Close your eyes and count to ten. The advice of the adult to the child as they learn to cope with the world around them. When being a grown up arrives we realise we should have got them to keep counting until they were ready to open them again. We know that ten seconds is a lifetime to a kid but it’s not enough for the adult mind.
I want to close my eyes and keep counting until the melancholic voice in my head stops; until the tears that are fighting to get out stop; until I feel human again.
It’s not anger I’m trying to make disappear but myself. I want this version of me to disappear and seeing the world in these dark and menacing shades begins to taint the more colourful days as memories cast a shadow over everything. I only want to see in colour not the monochromatic emptiness I can see today.
I wondered why I feel things are getting worse as time passes – the manic depression is changing pattern, not starting when expected or stopping when it should either. This depressive phase has been lurking around like Eeyore’s raincloud now for more than two weeks and I can’t seem to move from under it.
You yearn to feel human again – to emote something other than indifference and in something other than a monosyllabic grunt. I hate what this illness is doing to my head and my life. It is shouting down all the positives and happiness and hope and leaving me with the only option: to close my eyes.
You want to power down; to hibernate until the shadow moves on. To only have positives in your vision and if that doesn’t happen then close out the view to stop it from being tainted. The problem is I know it’s not just what I see, but all my other senses are damaged by it too. Music loses its impact. Songs that make you feel good are drained of heart and foodstuffs lose all flavour.
Looking out the window at the fog is an apt metaphor for my current state with very little in front of me being clear or even visible. In my head is a soup of “to do” lists, marking, paperwork, prep and home life. There is an inability to pinpoint things as they swirl around in a miasma behind my eyes. Life from this angle is sad, lonely and helpless.
I don’t write this looking for pity, but to see if by writing it down it helps alleviate the heaviness and confusion I feel. Instead today it just compounds the feelings. I see the misery I’m inflicting on the world and wondering why anyone would read such a miserable outlook on life. I hope that I can look back on this in a couple of weeks and begin to understand how best to prepare and protect myself for inevitable return of the black dog – at the moment that seems unlikely.