August 17th 2016

If it wasn’t for my dear friend Zopiclone there’s no way on earth I would’ve slept through the night. I don’t even know where to begin explaining what on earth is going on in my mind/body at the moment, because I don’t really know myself. But what I can say, it that it sucks.

I’ve been feeling incredibly anxious, unable to talk and in need of a small hole to crawl into. I don’t think I’ve been feeling that great since Friday – I had a bit of a rocky night on Friday, but had a wonderful weekend exploring new places – which was a fantastic distraction, and definitely helped me feel a lot better. Distracting yourself is a way of getting through the pain, but it’s not a way of comprehending the pain – and for me there seems to be a lot of unidentified, and confusing pain and emotion that I seem to be ignoring.

I’ve been doing that thing where I talk about things – things related to whatever it is that is triggering this struggle, but I’m only really scraping the surface – and I need to talk. I desperately need to talk. Last night I phoned the crisis team four times, and hung up four times. Four times. How frustrating. I spent at least two hours trying to get the contact up on my phone, whilst battling a horrid, debilitating level of anxiety. But every time I picked the phone up and dialled I had no idea how to talk – I’d even tried planning what I wanted to say, but I just couldn’t do it. The poor dude that kept getting silence from me, and then the dial tone must’ve been getting annoyed – but I just couldn’t do it.

It’s hard to talk about things when you don’t know where to begin, but it’s also hard to talk about things when you know you need to talk about things, but have been struggling to even breathe let alone talk to a stranger, over the phone who could – if you say one wrong thing – send out an ambulance in the middle of the night and wake up your whole house – I’d definitely look ‘crazy’ if that happened.

Home treatment did visit me yesterday, but I couldn’t talk about things. For the past week I just haven’t been able to talk to anyone, and it’s really really getting to me. I know they want to help, and I know I want their help – but how on earth can they help me when I can’t even find the words to start letting them know what’s going on? And, what happens if I tell them how I’m feeling and they can’t help me – or they just think I’m being silly, or… worse, they decide I’m not ‘safe’ and decide that hospital is the place for me. Because I am safe, I am. Part of me doesn’t want to be – but that’s the part that just wishes I wasn’t going through whatever it is that I am going through. Ah man, I feel like I’m really feeling sorry for myself, but the only person at the moment who can help me is myself, and apparently my mind just won’t let me do that. So I’m stuck in what feels like a horrible bubble, that’s slowly losing oxygen, spinning round in circles and throwing me around all over the place.