Brain Poem

Everything that you do is always completely wrong,
That's why people around you won't stick around for very long.
They are obviously lying when they say that you are nice,
What does that word mean anyway, why can't I take my own advice.
Your body is disgusting, your brain a twisted mess,
They're thinking the same, you are always to blame but these thoughts they wont confess.
On the streets they look at you, they can see it in your eyes,
You've learned to hide for so long, it still comes as a surprise.
A rush of potent chemicals, the evil you can't see,
The moment you would rather be anything, anyone but me.
You know the mask is slipping,
 They can see the cracks appearing.
You start to come undone, become 'no fun', can you help I'm disappearing.
Insecurity your only friend whispering in your ear,
Don't open yourself up again, wallow in the fear.
No positive can survive the spiral of self doubt,
A negative spin will always win, the loudest voices shout.
Feel an emotion and analyse what's meant by every reaction,
Longing to be numb, fighting not to succumb, looking for distraction.
Sabotage to the wounded brain seems the only way out,
If people fuck you over then you have a reason to scream and shout.
Tear stained eyes the window to a body filled with pain,
Shall I be a cliche and go dancing in the rain.
How can I believe the best when I struggle with the worse,
I want a new brain, I need to retrain, give me the time to rehearse.

Wallflower

Today the words are someone else's though they seem plucked from my brain. If you have not seen this movie. Watch it. Savour these moments. Live them. Even if tomorrow seems impossible you will always have right now. Be infinite. 

Invasion of the energy snatchers

She lay under the covers, the tap dripped in a constant rhythm in time with her fast beating heart. The rain fell steadily against the window and she tapped her fingers along with it. She felt paralysed yet she was aware of every nerve ending. The tingling sensation and the swoop in her stomach. She sat on the edge of the bed. Climbed back under and pulled the duvet above her head. Her breathing faltered and alternated between fast sharp intakes that burned her lungs and long slow rasping inhalation. She moved her feet against the bed frame. Partly in time with the sounds, partly to reassure herself she was still conscious, still breathing. She closed her eyes and watched the shadows of her dreams behind the lids. She opened them slowly blinking and starred. At nothing in particular. Eyes wide and pupils dilated. She tried to grasp for a thought. Nothing came. She was blank, vacant. She lost the ability to speak, to comprehend. She felt like a child. Vulnerable and disorientated. She brushed the skin on her arm and massaged the site of searing pain on her temple. She felt as if all life and energy, even the parts of her that were dedicated to overthinking had drained through her body that was sinking into the mattress. Every limb weighed down. Every cell in her body struggled to remain afloat as she sunk further into oblivion. She did nothing but stay in that position until an uneasy exhaustion took her into a disturbed sleep. She woke not knowing who she was. For a moment it was comforting, followed by terrifying and disappointing when she was able to focus enough to remember. She rose only to do the things that were necessary. She forgot how to dress, how to sit, how to communicate.She was trapped inside a cracked shell. The floating rational version slept. Unable to awake like a twisted sleeping beauty. Not even true love's kiss would bring her back to life today. She traced the walls with her fingers feeling the cool plaster and lingered by the dim glow of the lamp, transfixed by the glare. She felt she had been there before. Was it deja vu or Groundhog Day. The worst place to be trapped is inside yourself. She looked at the reflection in the mirror. Pale, worn and aged. She could not muster enough energy to care. Time stopped and every second intensified the sinking sensation. The muscles on her face strained to smile. It seemed alien. Her whole body felt like it did not belong to her. She accepted the inevitability that today it was achievement enough to be. 

I've never heard silence quite this loud

I've had a good Sunday. I got to stay in bed. I didn't leave the couch and I've watched tv. Last night I got to see one of my idols perform on stage and it made me feel alive. Like every part of my body was feeling something. Listening to a musical with an orchestra makes my fingertips tingle. It's an escape. The sad songs touch you because you can feel the sadness so deeply and the up tempo makes the world seem like it's dancing. 

The end of last week I cut again. I cut the word 'alone' into my arm and afterwards the one thing that upset me was that I'd marked it wrong. The 'L' didn't look like an L. I can't even get that right.  So a good day is always welcome but there is this one thing that sticks. The thoughts that still make me tap and move and be unable to feel settled. 

It is the feeling that I am in limbo. The feeling that I am not living my life, or the life I thought I would lead. I want to be able to sit on a rainy day and not be able to sleep until I finish a good book I am in to. I want to be able to watch the TV and feel totally engrossed, settled. I want to laugh and not have it tainted by the other emotions that flood me. I want to look forward to things. I feel like a puppet on a string. Moving to the music, going through the motions. A passenger with no control of the plane and no idea how to communicate with the pilot. My body does the things it's meant to and yet I am distant, detached. Maybe this is how you cope. You just get through. But there has to be more, right? 

I try and remember the last time I felt something that wasn't so clouded, that was pure. It's hard because my mind is blocking it. Will my good and bad days be defined by how much Valium I have to take or whether I needed a sleeping tablet. Whether the vivid dreams were good or bad. 

When you don't feel invested in the decisions you are making how do you know if they are the right ones. The tiredness is dilapidating. No mater how much you sleep, the steps are laboured. But maybe that's where the strength lays. Everyday I wake up and I make

It. I need quiet because it is all so loud but the scariest thing is silence. Silence speaks a thousand words. It leaves you bare with only yourself in your head. 

The Battle of The Watcher

There is a wide-open field, it’s browning now. The once crisp and vivid grass has worn with 29 years worth of trampling feet. Tall trees surround it. They arch over the edge of the field and the leaves fall in shades of crimson and gold. In any other surrounding they might be considered beautiful but here they are slowly withering with the lack of natural sunlight. It’s a wet day. The ground is damp and muddy with tears and the sky is a dark shade of grey, the sign of more to come.

Thoughts are swooping like birds through the sky, some landing in the empty vast space on the edge of the field; others reach their destination and are grasped by the waiting messengers at opposite sides of the rough terrain. The forces of rationality are encamped on the left of the biggest oak tree. Their tents sprawl many miles and are buzzing with the sound of laughter and preparation for another assault. They wear cloth of blue and purple, silk and satin. In the most opulent tent at the centre of the camp their leader, Captain Common Sense is huddled around a map with her most trusted advisers; Happiness and Contentment.

“Today we will have our victory. Today we will free the Watcher from the reign of the terrible forces of despair. Good will prevail”. Cheers erupt from her companions.

The Watcher is the voice in the sky. They have never seen her but they are guided by her thoughts. They know that she favours the forces of rationality but she feeds both sides and so the stand off has lasted longer than either side anticipated.

“Captain” The messenger arrives with the new thought. “The Watcher has supplied us with medicine to make us stronger.” The messenger passes a scroll to the Captain. She unfurls it and reads aloud. “I feel sad”. She thumps her fist on the table carefully avoiding the mass of objects. “It’s as we feared, the Watcher has been infiltrated, by the other side. We must make our final assault. We must free her”.

On the other side of the field the Leader of the forces of despair is stood on a small embankment looking out over the space between the two armies. She is a striking figure against the gloomy grey, clothed all in black with a high collar of intricate lace.

“Commander Depression” The messenger cautiously interrupts her thoughts.

The Commander turns her misty blue eyes on the messenger. She composes herself.

“Yes. What is it now?” She sighs.

“Today’s thought has arrived. The scouting party has returned from the upper fields. It would seem the Watcher has sent them supplies”. She explains in an almost inaudible voice.

"What sort of supplies” She exclaims.

 “Medicine. It’s meant to make them stronger” She spluttered.

“And the thought?”

“I’m sad”.

A small flicker appears at the edge of her lips, which could have been mistaken for a smile.

“Excellent”.

The tents that line the camp of despair are a little less grand than their counterparts. To the uninformed eye they look like wisps of material floating in the wind, abandoned and ravaged by the elements. But this is all part of how things are over this side of the field. There is no laughter here. There is tumbleweed, which nobody has the energy to consider amusing. There is only the empty ticking of the passing of time and the cogs turning together not in companionship, but simply to achieve the end goal.

"What have you got for me”? The Commander appeared in the tent as if she had been there all along.

Anxiety jumped and Compulsion felt the need to tap the nearest tree 5 times, just in case.  

"Good and bad” Anxiety mutters. “On the one hand we’ve got the thought we wanted. But Fear and Bad Thoughts have returned from the mission. They’ve got the medicine and there’s talk they might be getting reinforcements. What if they do then we’re all just going to…” Depression held up her hand mid sentence.

"Thank you Anxiety. I am well aware of what is at stake”. She furrows her brow and massages her temple deep in thought.

"The Watcher is pacing today. The clouds suggest tomorrow’s thought could go either way. We need to act now”. Compulsion repeats this three times to make her point.

"So. Today is the day. I can’t say I am happy about it” Depression picks up a nearby goblet and drains its contents. “Gather our forces. We march at midday”.

Captain Common Sense is at her desk methodically mapping the day’s progress.

“Bad news Captain”. She motions the messenger to sit opposite with her hand, not taking her gaze away from the conundrum in front of her.

"Happiness has fallen and Laughter and Joy are seriously wounded. We’ve captured Anger and Disillusionment, Calm is dealing with them now.”

“Happiness”. She allows the emotion the briefest of seconds to wash over her and wipes it away. “We all must die in the end”. She reasons.

“Have the reinforcements arrived?”

“We’ve had word that that Love and Passion were delayed in the woods for some illegible reason and Friendship and Support got into a heated debate about the difference between Empathy and Sympathy. Although being twins I can’t see how anyone can tell the difference”. The Messenger handed the Captain the note.

"Well there’s no time to lose. We have engaged in battle we must carry on. If I give up then where is hope”.

"Actually I think I saw Hope in the woodland engaged in battle with Apathy”.

“Fetch my helmet. I must track down Depression.”

In the woodland at the edge of the camp of despair an old woman stood watching the scene before her, wrapped protectively in a cloak against the wind. This was not the first time she had made the journey here, but today she fully intended that it would be put to good use. She edged carefully around the trees until she estimated she was exactly halfway between both camps and she began to walk… slowly. She closed her eyes as she did so; well aware that there was no use in looking where she was going. She was a pawn here; Fate would decide whether she would make it to the middle. Just as before she could hear the sounds of battle around her, nearly lost an eyebrow to an errant spearhead but was surprised to find that she had reached the middle with little or no maiming or loss of limb.

"I've never got to do this bit”. She said aloud to herself. She raised her arms and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long before the messengers from both camps came scurrying towards her, each trying to reach her before the other.

"Who are you?” They exclaimed in unison.

“I am Progress”. She announced proudly.

“And what do you want?” They asked.

"I need to speak with your Leaders. Bring them to me. I’ll be here.” And with that Progress sat down and pulled out a thermos flask and a day old cucumber sandwich, no crusts.

The Messengers looked at each other and then as quickly as they had come made their way back to camp.

Depression’s first instinct was to tell the old woman to leave and get back into bed but there was a part of her that was intrigued. She walked purposefully towards the centre of the field and could see Common Sense approaching from the opposite direction.  When they arrived Progress was still nibbling the corner of the sandwich and motioned them both to sit. Eyeing each other mistrustfully as they did so.

"So. You are Progress. Well given the progress my army has made today I assume it’s me you are here to see”. Depression smirked.

“Actually no. I am here to see both of you. Because what I have to say concerns you both. All I ask is that you listen. I will answer any questions you have but first you must understand the truth of it”.

"Very well” Common Sense nodded in agreement.

"Make it quick.” Depression sighed in resignation.

"First I should explain who I am and where I come from. I am Progress. It has taken me a long time to get here. I have nearly been to this point many times, but there have always been obstacles in my way. Today it would seem Time and Fate have finally made up after a silly disagreement over a game of boggle and here I am”. She smiled.

“Loving the life story obviously, but when are you going to get to the WHY are you here bit”. Depression interrupted.

"I am here because you need to know the truth. You need to finally understand so that peace will come to us all, and to the Watcher.”

“Of course that is what we are trying to achieve. But how can this possibly be something the forces of despair are going to be on board with. I mean clue is in the name really”. Common Sense interjected.

Depression stuck her tongue out and turned her attention back to the old lady who was now slurping the dregs from her flask.

“Because my dear, I assume you both don’t want to keep reliving the same battle over and over again”. Progress pronounced every word slowly, waiting for its effect to sink in.

“What do you mean the same battle? I mean we have been here for a long time but this is the first time our forces have actually engaged”. Common Sense had a habit of raising an eyebrow when people said ridiculous things, the eyebrow at this point could not get much higher.

"That is what you believe. But it is not the case. You are all creations of the Watcher. You are manifestations of her emotions. Every day you are slightly different because she makes it so, but still everyday you battle for dominance, lead by her thoughts and controlled by forces even stronger than you can imagine. One day you win, the next day you lose and to what end?” Progress sighed and looked between the women. Common Sense looked as if she had a headache and Depression looked a bit upset.

“But there is a way out. That is why I am here. You see the Watcher has made me. She has made Progress. That means that things will change. They will take time to do so. Particularly now Time has partially retired and has a busy schedule. But you can make this a whole lot easier for yourselves if you just put down your weapons and at least try and co-exist. You are two sides of the same coin, do you see that. The Watcher needs you both, but she needs you in harmony”.

“If that is so. Then how long have we been here. Who brought us here”. Common Sense enquired stoically.

“You have for many years co-existed. I am not saying it has been easy. There have been minor rebellions and such-like. But you have managed. Then something happened which changed. You see the tension between both sides was building. There were whispers that one side was going to overthrow the other and so this all began. Something altered in the Watcher. She was influenced by forces beyond our grasp.”

"There are other forces?” Depression exclaimed.

"Not in the sense you mean. I am talking about things called memories. Memories belong in another part of the Watcher’s realm but they impact on her the same way that we do. It seems something went wrong in the management of these memories. There was a breakdown in the system and the Watcher was unable to regain control”.  Progress explained.

“If that is what happened then why was medicine deployed to the other camp?” Depression said accusingly.

“Because that camp was contaminated. I am sorry to have to tell you Common Sense but there was a chemical imbalance in your water supply. Until recently the source could not be detected but it has impacted many of your forces”.

“I don’t know what to say”. Common Sense was lost for words.

“You have both taken the first step. You have listened to progress. You are now aware of the problems and outside forces are on their way. The Watcher’s battle may not be over but now we can try and work together instead of against each other”.

The ticking of time

The floodgates opened. It's been days of spinning and dizzyness and black holes. The tenuous thread was stretched too tight. I was sat at my desk and I could feel the darkness, the void like something expanding inside me, filling up ever bit of my body until it had nowhere to go. I could feel the shaking starting in my fingertips and the tears burning the skin around my eyes and falling at a pace I couldn't keep up with. I did what I could. I breathed. I took a time out. I looked down and saw the redness on my arms where unconsciously I was clawing at the skin trying to escape. 

The big glass window was inviting. I watched the people below, the sprawl of buildings. I saw laughter and I saw children walking to the college next door. So full of possibility. A future is not something we are all so fortunate to get. The glass shone and it called to me. It asked me to end this. To stop the suffering. It invited me to jump, to be free, to fall through the air in complete loss of control. The worries will cease. I called the doctor and she sent me to the mental health crisis team.

You are on the brink and you feel hopeless and scared. Being scared of yourself is a hard thing to describe and something you cannot get away from because science has yet to discover a way of detaching you from yourself. So in this highly anxious state you drive up to the creepiest looking building. We're talking the mental asylum of your nightmares, the hotel from the shinning. And you wait. 

The OCD kicks in and I actually re-arranged the discarded bottles on the floor so they were symmetrical in the waiting room. I am taken into a fluorescent space with miss-matched furniture and asked to start from the start. Having to coherently explain the brain processes that have haunted me does not come easily. It is like I am floating I tell her and the rational me cannot intervene. 

I am getting daily visits now. A constant stream of psychiatrists and nurses and doctors and occupational health practitioners asking the same questions. Making the same faces. Nodding their heads sympathetically. They say things like 'you are doing really well' and 'it's natural to feel like this'. I discovered that there are medical terms for things I never knew existed. I have 'hyper sensitivity' the feeling of being overwhelmed. A walk to the supermarket is like looking at the world in HD. Noises are louder, colours are brighter. I jump at a door closing or a voice behind me at the bus stop. But things will get better. The mantra. 

I feel like a 6 year old child again. I pace around the room tapping in constant rhythm. I throw a ball against the wall and rest my head against the cool concrete wishing I could wrap myself around it, wrap myself in a bubble where nothing else can come in. 

A whirl of activity - Valium for the hard days, sleeping tablets to rest, talk of psychotherapy and CBT and long term plans but I cannot look past tomorrow.

I watched a film about suffragettes and the thought of making a difference in the world moves me. "Never Surrender. Never give up the fight". I hold onto it. I take some strength from it and a bit of the fire flickers behind my eyes for the briefer of seconds it reminds me that I am alive. 

I have the urge to buy a watch. I get it as an early birthday present. To watch the ticking of time pass and I think...one day at a time. Sometimes a hug can give you enough strength to move your feet. A friend brought me an orchid. He said 'It's an indestructible flower. Like you'. 

True happiness lies in Lemon Meringue Pie

Mania. Noun. Excessive excitement or enthusiasm. I have reached the next stage and I cannot say I am sorry to see the back of the extreme darkness. I know it won't always be like this. If life were only highs how could you truly value them. But I've taken a big sword and cut down the brambles for now. The pricks will no doubt dent my skin again but for now my medication has created a lovely cotton wool cloud. I am floating on it above the bad bits. I can still see them. The bad images seem to move in slow motion beneath me, but today, they cannot touch me.

To describe mania is difficult because it is not necessarily genuine happiness. It is another extreme on the road to finding a balance. Extreme happy reactions to things you normally don't react to like that is a bit disconcerting. You are in a bubble and reality seems detached from your body. I laugh, I smile, I feel the endorphins coursing through my blood and it's pleasant. But I know laughing hysterically at a door is not most people's interpretation of 'natural' emotion. It's like going from being Eeyore one day to Tigger the next, when really you should be Winnie the Pooh.

The best thing is how it effects how you think about things. And it happens so quickly. Where as yesterday the world would end if you had to speak to someone, today you want to go out and meet new people. Work is mostly spent organising. I move desks and the physical demands on my body feel good. When you're consumed by things going on in your mind it's a comfort to move things around. I become aware that although my mood has lifted the OCD within me is coming out with this process. I like things to be symmetrical. I like to see patterns. Personally I blame too much Tetris in the 90's. I spend time arranging it and it's funny how a clear desk brings me a clearer mind. I finish early and head home. It feels good to have a mind that's focusing on the dishes or trying to remember to use the Anthea Turner inside out technique to change the bed. There is something about fresh bedding. Usually makes me think of Christmas or a Birthday. Little thoughts excite me like a drink, watching a tv programme I like and devouring this Lemon Meringue Pie. Today the thought that my yesterday's could have stopped me seeing the sky or laughing at that joke makes me ache with relief. 

Did you know you can smoke a pineapple

There was a slight shift. A small parting of the clouds and I knew I could do it. I could move my legs, I could make it into the office today. I looked at the marks on my arms and sighed, I made a mental note that next time I felt like that I should just eat Nutella. I mean I am a firm believer that Nutella was sent by the gods. It's that good. 

I had dreams about my gram again but they were not the usual ones of her death haunting me. It was just me spending time there, in the house and it was so vivid I could still see every line in her skin, I could smell the Berkley Red cigarettes and feel the fibres of her cardigan against my skin and she released me from a hug. 'Go now' she said 'And don't you be sad there's a good girl'. I hold her words to my chest like they are a tangible thing I can touch.

Those first few steps are always the hardest. I walk in silence today because I don't think there is a musical accompaniment to the swooping sensation I feel at the thought of walking through the office. I love my colleagues but every step feels initially like I am making them in slow motion. Are they judging me. Do they think it's because I can't cope. Do I look broken. 

It is amazing how we are told that our happiness is in own hands and we can't deny that if we are not happy in ourselves, it's like a slow poison eating away at our rationality. But today I am sheltered. By each of my friends in their own way. A word, a touch, a smile, a laugh. I still cannot bring myself to be the version of me that I know I should. I should put that face on we do to protect ourselves. To say we are fine, hide the scars. But I can't. And they see that. But it's ok. I feel the lightest I have felt in days walking towards home. 

When this started I began chain smoking. I had always considered myself a social smoker and was not happy health wise or financially that this seemed to soothe me but then I discovered the e-cigarette. I call her viv and she tastes of pineapple and it's the sensation. It's holding it to my lips and holding it in my hand and breathing. And I think. There are greater evils. I always reassure myself that it's not like I inject heroin in my eyeballs or anything.

I swing by the docs and get more points on my advantage card as a regular. The nurse is going to jab me with flu in the hope I won't get it. I'm sure there's a more sciencey type explanation. Am I a hypochondriac or is my throat already closing.

Tonight it seems like some kind of future might be possible. I will go out, I will go to work, I will experience and that in this second however long it lasts is gold dust. 

Diary of a Depressed Girl (Day 2)

30th September - Balls to it

Payday. For the average brained amongst you this will be a good day. Finances picking up you'll probably already have picked out the new shoes you want online or decided to go to that gig next month with your friends. When you're depressed it's not quite as easy. We all worry about money. No doubt you said to yourself 'well that's already spent' or 'now I'll be living on beans for the month'. But you'll still find a way to go out the Saturday after next or go for dinner with your bestie, to that little restaurant you've been meaning to try for ages because she's got a crush on the beardy guy who works there. You'll worry. Possibly complain to your partner. Make a mental note to start a finances spreadsheet like your dad. But then you'll get a text, or turn on the TV and life will continue. Your brain will move on to the next thought. What shall we have for dinner. 

Just to illustrate the absurdity, this in the space of 10 seconds of logging on to Internet banking is what went through the brain of an anxious person - 'Why don't I earn more money. It's because my career is going nowhere. There was no point doing that degree. You should have known you'd never end up doing anything worthwhile. You might as well just give up now. Is it possible to retire in your 20's. Don't be stupid people are having to work much longer now. There are a lot of people on the street and you are complaining. What bills do I have to pay. I don't know when they go out. I can't face checking it because maybe I worked it out wrong. I'm bound to not be able to pay them. What if I lose my job because of all this going on. What if I can't pay my rent. I'm bound to end up on the street. Would I get killed if I was homeless because I didn't know the 'street code'. Which place in Cardiff would be the safest to sleep in. I'll have to start planning that just in case. Maybe if I make friends with that tough guy with a dog who lives under the bridge...' 

The next obstacle is the shower. I like to think I am a clean person. In fact it sometimes forms part of the ritual OCD to wash my hands. But when you're depressed everything feels like the hardest thing in the world to do sometimes. Today the thought of having to shower is physically difficult. I have to consciously focus on making it happen. I am torn by the want to go out and the need to curl up in a ball and block it all out. 

When I do make it in it's not the most pleasant experience. I marked my skin last night. I hesitate to call it cut because that sounds so bad, so detached from the actual feeling. I wince because as much as I love original source mint shower gel it is not kind to the burning reminders of my feelings on my arms. People do this for many reasons. I cannot claim to know or understand them all. For me it's like a bubbling up. It gets to the point where I cannot feel or think anymore and a purely physical sensation elsewhere is like a release. Luckily I couldn't get the blade off my razor. Well done to the company for making it so impossible. I am going to take steps to make sure it stays that way. I think watching that documentary about Amy Winehouse may have been a bad idea. It was like looking into a mirror at times but then so completely different to what I am going through. I made a mental note to myself to put down the alcohol in my hand. 

The doctor asked me 'Are you suicidal'. And I could immediately and confidently answer 'no'. I don't want to die. I told her. Just sometimes I don't want to exist. I want to cease being. Or rather I want to be, but just not be me. And as long as that distinction is clear to me, I know that I can still be here. 

When I finally make it to the park there is an overwhelming feeling of anti climax. The court is taken so I can't play. I walk to the lakes. It's beautiful. And usually a good place to come and think. But today. Now that I am here. I think 'what now'. I am completely alone and the thought that usually comforts me sends a chill through me. I watch the seagulls on the water and wonder what it must be like to be them. Consumed by the need to survive. To eat, mate, purposefully eat your garbage and crap all over your cars. I doubt a seagull spends hours worrying that it looks too feathery today or that the other seagulls won't like it. In fact annoying your own kind seems a pre requisite for seagull-kind. 

There is something hypnotic about the ripples and I cannot deny that I get the same thought as I do every time I cross a bridge. I just want to throw something. I don't know what or why. Then the thought hits me to throw the ball. The thing that has consumed me to get over the last day was another let down. Now I know what the rational reading this is thinking. Why would you not just go back and play later. Well that's because the depressed mind cannot comprehend a later. Right now there is only the rustling of the trees and a lack of direction. I decide it's probably best to just keep walking. 

On the way back I buy a glass bottle from the shop with some fancy fruit drink in it. I have no idea why I chose it but I become aware of the urge to crush the bottle in my hand. Luckily it passes and I somehow make it back unaware of how I got here or why I now seem to be unable to stop tears streaming down my face. I wonder where my place is in the world and realise I should probably eat something as it's nearly 3. The washing up is looking at me, reminding me that the world doesn't stop because you are struggling with it. The day has passed in a blur.  One more day closer to the meds settling in. One day closer to clarity. I read a quote today from Robin Williams. He said that the saddest people are always the ones who want to make others laugh, because they never want anyone else to feel the sadness they feel.