A dark day. A heavy, painful day. One of those days when I feel like I am walking through tar and it's so hard to pick up my feet to even take a step that I want to just lie down and curl up and sleep in the muck.
Every task weighs a ton. Nothing matters. A day of hiding and isolation. A day of knowing what's healthy and not caring. A day of avoidance.
A day of feeling held captive by biochemistry. At war with my own body and mind. Fighting not to lose myself. And losing.
Nothing is wrong. There is no great tragedy in my life, no new crisis. I'm just quietly sinking.
It's not that I don't have hope or that I'm not happy. I know it will pass and that I have a wonderful life with much to be grateful for. But I am also so sad. And lonely. And hopeless. It's like the hope and happy of my life are a bright outfit I'm wearing, but I am also wrapped in a heavy, dark coat. So heavy I can't take it off. So heavy I can't function with it on.
I get better. Over and over again I get better. And I start to believe I am healed. That I have finally found the way. I finally know the behaviors and thoughts that will keep me afloat. And then something grabs my ankle and pulls me under. I'm walking along strong and turn the corner to find the big, black dog growling at me. Before I know it he's knocked me to the ground and is chewing on my face. All I can do is curl into the fetal position to try to protect myself.
And that's where I am today. Curled up, trying to stay alive. Trying to stay me.
I'm not in danger. I'm not going to hurt myself. I just need time to lick my wounds.