I’m trying hard not to be dramatic in my thinking, but my head has other ideas, and I feel angry at its seeming desire to bring me down. The Devil is loud, the Angel far too soft to register. Catastrophizing occurs on a loop, with no subject matter out of bounds. Living in the moment is just an implausible, farfetched, unreality. Life and The World Outside feel the same way.
It occurs to me that my isolation is all engulfing. It occurs to me that I have never known isolation such as this. Dark times, loneliness and disconnection yes, but this decimating isolation has taken me to a new and terrifying place. Layer upon layer, upon layer, upon layer of sadness is laid down, cemented and set in.
States of starvation have always served in bringing people to me; have allowed for honesty; have put out a rallying cry for a call to arms. I don’t allow starvation in any longer. Depression and anxiety are not such beacons.
It is the stark contrast, (between the persona I allow out at the school gates, or the one that kicks in conversing with a Functioning World Adult) , which hurts so much. I find myself waiting for a cue in the casual chat which gives me a way in, an invitation to breakdown. I feel my mouth opening and closing, my muscles spread into a smile, a chuckle leaves my throat. In that moment, I am one of Them. Except I’m not. I hear my dysfunctionality clawing to get out, desperate to be released, let loose on the general public. I must keep it contained until the safety off home.
Pain comes from my craving for companionship, for someone who wants to take me on as their friend. Busy, busy, functioning life is a barrier to the hope of ever finding this. Exchanges of words must be brief, of content demonstrating business, and kept to a safe level of casualness. Acquaintances take the edge off my days of solitude, but friendships would really rock my existence. In a good way.
My senses relay to me that I am not human. If I can’t belong, find a place to be, then what does that make me? I am dysfunctional to the core and always have been. In saying this, I mean not to write myself off, nor demean the battle which is my life, I mean only to use the words which convey how it feels in this current state of being.
I picture a light. Inside of me. Buried deep. Surrounded by blackness. It is pinprick in size. Small in its form, but definite in its existence. As long as I have this vision, I shall continue to strive to find a way to be in this world.