First time. Again.
I’m always chasing clarity. I’m always chasing peace and an inner sense of calm. I think I can count on one hand, the moments in the last 6 months that I have felt whole. Even when that illusive feeling is in action, the instantaneous recognition of its very presence, fades any enjoyment out the moment and I remember that I appear to be incapable if being ‘happy’.
Clinical depression reminds me of the black sticky parasitic substance from Venom- the film starring the delightful, Tom Hardy. What a beaut that man is. I digress.
With each passing week, I keep thinking, does everyone feel this way? Really? Is this what life is? When will each day not feel like wading through thick treacle?
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For as long as I can remember this inner monologue has been there in my head. Sitting on my shoulders. Hugging me tightly from behind. Its a taste in every bite of food I take. Its behind each blink of my eyes. Its in every twinge in my body or at the very end of each exhale of breath.
How do you find the words to express this to people? I have a small social circle of authentic, funny, kind people- I can’t ask these questions to them. They are my islands in a storm and they are the people I feel most hopeful with. I don’t want this parasite to bleed over them too. I have touched on my mental health with them and I very occasionally, been able to be 100% truthful about my thoughts. It doesn’t make their authenticity any less or diminish our friendship- I withhold from them for their comfort and mine.
Perhaps, this has finally led me here. My first piece of writing. My first blog post. I started a crime thriller novel in the hopes I could get paid lots of money but when the initial wave of enthusiasm passed, I realised that although getting words on page comes easily to me, the saturated crime genre perhaps doesn’t fulfil me as much as I thought it did. So I have found myself here and using this space to articulate my thoughts.
I think the clarity I seek doesn’t exist. Not for me. Not in the form that I believe I need. I think it is a myth fed to us by wellness journals and mindfulness apps. My blog will be about accepting my mental health for what it is. For striving for emotional peace, even when it feels unattainable. For learning to accommodate my inner monologue and developing my ability to recognise that we are separate. Will I ever be able to love a brain that is chemically, biologically, working against me?
