Velvet Underground- white light white heat
Am I still made of sunshine? Not so much. Now I'm made mainly of something like for example glue, or soup- something viscous and opaque, and liable to form a scum.
It came on slowly this time. I went to Cork to visit a friend, high on my own brain chemicals, flying literally into the sunset which was pretty fine. My brain chemicals kept me going for a few days, and then I started waking up early in the morning, anxiety filling me, thoughts already racing. I was waking up halfway through thoughts, desperately trying to remember what I was worrying about, knowing I was worrying about something, zero to panic in the time it takes to open your brain. I hate that. Any decent mind would at least give you time to steach and yawn and scratch and drink a cup of coffee.
And then before I know it, I'm pacing the city at night, no scarf and cold ears, not making eye contact, counting my steps to silence my thoughts. I left my little, non-threatening, CMHT-pacifying ushering job tonight (I can just see my notes- "Tatty shows willingness to return to work, which is suggestive of progress"- pah!) and suddenly couldn't face coming home. Home which is repository of requirements. Home which demands I do stuff. Home with big, bovine, accusing eyes (metaphorically, of course- I'm not that weird). So I walked. I ended up in Borders somewhere, looking for a copy of Prozac Nation to satisfy my desire for books by crazy women, which I read like other people read porn or Cosmopoltan, and with a similar sense of muckiness. Borders an hour before closing time is a depressing place- tired staff, neon lights, and everyone in there avoiding something, something hopeless pumped out with the tinny music, the feel of time passing on the way to nowhere better. Me huddled over a cup of coffee reading crazy person porn, dreading the moment they tap me on the shoulder to throw me out and I have to drag myself upright, find my feet and get myself moving, go out into the cold. Suddenly, my whole life seems perfectly clear and perfectly pointless, useless, hopeless. I feel like if there is a crock of happy gold at the end of the rainbow, I ca't be bothered to try and find it. I feel like I cann't believe I'm back here again. And so the cycle from euphoria to despair is complete.
Leaving the shop I still don't want to go home. I keep walking. My ears get really, really cold. The streets are full of drunks, and then, further out, round the banks and offices, they're full of nothing- the silence of people who've gone home to their families and left me behind.
I'm tired of this. I'm tired. I'm something and I don't even know what it is. I don't want to sleep. I want to drink. I want to sit and think and stare at the walls and then not wake up until tomorrow is over and that;s a whole other day of anxiety and shiftlessness I don't have to deal with.
How can the world be so different, such a wholly different place, just because something has shifted in my brain? It's the difference between power and impotence, but here and now and lived out every day. And it makes me sad and tired, but I fight on and try and realise that I'm not seeing things clearly just now- but then when am I ever?
My therapist says I need to work on balance. She says I need to work on my problems with rumination- which makes me sound, I think, like a cow who can't chew properly. For my part, most of all I don't want to work on anything. I want what everyone else has got, or seems to have- normal moods, and friends who don't ask "have you brought your medication?" almost before they ask you how you are, and knowing it's my fault not theirs.
It came on slowly this time. I went to Cork to visit a friend, high on my own brain chemicals, flying literally into the sunset which was pretty fine. My brain chemicals kept me going for a few days, and then I started waking up early in the morning, anxiety filling me, thoughts already racing. I was waking up halfway through thoughts, desperately trying to remember what I was worrying about, knowing I was worrying about something, zero to panic in the time it takes to open your brain. I hate that. Any decent mind would at least give you time to steach and yawn and scratch and drink a cup of coffee.
And then before I know it, I'm pacing the city at night, no scarf and cold ears, not making eye contact, counting my steps to silence my thoughts. I left my little, non-threatening, CMHT-pacifying ushering job tonight (I can just see my notes- "Tatty shows willingness to return to work, which is suggestive of progress"- pah!) and suddenly couldn't face coming home. Home which is repository of requirements. Home which demands I do stuff. Home with big, bovine, accusing eyes (metaphorically, of course- I'm not that weird). So I walked. I ended up in Borders somewhere, looking for a copy of Prozac Nation to satisfy my desire for books by crazy women, which I read like other people read porn or Cosmopoltan, and with a similar sense of muckiness. Borders an hour before closing time is a depressing place- tired staff, neon lights, and everyone in there avoiding something, something hopeless pumped out with the tinny music, the feel of time passing on the way to nowhere better. Me huddled over a cup of coffee reading crazy person porn, dreading the moment they tap me on the shoulder to throw me out and I have to drag myself upright, find my feet and get myself moving, go out into the cold. Suddenly, my whole life seems perfectly clear and perfectly pointless, useless, hopeless. I feel like if there is a crock of happy gold at the end of the rainbow, I ca't be bothered to try and find it. I feel like I cann't believe I'm back here again. And so the cycle from euphoria to despair is complete.
Leaving the shop I still don't want to go home. I keep walking. My ears get really, really cold. The streets are full of drunks, and then, further out, round the banks and offices, they're full of nothing- the silence of people who've gone home to their families and left me behind.
I'm tired of this. I'm tired. I'm something and I don't even know what it is. I don't want to sleep. I want to drink. I want to sit and think and stare at the walls and then not wake up until tomorrow is over and that;s a whole other day of anxiety and shiftlessness I don't have to deal with.
How can the world be so different, such a wholly different place, just because something has shifted in my brain? It's the difference between power and impotence, but here and now and lived out every day. And it makes me sad and tired, but I fight on and try and realise that I'm not seeing things clearly just now- but then when am I ever?
My therapist says I need to work on balance. She says I need to work on my problems with rumination- which makes me sound, I think, like a cow who can't chew properly. For my part, most of all I don't want to work on anything. I want what everyone else has got, or seems to have- normal moods, and friends who don't ask "have you brought your medication?" almost before they ask you how you are, and knowing it's my fault not theirs.
posted by tattybluetrees at 3:36 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home