Well, it certainly isn’t Fiction. In fact, it’s too mind-numbingly tedious to be anything other than my own sad, sorry tale , best kept to myself and for myself.
The Fact is this: I am so terrified, so filled with fear and self-loathing that I dare not think beyond the notion that I am attending my first therapy appointment tomorrow. It is the first positive thing I have done recently in the attempt to rid myself of this scourge that has blighted me all of my life but never worse than it’s been of late. I have little hope and few expectations, if any at all. I am so far gone that I no longer have any faith in myself and my ability to make something of the rest of my life. I have never been so without hope that I scarcely care any longer. I realise with frightening knowledge, just how close I am to reaching a point where you consider ending it all – where things hold no meaning , where all the things that should matter ( my loved ones ) are being squashed by this beast within me that is bigger than anything else . I have no drive, no interest, no passion – cannot see reason even when I can see intellectually what is happening to me. I am devolved of all normal thinking, acting or doing. I am a shell, blinded by the enormity of this crushing weight upon my chest and feel devoid of any response other than deep, crushing sadness and regret. I can cry at the drop of a hat but even that requires more effort that I am capable of giving. I move like someone aged and decrepit. I perform perfunctory tasks. I eat, I sleep, I wash myself – performing tasks that require no thought or plan of action.
I have no enthusiasm for writing this. The Fantasy would be that all this would end and I would have a life before me filled with wonderment and awe. Above all, that I would FEEL. I would experience emotions that would touch me deeply and fill me up completely. To feel joy – that is something that has eluded me for so long that I am unable to summons up a proper grasp of what it feels like. To feel ALIVE. To see and hear things as I was designed to and to respond instinctively and instantaneously. To relate to others, to fit in, to feel comfortable, not only in a place out of my comfort zone but comfortable being around others without feeling that I impact them negatively. To be congruent and true. To know who I truly am and stand solidly in that truth. Above all, to have my faith return. It still abides with me and in me but like all else, it has shrunk and all but disappeared , crushed by this nothingness , this void that I occupy.
The most frightening question of all is can my brain ever recover from its starvation? Can I ever reach the heights of what could have been its natural course had I not deprived it of the nourishment it needed? I read about neuroplasticity and forming new neural pathways . Can I repair the white matter in my brain that has clearly dwindled and become smaller year on year ?
To be able to read a book. That would be amazing. Such a simple pleasure that I have deprived myself of for so many years. I have spoken about small steps and being unable to give recognition or credence to tiny changes. It’s always been all or nothing. I am literally at nothing right now and this extreme is certainly not preferential to teeny, incremental steps towards some sort of release or emancipation. I would give anything for this because I am so inexorably and totally stuck.
I know that the hard work belongs to me. There is no-one who can do it for me. Will this therapist I meet tomorrow shine as a guiding light, an angel to lead me out of the darkness? Will she have the expertise and tools required to give me the hope I crave but am unable to elicit on my own? Will I embrace what she offers or will I yet again, succumb to my woes like the victim I have pathetically become, albeit it unwittingly? I truly do not know. I said earlier that I scarcely care any longer. However, there must be a smidgeon of hope left because I care enough to go to the appointment . It could be the last act of desperation that isn’t destructive and this is why there is so much riding on it….
