lunchtime today, it made me feel a little lighter. Confessing my love for Chanel and all things classic made me smile inside and thoughts of tomorrow's potential sleep-in reminded me what I have to look forward to. How is it that I suddenly became aware of myself, and not this pseudo-me that I have become?
I have always thought of myself as an introvert, because I could pass the time with the words of Plath or my blog, but lunchtime suggested otherwise. I don't think I am extroverted as people have come to know the term, but I think I rely on the thoughts and opinions of others to confirm what I see in myself. I think the social exchanges of day-to-day life keep me grounded and make me forget about the universe of insanity swimming around in my head. Even if it is only for an afternoon.
I left work feeling closer to normal than previous days, and keep telling myself that I will have curry puffs for dinner and everything will be okay. So in the time between then and now I have paced. I don't feel the need to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty, I don't have to shut my door to avoid the lives of others or make up events to be excused to the local park in an attempt to avoid eating dinner. I can just be. But what is it that we do in those hours of just existing? I can't remember. So I'm back to being bored.

Raindrops

It is raining. Not heavily, and barely even noticeable, except for the drops that have grazed my window or spotted their glaze onto the tiles of my balcony. I can hear the echo of thunder in the distance and I hope that the storm will continue my way.
I like the rain. I like the smell of the earth and the sound the drops make colliding with the ground and themselves. I think it brings a sense of change and new beginnings. It makes me want to sit under it and not come in until it has cleansed my soul, no matter how many days it will take.

I am losing myself and I don't know how to stop myself from letting go. Every facet of my existence has shifted, so much so that I have no idea who I am, what I think or how to feel.
Today I survived, even if only just. I woke to swollen eyes and dark circles, which I would expect from crying all of the previous night, except that I didn't. I have a heaviness within me as if my eyes have so much they have to say, but have forgotten how. I believe that my core has finally emptied itself so that I have nothing left to feel. I don't care that I rely on drugs to sleep, or that I'm exhausted all of the time despite them. Who would notice that 5kg have evaporated or that I keep to myself to avoid a public outburst of anxiety? Should I care that my phone doesn't ring, or be bothered by the fact that someone thinks I belong in a psychiatric institution?
I should care, and I probably do beneath the layers of numbness and emptiness that encase my soul. But for now I cannot see it, I cannot believe or even accept it. I cannot feel anything.
Can I bleed it out like some 19th Century disease? Can I cut it away like the malignancy it has become? Can I fill the emptiness with a cocktail of drugs to make me better?
I don't have the answer, and maybe never will. I just have to trust in tomorrow being a little easier, a little better and perhaps a little more like I used to be. Until then I have the hours, the hours between now and then, and within those hours who knows what I will find.

Thought

I have come to realise that everything we do, think, feel, speak or imagine is dictated by the conforms of society. Since when did we stop listening to our own hearts and following everyone elses? Then maybe I wouldn't have to censor myself quite so much to fit in.

Today

What can I say? I survived today, as much as my anxiety didn't think that I would, and that's what it's coming down to: I am surviving one day at a time. I just wish it didn't have to be so much of an effort. Or perhaps quite so lonely.

Step One

I would talk and unrust the words and thoughts which stagnate in me from lack of verbal expression.

Your Secret

I saved this image from www.postsecret.com a few years ago. At the time I had felt inspired by this person's secret. Now I am trying to believe it.

#

My heart is full. It is full of lead; or at least that's what it feels like, compressing every inch of my fighting spirit so that I feel buried beneath reality. It controls every aspect of my being, so much so that there is no remedy. No music loud enough to cover the screaming of my heart, no poetry or prose, no 'right' time of day, and as much as I want to, I can't pick up the phone. I have re-read my memoirs from over 4 years ago and they frighten me. This is the re-birth of something big and I don't want to go any further, but I don't think I can stop myself. My mind is already moving towards the blackness and my soul is aching. All that is holding me back is the tiny piece of logic and fear I have left inside. I wish I could convince myself that everything will be okay, but I honestly couldn't believe it. I feel so isolated. My fingers are starting to slip and I just don't know what to do.

Lonely

An extract from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath:

Now I know what loneliness is, I think. Momentary loneliness, anyway. It comes from a vague core of the self -- like a disease of the blood, dispersed throughout the body so that one cannot locate the matrix, the spot of contagion... I'll stay here and try to pin that loneliness down.

PostSecret

I may be slightly obsessed, but whether I understand them or not, these secrets are all pieces of humanity that creates the world we live in, and the world that I'm a part of. So I suppose in a weird way, they are pieces of me.

St Valentines

Forget the Hallmark holiday, the wilted flowers and millions of dollars spent worldwide on a previously insignificant day until a greeting card company deceided that profits were down.
Love should be as Postsecret is - real.

Fear

Of all of the things that I am frightened of, I think the biggest is myself. I may not be able to justify this as I can with snakes, ghosts or the dark, but there's something within me that I am constantly fighting against, and I'm terrified it will win. I could never speak it out loud, even if in the safety of my room with only my ears listening, because once it becomes vocal, it is real.
Expecting a phone call from my doctor I planned to explain the intense feeling of claustrophobia and suffocation that has woken me every night since my visit. I would wake with the belief that something was trying to eat its way into my soul and ultimately killing the last flickers of hope and belief in my heart. When she called, I said I was fine. I told her that the anxiety from my days was dissolving, but when I began to explain my midnight terrors, I stopped myself. As the words formed on the tip of my tongue, I had a fleeting thought of how insane they made me sound. I was worried what she would think of me.
I hung up and thought. Perhaps my omissions are really part of a bigger picture; of the network of demons plaguing any chance of happiness? But I couldn't tell. Those unspoken words were pieces of myself that should never be spoken, because what others don't know, can't hurt them.
I know a burden shared is a burden halved, and that's just the point. Why would I want to inflict any of my pain on someone who is kind enough to listen? I will protect everyone from myself.

Boredom

Boredom is no excuse. Lazing on my bed staring at the imperfections of the ceiling, justifying my immobility with boredom. It's not that there isn't anything that needs to be done; no trivial tasks that have been put off for weeks due to my lack of motivation. Today adds to the list; my hair needs straightening, my legs need moisturising, my brain needs stimulation. But what if I choose to go back to sleep; to bank up a few more hours in addition to the long awaited ten I got last night? I was making up for the countless sleepless nights I spent imagining the ceiling through the darkness.
The city skyline never sleeps. Even the suburbs that appear on the horizon flicker as if the sleeping sun is sparkling on the gentle tidal movement of families snoring lightly in their slumber.
So what consequence would I pay by sleeping away this textbook summer's day? It's my day to do as I please. The only person it will ultimately affect is me. By avoiding life for just one day will that really matter in ten years time? Will I even remember? Perhaps not. But what if this is how I chose to live, and now is the catalyst for something deeper? Can I find peace by avoiding life?

Appointment Number [insert number]

Despite the events of today being pre-booked, conversations mentally prepared the night before and sufficient time between each event, it did not go the way I had expected it to.
I rose this morning feeling surprisingly serene (perhaps that extra hour of sleep was required), I showered and dressed in a pre-chosen outfit, complete with Chanel accessories. Upon leaving the threshold of the apartment I entered the churn of anxiety and dread. The day had begun.
Appointment Number One was the most pressing matter on my mind, so I was both nervous and pleased it would be over and done with quickly. Quickly, is not a word I can now use to describe it. My bottled nerves multiplied in the waiting room, and filled my arms and legs with a hot needley sensation, so much so that I feared weight bearing at the risk of my legs forgetting how to walk. My heart pounded in my chest and my respirations struggled to keep up the pace.
Kick-off. Small talk firstly. Not a fan really considering my undelightful personality and anxiety to get some fresh air. Floor opened for my awkward and disjointed chatter, thankfully rescued by some intelligence on her behalf. Hot potato successfully thrown back.
Questions. Many I had expected, but the requirement of numerical answers made them sit like peas in my mashed potato brain. Vague and sometimes guessed answers given and typing occurred.
History. Subtle at first and then more aggressive as the questions fed off my admissions. Perhaps some omissions, but I'm living for today. I'm not sure I could endure the recollection of past experiences as well.
Solution. Well, we'll soon see.
Appointment Number Two. Thankfully early, even with time to browse at the sale in Oroton along the way. No waiting this time. Straight in and success achieved with no questions asked (A nice contrast to Appointment Number One). No payment required for services rendered. I'm a regular. Thankful, as I will be recovering until next pay day for my former engagement.
Some aimless wandering and procrastination, then impulse driving to insignificant destinations, just to satisfy my restlessness.
A phone call and some further indecisiveness, a pit stop all-day-dreaded, then home again. Brush through my hair, re-spritz of fragrance and back in the car. Driving the longer way to allow my brain a few extra minutes of mental preparation before arrival at Appointment Number Three.
Inability to comprehend street numbers made a retarded start. Further small talk and Poppy-therapy. Chilled water and LED technology. More small talk. I didn't have the courage to divulge the events of the day.
Coffee with foam. A tasting plate provided. My stomach churned.
More questions. Thankful really. My mind could find the answers, but was unable to establish any form of directive, adult human chatter. Ice broken, guard slipped and my ears had filled with the sound of my honest, unbroken voice, apparently saying more than I realised at the time. Smiles exchanged, analysis of mutual colleagues, circle completed and back to the start, this time with a male perspective.
Wine time. Avoidance activated.
A glance at the clock and it was dinner time. Time to bail.
Home again. Safely in my room with the doors closed, dividing me from the outside world. I think it's been enough for one day.