Tag: mental health

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It’s going to be okay

Life’s a bitch, but it’s going to be okay.

My daughter had a nightmare about me dying. I tried to comfort her as best as I could, but there was a thought I couldn’t shake. I will die. Some day I will. And I cannot change it. And when she was finally asleep again, i felt guilty. So many times i thought about dying. I thought about ending my life. No – I will not kill myself, no need to worry. But I have these thoughts and I am aware that those are thoughts normal people don’t have. I cannot save my children from all the hurt that the world will inflict on them. It’s impossible. But I can try and not add to it. It pains me when my seven year old is bullied. It hurts that she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want to make me sad. It pains me when she tells me that she will come to me with everything that bothers her but that I can also come to her with the things that bother me.
Parenting is the best thing I do. It’s one of the few things I am sure of. But there is so much wrong with me that I worry that I will never be the parent they need or deserve. The world is crazy. And I am too.
And I am scared to share. I used to share a lot. But back then, people from my day to day life didn’t read anything I shared. And now I allowed some people in. And I feel ashamed and frightened to share who I really am. I hate this. And I want to scream “help”, but I can’t, and to be fair, I wouldn’t listen to anyone anyway. I need a hug from someone who isn’t a child. Who knew that being married also meant being lonely and longing for human connection.

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Life between clouds and feathers – I am not afraid (11)

Easy. Nothing is ever easy for Connor, and nothing will ever be. Easy is wrong. Or so it seems. And so, Connor continues to live his life the way he is used to do it. He goes about his usual routines. He goes to counseling twice a week. He goes to work every day. He takes his medication daily at the same time. He arranges his food by colour, and his socks too. He counts steps from one distance to the next, and he counts the minutes until Thomas will be back sitting on his couch. As much as his head wants to deny it, his heart knows that Thomas is the only one he will ever let in. Thomas is the only one who makes him feel safe when he is breaching his personal space. He doesn’t need to feel embarrassed or ashamed in front of Thomas. Never. Because Thomas always seems to understand.

Something clicked recently. And the realisation that they fit profoundly is etched into Connor’s mind now. And this makes Connor’s thoughts a little less dark and a little lighter. It is a phase and he knows it. But he also knows that he needs to savour it. He needs to savour it or it will be over too soon. Right now, Connor’s mind is light as a feather. Soon it will be dark as a cloud again, but he chooses not to think about it. Running on his treadmill, his black curls bounce up and down with every step he makes. His blue eyes are focused on the filing of his music collection, and in his mind he is counting. He is counting the steps he makes. He is counting his heartbeats. He is making the moment count. Connor runs and runs, but it doesn’t feel like running away for once. It is just exercise. Nothing more. Just exhausting his mind and his body. Easy. He slows down, rubbing his face with his towel, catching his breath. He feels a presence before he sees it. It makes him smile.
“Thirty-thousand-two-hundred-seventy-eight”
“What’s that?” Thomas enters Connor’s fitness room. He has leaned against the door jamb watching the shirtless young man. If he weren’t as tormented. If things were just a little easier. But they aren’t, and he learned to take what Connor is offering.
“Thirty-thousand-two-hundred-seventy-eight seconds since you last touched me.”
Thomas gulps. “You counted?”
Connor smiles. “No, I am not that mental. I did the maths,” he chuckles and reaches for a shirt that is folded in a neat square. Thomas puts his hand over Connor’s. “You are having a good day today.” Connor just nods at Thomas’s statement.
“I am a bird today. Not a cloud,” Connor mumbles. But Thomas understands. He most often does. Living a life between clouds and feathers can be a challenge for Connor and for everyone around him. But today, Connor isn’t afraid. And Thomas isn’t either, because today Connor is a feather and that is all that matters.

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Life between clouds and feathers – Don’t be silent (10)

Every silence makes Connor aware of the screams building up inside of him. Every moment of numbness reminds him of the many moments of overflowing emotions he experiences on a daily basis. He isn’t leading a life that fits the norm. He can’t. Everything needs to be in a certain order. Filed by colours, or numbers, or memories. No one knows what triggers him. Least of all he himself. Life could be so easy. It really could be. But not for Connor. Few people try to understand Connor and his special needs. Thomas is one of the few. But Thomas himself is not an easy characters. Connor once knew how to handle the man who is currently sitting on his couch. But things happened; life happened, and what little trust that had built between these two was destroyed in the blink of an eye after too many fights. Both men can’t say what happened or when they fell out of love. The fights just got too many to ignore. And the words that were spoken in anger left deep wounds that didn’t heal. As it was, Thomas never gave up on Connor. He tried to let him go, but too many sleepless nights were spent thinking about the man who once owned his heart. In the meantime, Thomas had a girlfriend, but it wasn’t the same. He was not able to give her what Connor had gotten so willingly. After Connor had gone, there had been a void in his life no one could replace. The many routines Connor has and which have driven Thomas mad, were now missing from his life. And Connor; his heart has been bruised, and he recoiled into his own little impenetrable shell. The end of their relationship has been a huge failure for him personally. In his mind, his malfunctioning brain is to blame. It isn’t, Connor knows it rationally, but emotions rule his thinking. Thomas is still silent, sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV. He doesn’t say a word. It is unsettling. If he just said something. If he just insulted him for what had happened earlier. But no. Silence. Silence is louder than the loudest scream. Uncomfortable.
“Say something,” Connor dares to say at last.
“We should order some food,” Thomas replies. His eyes never leaving the silver screen.
“That is not what I meant, and you know that I can’t order takeout. I can’t eat the food someone else touched.” Connor looks at his naked feet. They feel good when he rubs them on the carpet.
“I am hungry. I am going to order some pizza.”
“Here?” Connor needs Thomas to say yes. He cannot be left on his own. But he also dreads the answer. He cannot have Thomas in his sanctuary. He will disrupt his routines, and he will take space Connor needs for himself.
“Of course. Don’t think that I will leave this place anytime soon after your little stunt.” Thomas sits up straight. Muting the TV, he looks at Connor. He knows better than to try and make eye contact.
“We are not a couple and you are here uninvited.” Connor tries to make a point, but it is as weak as it sounds, and he knows Thomas well enough to know that he won’t leave.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about whether I am invited to be here or not. I will not leave until I know that you are okay.”
“I didn’t mean to kill myself…”
“… And yet you tried,” Thomas cuts Connor off.
“Pizza, I am starving. I’ll sleep on the couch. And now, shut up I want to see this.” Thomas takes his phone out of his pocket and orders food, before he turns his focus back on the TV. “It is okay, you know. Just sit here with me for a while. The world can wait.”
Connor doubts the truth of those words, but somehow, he is willing to find out. Something is different. Something feels weird. He sits next to Thomas on the couch and without over-thinking it, he leans into the other man. He is comfortable feeling Thomas’s heat through their shirts. Safe. The thought scares him. He is too far out of his comfort zone to enjoy it. He is too exhausted to be able to find a way to make this easier for him.

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I admit, I had a bad day today. Once the kids and husband left the house, I went back to bed and slept until noon. I did not make the beds. I did not have lunch. And I did not take a shower. I existed. That’s all I did. I went through Thursday’s motions until the kids were in bed and I was on my own. (Hubby wasn’t home). I opened a bottle of wine and drank it all. I watched a handful of episodes of a TV show and I blew off two friends who tried to talk. I couldn’t. I had to be on my own for a while. I didn’t overthink. Maybe I was barely there. A bit more numb than I usually am.

Not all that long ago, I told a friend that I suffer from depression. At first, they took it well, but after a while, they said that I was not acting depressed. I didn’t seem sad enough. Oh and… Happy thoughts cure it all, of course. I wish it was that easy. Most days, I am well enough to live my life comfortably. Some days every move and every thought is a struggle. Saying and admitting that you suffer takes a lot of courage and strength. Being belittled destroyed months of progress.

So yes… I admit, I had a bad day today and I did myself to hide and rest. Tomorrow will be different again. Tomorrow is my double shift at work. It will be a challenge. And I will be hungover. But I will survive and I will have a smile for every parent, every colleague and every child. That’s who I am.

There’s a Luxembourgish song with a line that says: Catherine can smile for hours. That’s what I will do.

And because I was in my shell, I did not write anything for the novel today. Which, of course, bothers me.

Thank you for letting me rant. Thank you for giving me space. Thank you for allowing me to be vulnerable.

xx

Cathy

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Don’t touch me

If someone touched or hugged me right this moment, I would turn into a heap of tears and cells. I would implode and burn from within until only dust and scattered thoughts would be left.

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Sinking

In my fragile state

I’m sinking.

No fight is left

No struggle worth it.

Sinking

Sinking

I asked to be saved

But no one heard

I demanded a rope

To pull myself out

But I couldn’t reach it.

I am sinking

Sinking

Thinking.

Overflowing numbness.

When I close my eyes,

I am vanished – gone

And no one knows I even existed.

Leaving no trace.

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Time heals our wounds

One day you will wake up and a wound that has always itched and that has always hurt – even if it was in a dull, almost imperceptible way, will have healed.

You will be surprised and it will be scary at first. You will try to get that feeling back – after all, it has been a part of you and your being for such a long time. But, let it go. You don’t need it anymore. And the hollow it left will be filled with something new. Something good.

This comes from a person who believed that wounds can be concealed but never healed. I woke up with a weight lifted off me. And I had the immediate desire to write it down. Because, if the hurt comes back (and it will be back full force), then I will have this to remind me that there are days when everything that weighs me down doesn’t seem to be as important anymore.

I’ll leave you on this rather content and serene note. I am going to make the beds now, then I’ll put my golden shoes on and spend my day at IKEA. (For me, IKEA is more stressful than working a double shift at the nursery).

Cathy

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did you make your bed?

Some days existing is hard. Breathing can become a struggle. Being is exhausting. Getting out of bed feels like an unachievable task.

Yesterday a good friend shared a thought with me, and it made total sense. It is about making ones bed in the morning. Here goes…

As I stated above, some days it is hard to find the strength to get out of bed. Making ones bed becomes an insurmountable task. I never bothered to make the beds. I never even considered it. Until we moved, 3 weeks ago. From the first day we lived in our new home, I made the beds. It felt like the right thing to do. Weird and out of character, and yet… The right thing to do. Now, the thought of my friend: if you make the beds, you have a first achievement of the day. Because it is a mundane task, but you did it. And if you had a bad day, you crawl into a made bed at night and you can fall asleep with the fact in mind that you got up that morning and did something. Making the bed was an achievement.

Now, for most people it doesn’t sound like a lot. If you are in a depression, the smallest things become your biggest achievements. A small task can be an insurmountable mountain. (I used the same words twice in two paragraphs, am I losing my mojo or am I just tired?)

It took me a while to admit to my situation. To address it. To ask for help. To speak about it. But it slowly dawns on me that there is no reason to hide the truth.

I am suffering from depression. And it is okay. I am going to be okay. (She said and hadn’t taken her medication in two weeks.)

I am going to undo my made bed, sleeping. Now… Remember, small things can have a huge meaning.

xx

Cathy