Alone. Together.

When you close your front door and it’s just you, or in my case you and the cat. What do you see? How does it feel? Are you liberated? Independent? Running around with no clothes on? I wish I could tell you that’s how I feel when I close the front door to my little flat; but truth be told I’m more like Bridget Jones with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s minus the power ballads.  Every three months I have a major depressive episode and I hide in my flat barely moving, barely making a sound so know one knows I’m home… It runs like clock work, yet I am always surprised. Mostly I am surprised because to the outside world I seem like I have my shit together, but all it takes is one small ounce of self doubt and bamn! I’m in a raft going down some pretty frightening Rapids and it’s all I can do to cling on.

I’m one of those people who feels everything a little too deeply, a little too much and reads something into every word and gesture. Unfortunately that’s both me and and the Bipolar – I can’t blame the bipolar for everything it’s more the catalyst for a life time of father issues and lack of self worth. Cheers for that one ‘dad’. But when you’re severely depressed it’s these feelings that take president and no amount of your friends telling you it’s going to be ok, you’re beautiful etc helps. All it does is bring guilt for feeling so utterly broken.

It doesn’t feel like it’s going to be ok because this illness is chronic and the patterns are rapid and frequent and stability seems like a distant dream away. So all that I can think is that it’s a lie. That this pain is the only real truth. 

And no one can see it but me.

If I could come home and close the door and not always be so painfully alone I wonder if it would be different. For someone with so many lovely friends sometimes I can go many days without speaking to a single soul and then the loneliness is palpable, like a living breathing thing. I’ve considered moving to a house share but after years of It being me and the cat that’s not what I want. I love my home, I just don’t love being alone in it… I feel like my mind is between a rock and a hard place and I can’t find soft ground. 

  When I moved back to Bristol I thought it would be the making of me but caring for my beloved and watching him die, plus all of the family fallout and the constant man crap (they seem to not know what they want anymore than me) it had left me so completely weak. I run off to Devon so frequently to my friends for companionship and fun that I have yet to find it here in my home town. 

I am stuck. Alone and wondering what on earth I’m going to do next.

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One Comment Add yours

  1. Shane Price says:

    It’s really inspiring to see you writing about your struggles. I can relate a lot and it’s a breath of fresh air to see someone so open about their struggles. I hope you find your inspiration and positivity ūüôā

    Like

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