What if… Walk With Me?
Depression, proper mind numbing depression where there is no black or white, no good or bad, just grey….. just nothing, I can’t just snap out of it.
I want to, I need to.
But I can’t.
I can see the world carry on around me, but I’m not a part of it, it will carry on regardless whether I laugh, cry or sit here silently watching it pass by.
Life goes on, but I’ve stopped living.
The anxiety bites, crawling its way in to thoughts that had once been easy.
I need to be in control.
But I can’t make any decisions.
Because, what if….
I sign that form and he doesn’t make it though surgery..
I don’t sign that form.. and he dies in my arms…
I leave the house and I crack open for everyone to see
I don’t turn on the nightlight when the kids go to bed….and they don’t wake up
When I need to make a decision and the panic sets in, I’m lost.
I can’t move
I’m paralysed, locked in a body which can do nothing but hope the dancing black spots before my eyes aren’t the last thing I see as I struggle…
To remind myself it may not happen..
but it might…
then I struggle to breath and I don’t know how much I can take..
which is another decision I can’t make…
because what if.
I can’t deal with it.
The stress of just existing,
sounds, sights and touch attack until I turn violent, an angry person raging at everything and anyone that dares intrude my space.
The only way to deal with it is to close myself off from the world.
Shut everyone out.
If they aren’t there they can’t make me stressed.
If I’m not stressed I don’t have to deal with it.
But soon no one is there…
The stress seeps back, because I know I need to get out..
but I can’t..
because what if..
something happens, and the only way to deal with it is to scream, and shout and curse at the fucking injustice that I just can’t cope anymore and all I want to do is hit something or someone and ask..
“Why me? What did I do to deserve this…. just, what the fuck did I ever do to deserve this life"
PND ripped me apart when my life should be whole.
The greatest gift, a miracle bestowed on me, lives to cherish and nurture, to protect and comfort.
And I want nothing to do with it.
I call them an it, because I don’t feel.
I can’t feel.
On auto pilot I go through the motions…
but I miss the best parts.
Because I don’t know what to feel, other than the nothing growing inside where there should be…
But I don’t know what, because I don’t feel.
PTSD has been the unexpected blow that takes me down and doesn’t want to let me go.
Reliving the horror of things best left forgotten.
A movie reel playing out every scene I want and need to forget.
I relieve every step, from home to train, to hospital, to ward, to him
see every pitying, ignorant and hopeful face
I smell the sharp tang of fear and cleanliness
hear the beep of machines, mumbles of hope and tears of anger and despair
I remember the smell of the coffee vendor
the calls of the Big Issue seller
I see this every time I try to sleep.
I don’t want to sleep.
Because what if next time I relive it, the ending changes.
So I avoid, everything.
I don’t want to see the hospitals where it could have happened
I don’t want to go on a train and remember all the journeys
I don’t want to hear his last breaths… again
I don’t want to hear the alarms scream, foot steps pounding as they run to save a life, even as another one goes, because what if next time its different.
Next time its mine.
So I withdraw.and become numb
It can’t hurt if I don’t love
If I don’t grow any more attached, I wont miss him so much when he’s gone, because what if.
The nightmares of what if can’t come if I don’t sleep.
So I don’t sleep.
And I realise I’m all alone.
And I wonder what is the point…
If I’m not, then the nightmares stop, I don’t need to make decisions, I don’t need to worry about the what if.
I don’t need to face the things I can’t handle
I don’t need to look at the faces of those I’ve disappointed
The crushing loneliness at living a life you never wanted, hoped for or dreamed of would end.
Everyone could move on from this,
and for me everything would stop
But what if..
something better is out there, and one day soon, I’ll find it.
And all this will be over.
So for now, I leave the stair banister alone, I don’t look for any rope, I just walk away.
And I hope, really fucking hope, that this isn’t all there is.
That one day, I will live again, and stop just being.
It’s a lonely road, walk with me?