It Comes Back

The thing about depression is that no matter how much work you put in, how far you come, it will come back.

I’ve felt it sucking at me again these past days. Felt it dragging at the corners of my mind. I woke up today and there it was. I am also in the grip of a Fibro flare. For those lucky enough not to know what that is, it basically means my entire body is in pain for no damn reason. Are they connected? Hell yeah.

Depression is a little parasite. She waits for something else to bring me down and there she is. Right on my life line, sucking all the feelings away.

Until I am not happy, or sad. I’m back in the grey wasteland of nothing. Everything is leached of joy. I am flattened. I am nothing. But I refuse. Im in a desert leached of all emotion. But I ain’t stuck here.

So I go to work. This is my job after all, keeping the Bonnie Bot alive. I watch my favourite shows. I reach out to my friends who get it. I tell husband. I get good with being sick. I do the things I like doing. I go through the motions. In my case, if I succumb and just lie down, I will get worse.

I start being kind to myself. I bring my best self talk forward. C’mon Bon, you know the drill. Are you safe? Do you need help? Is this manageable?

I take steps. If I want to get better I have to fight for it. I feed my face with good food. Listen to good music. Do things that make me feel… something. Hide the sharps. Put the razors away. Bury my face in my dogs neck and just hold on.

This is the price I pay to be me. My brain gives me creativity, it makes me different, intuitive, imaginative. And sometimes, it tries to kill me. Everything is a balance I guess. I still like being me. But the tax is bitch.

So I will hang on. I will hug my children and breathe them in. I will rest my head on husband’s shoulder. I will wait for it to pass. Hold on Bon, just hold on. Wait for the times to get better. Have faith that they will.

I will stay. I will not let this be the end of me. Because brain, you dear, fucked up mess, the times they are a changing. My smile will come back before you kill me. Just watch.

Stay weird peeps. Just stay.

X Bon

Flirting with Death

It’s hard to explain what it feels like to flirt with death. I guess when you can’t feel anything it’s the only thing that makes you feel something. And even the worst something is better than nothing at all.

I know how fast I need to be driving to ensure a fatal collision with a tree. I know how high a building needs to be to make it a certainty that if I step off I’ll be gone. I know how fast a train needs to be going so that if I throw myself in front of it I’ll die instantly. I haven’t yet figured out exactly how many pills I need to take to make it a sure thing, evidenced by the fact that I’m still here.

Sometimes when I’m standing numbed in a crowd the only thing that can snap me into the moment is the heart pounding temptation to step into traffic. To just let go and give up. To finally be done.

Because how long do you think I can fight my own brain? How long can I be passed from one doctor to the next and the next and the next and slowly realize that none of them know how to help me? That their useless words comfort neither of us. Mental illness is the biggest field I know of that has the least answers and I’m so tired of it. The uncertainty. The endless not knowing. The unfixableness of me.

I keep fighting. I stay. For my loved ones. For my family. For my children. For you, reading this and looking for your own answers.

I will rise out of this darkness again, I hope. In the meantime I pray for something to take my pain. I clutch my pillow tight and I hold on. I wait. For that lost piece of me to return. All the while knowing I’ll have to do it again and again with nothing to ease me. Nothing to gentle this battle. No peacekeeper coming to show me my worth or a cure to wait for.

Just me. Curled tightly in this bed. Holding on. Waiting for a reason. Flirting with death, while her enticing embrace laps gently at the edge of my lonely refuge and the temptation grows.