Today is a good day. But what is good? Surely this is dependent on a personal distinction of the word. Is it measured against the bad? Is good a definitive term? Am I misusing the word? If good is the same for everyone, then yes, I am using it wrongly. What word should I use?……. The thought process behind a single word used amongst thousands in a day, if I talk at all, can be a kick start to a blender in which my mind sits. Good is good I tell myself, why question it. Or should I question it? Calmly accept I don’t know the answer I’m looking for, brush it aside. It’s easy to say that now. It’s easy to rationalise the irrational…….
This was a two hour long debate/argument I had with myself a few weeks after my breakdown. When I originally wrote this, and other thoughts at the time, I named it ‘Am I mental?’. I guess I wasn’t asking if I had mental health issues, rather, is there a way back for me? Am I stuck, mentally torturing myself over bugger all, nonsense and ridiculousness!
The day I’m referring to was good because it was the first time in a very, very long time I had woken up and not cried. The first day in a very, very long time I didn’t absolutely detest myself for actually waking up. Sadly this was short lived, the above argument the sabateur among others…
With this nugget of ponderment (I’m coining this word by the way, it’s mine!) swishing around my noggin for months, I finally gave myself a break. I started writing whatever was in my head; good, bad, ugly, anything. Previously I would only write down the thoughts related to my illness. Only negative notions in which to work on. This was helpful and a crutch in equal measure. Yes I could look back and analyse for the better. With me the way I am however, I would more likely dwell and fester in the possibility that what I had written was no doubt irrational, but then rationalise it to aid my demise.
If I think back, I have always processed minor and major conundrums in such a way that I would drift and miss the here and now. But I’d always be okay, I’d always continue as if the norm. That was until I couldn’t cope anymore. Spiralling, drinking to get through the next hour, let alone the day. Alcohol was a fuel in which my symptoms appeared hidden but in reality, they were amplified.
After the breakdown, severe anxiety, depression and unwarranted, uncontrollable rage taunted me. All I wanted was for the multiple versions of ‘me’ inside my head to get along, to have one aim, one clear coherent direction. ‘Peace comes from within, but the voices in my head won’t listen’. I thought I was the only one like me and there was no hope.
Medication and therapy sparked the light at the end of a never ending tunnel. The writing began to help too. It all helped me realise that I wasn’t alone, I had hope, and that happiness comes in many forms. Having something to aim for helped with my anxiety, although still petrified of interaction, I began to push myself, tentatively and with the help of my family, I started venturing out and rebuilding.
From alcoholism and torment through the day. To a breakdown and arguing with multiple versions of myself. A vision teeters gleefully on the top of this heap thanks to family and those who listen and understand. For this I thank you