An Unwinnable Tug Of War

Continuing on from my last post, I’m really struggling to climb back out of the pit I currently find myself in. My mind is full of unending doubts and negative assertions, and my body is in a constant state of anxiety. Time seems to drag, and my goal each day is to reach nighttime where I can sleep and find temporary respite. I’ve been dreaming a lot more than usual recently, and have found that these nightly imaginings are formed of idealised life events or pursuits: developing a relationship and ultimately having a family, being with friends and feeling like I belong, and being a child again with all the potential ahead and none of the burdens. Whilst these are pleasurable to engage with, the disappointment upon waking and realising they are not real brings with it a great sense of sadness.

The thing I’m finding most challenging is the persistent tug of war of that is occurring… on the one hand I want to be on my own and shut myself away from the world, whilst on the other hand I feel desperately alone with a unwavering worry that I am alienating my friends. It’s the biggest challenge of the illness, as there are so many contradictions, and conflicting emotions. Balancing a desperate need to reach out to people, with a heartfelt desire not to alienate those same people by being too full on, is a constant source of mental disharmony. When I’m at my most down I sometimes message people with perhaps a little too much honesty about how I’m feeling, and if I subsequently read into this that I may have upset someone or made them feel uncomfortable, then it only leads to more worry and anxiety. Unfortunately I can’t prevent this need to reach out.

It doesn’t help that the NHS ended my therapy last June before I felt I was ready to finish, and after consequently being re-referred by my GP, I haven’t heard anything from them for over 8 months. To say that I’m frustrated by this is the understatement of the year. I went back to the doctor today, to chase the re-referral for a fourth time, and his response was ‘oh, you should have heard something by now’. Thanks, that’s really helpful. With hope already funneling it’s way out of my body like sand through a sieve, this lack of purposeful help from the doctor does nothing to help curb the flow, and in fact just makes the holes in the sieve bigger, and the rush of sand quicker. If the very people who are supposed to help you cannot or will not, then how are you expected to carry on?

I’m going away for a few days now, which may present a chance to reflect. My worry is that it will only act as a temporary respite, and that the knowledge that I will be returning to the darkness very soon will be a burden. That’s assuming it doesn’t follow me away, which it has a devilish tendency to do. Whether it follows, or merely waits, I find myself running out of ways to deal with it, and lacking theĀ  energy to go on fighting the good fight.