I slipped again this weekend. Misplaced anger, frustration, loss. I’m feeling tired now, depsite having had a bank holiday. I’m feeling depleted, my lungs are tired.
But I’m trying to feel stronger, I’m trying to pull my seams back together. It’s just a temporary slip.
The police came for my cousin. He’s not well- he’s not there anymore. Or perhaps, he is there, intensely there. I watched from the window as they drove him away in the ambulance.
They took him to a psychiatric hospital. The same place I expected to find myself a few years ago. But he’s slipped deeper. Everytime I see him he’s sunk further, eaten less, screamed louder.
But he put up a fight, he spoke back, he challenged. In fact, I found myself smiling. He’s not the same cousin I know, but it’s still him. He’s in there. He’s just twisted and knotted inside. He’s lost, the same way I find myself stumbling through thick darkness, lost in the chaos of it all.
My cousin has been suffering for a long time, he’s really not doing well. He’s not eating, over exercising, he’s blindingly angry and reclusive.
I left him a note today, to say i miss him and i love him. But it was unbelievably poorly timed, and now I’m left with an even angrier cousin than I started with. What have have I done?! I feel incredibly stupid, which i completely deserve.
How can I reach out to someone who shuts everything out?
I’ve been wanting to write, wanting to write for a while. I want the words to tumble from my lips and spill out across my hands. Bleed into the paper and stain my thoughts red. I want someone to find this.
I’m angry, unbelievably angry. Filled with fury. So angry I want to weep and scream and smash all at once. My mother is as cold and detached as always. But I’m forgetting how to care less. It’s cutting deep, slashing into my sides and ripping out my warmth. I’m cold and detached.
I’m waiting for the summer to wash away my sadness. I’m waiting to focus on the good, because there is so much good around me.
I made my first trip back home-home before I started writing about Saffron, and before I had started to come to terms with Saffron’s mental health problems.
Until I left on my big trip, I hadn’t felt in a while. Hadn’t felt anything. All I felt was heaviness and darkness. In fact I remember very little about that period. I don’t remember whether it was a cold winter, or whether I enjoyed my frequent visits to the river, where I escaped everyday. I just felt numb and strangely round and thick.
But when I stepped out of that aeroplane, I could feel the intense heat and the burn of the large rising sun still stings my eyes. But I felt. From there, it grew. I wanted to feel more.
I wanted to feel the dust on my skin, I wanted to smell the stench of the dirt on the streets, I wanted to taste the heat in the food, I wanted to feel the burn of the sun. And I felt it all. Every sense tingled and stung. After months and months of not feeling a single thing. Suddenly I could feel everything. I felt alive. I felt real again.
Now, when I feel numb and vacant. I close my eyes and take myself back. I grip my mind tight in my skull until I can feel the sting in my eyes again.
I’m sitting on the same bench I sat on in the Autumn, when I wrote November Update. Then the leaves were burnt orange, and now the trees are bare, all except the conifers.
I’m sick again, so I’ve been signed off work for a few days now. But it’s nothing like it was last time. I’m coping a lot better and my body is stronger.
The sun is breaking through the clouds and Spring is pushing through behind. Things are better this time. I’m more sure of who I am and what I’m doing. I feel less flighty and more solid.
Getting a bit sick of living at home with Dad. I can’t seem to separate myself from his depression. He spends all day in bed, and the house is a mess. Even after I’ve cleaned the house and in turn cleaned my mind, I still seem to soak up his depression like a dry sponge.
Doesn’t help that February is the coldest, greyest, bleakest month of the year.
What shall I do?