Where do we still turn when our head talks of nonexistence. When we are just fine and wake up the next day, thinking life isn’t worth living. How do we explain that manic-depression doesn’t always mean you actually have manic episodes as people see them in movies? That many times manic is just having lots of energy to finally get stuff done. My brain is a scary place. It tells me to destroy myself since I can remember, and I fight it since I am a child. The war in my head leaves me on edge, constant defense and fear. ~~~~ The times of peace are like balsam to my soul. Indescribable. The days I am actually able to see, feel and hear the wonders of life around me, are joyful days. I cherish those moments, they are the hope I grab onto when not well. The life line when slipping. Slowly drowning. Slowly going into the void again. Flickering like a candle, the flame in distress, the wind picking up, and there it is…….. it’s gone. I am gone. Just functioning – drilled into me through years of trial and error. My light diminishes just like that, and I become invisible to myself and the world. ~~~~~~~~~~ VOID. The skies are grey, and the world becomes a place unknown to me. I look but can’t see. I walk but my feet don’t touch. I hear, but I don’t. I reach out, and stroke with my fingertips over the plants or herbs so dear to me, but I can not feel them. Walking aimlessly around the house I call home, I look at all the beautiful still lives and projects around me, done by me. Created from nothing by someone I try to feel and hear and touch, but can’t reach. ~~~~~ ~~~~ For me, each year it seems the darkness grows, and becomes more frequent. Back in the days they didn’t last this long. There were so many days of strength and energy. Of plans and pulling through. Even if followed by days of simply hating the sound of cars going by the house during morning rush hour. Because they could…. and I couldn’t. How I love the air of those walking in, with life clinging to their coats and bodies. Busy doing what they do, and like bees flying from chores to activities and work through the beautiful fresh air. How I envy them through those times of darkness. Paralyzed. Thinking of morning coffees and getting dressed, taking on the new day with excitement and plans for weekends with friends and family. Hosting dinner parties I always loved so much, but can’t plan in advance much anymore because I might sit in an invisible wheelchair at the time the evening comes around. ~~~~~~Christmas. I am taking a shower, drying off , getting dressed. Looking at my face in the mirror while applying my make up, seeing years and years of what fighting this illness left visibly in my eyes. Thinking as I do so often, like I am cheating my loved ones out of what should be the happiest of times. Wishing this all away. Wanting to be jolly. Wanting to feel the holiday spirit in my heart. But it turned on me and I can’t make it go away. ~~~~~ My brain is a scary place. It tells me of death and darkness for decades. It tells me of sweet relieve. Of peace. Of nonexistence. Of leaving life behind. Why?! —- Why….. ! Every blow hits me harder as life goes on. Crumbling down the mighty walls of my souls’ aging dwellings. ~~~~And people ridicule this. How is that even possible. How can this be degraded to nothing. ~~~~~ Time and time again, fighting to stay alive. Drained. Defeated at times. Gathering strength to get up again, and again. Over and over. Crawling. Finally standing. Walking once more, falling on my knees praying. Pleading for my case. Calling on the waters to cleanse me of this disease every time I step into the shower. Leaning against the tiles, the water drumming on my scull, falling to my feet after running through the black strings of my hair. I don’t want this. Not a bit. Not for a minute. Not for me. Not for my loved ones. Medicated, stabilized, talking and talking; years of everything modern medicine has to offer. As with cancer this is not even nearly defeated. My brain is a scary place…..it tells me tales of death and darkness, and I want light, and life , and flowers in mason jars in a house full of laughter, hugs, and love and beauty……..
Simone van Hove Emery