Don’t go up the stairs, don’t go up the stairs, don’t go up the stairs.
What I said out loud when, yesterday morning, I couldn’t lie in bed letting the voice in my head steal more from my soul.
What I said out loud when I went walking in the dark before I had to try and get through another day.
What I said as I walked past the stairs that go up the headland at the northern end of Narrabeen.
I got past them and breathed a little easier. I was listening to Ball Park Music when this track came on:
I ripped the headphones out because I didn’t believe it.
I kept thinking of my friends Eden and Maggie and their lives after losing people in their lives to mental health crises.
I made myself imagine the boys’ lives if I was gone. If I had taken me from them.
Don’t go near the water, don’t go near the water, don’t go near the water.
How do you explain the demon realm to the uninitiated?
I spent much of yesterday working. Somehow, through the blinding storm of wanting to take one of our kitchen knives and drive it over and over through my hand so hard the tip would embed into the cutting board beneath, I wrote two articles.
The power of the human brain, huh.
Your comments kept me going. Chef making me cups of tea and holding me kept me going. Texts from friends kept me going. A text from Maggie saying, “Do not trust your feelings” was vital.
It sounds so counter-intuitive doesn’t it. We’re told constantly ‘go with your gut’, ‘if you feel it it’s real’. Well let’s all just make a mental note that there are particular occasions when the complete opposite is true.
“Don’t trust your feelings” gave me the power to say “I don’t believe you” to the vitriol my brain was flinging at itself. It got me to 3:20 yesterday afternoon.
And here we are, a whole day later. There’s a bit of a drug cocktail in play and I am fluctuating between awe at the power of modern medicine and trepidation that I could possible feel this much better this quickly.
What I do know is this. I am OK. And that is a whole lifetime away from where I was yesterday.