There was a time when I hated them for giving up. But now I think that would have been kinder – to leave this, to leave me, to stop the emotional roller coaster. Today I hated them for wanting to try – half heartedly, reassured by the fact that I’ve been out of hospital for a few weeks, deciding we won’t be scared by numbers spat out by a machine… Impressed at the intelligence I displayed in making and implementing my own treatment plan… My consultant sat there and I knew from his hesitant and carefully picked words that he was waiting to deliver a punch.
And then it came. Things were looking reassuring almost, but we are still looking at a very complex situation. Which meant we had conversations I wasn’t ready to have yet. He wants me to see some doctor who is one of the only people in the country, apparently “arguably, the world” who has any idea how to help this hiccup. He is highly specialised and way more in the know than the guy I just sat in front of – the consultant who took me away from the care of the one doctor who was trying things, who understood the impact on my mental health too… He’s giving up, he’s passing me on. He stole me and he won’t even keep hold.
I won’t tell you why I’m sat on the London Underground typing this through tears that are tearing their way through the mask of calm I have tried to wear. But I will tell you that before I made it to this train, my feet took me to the pub by my uni. And I downed a pint before I could face the world again. It was that bad. And I broke, and I gave up, and I wanted to throw myself in front of every car that passed, and I wanted to scream. And I couldn’t. I can’t. I don’t know where to turn. I don’t know how to do this. I will stay on the planet, I won’t do anything stupid, but I walked through London dead inside. I am dead inside. I have nothing to lose. There is nothing to save.
I am crying in public. I am filled with dread. I cannot do this.
I don’t want to do anything. I don’t even want to blog. Initially, I wanted to run, to just go and go and go. And now I don’t know what to do.
Before that appointment I just sat in front of the main entrance to my uni staring up at the beautiful old building and watching the world go by for over an hour. Yesterday was forgotten. I was happy. I had all my swimming stuff but I never made it to the pool. Before I knew where I was walking I was at uni, and there I stayed. I should have stayed there.
I am done.
I have nothing left to give and no emotion left to bleed.
I need to fall off the rails. I need to hurt this one out and let it tear me apart because I am already powerless against it.
There is nothing left.
I have nothing left.
There is no hope.
My god, there is no hope left.
And I don’t know what to do.
I am not broken, I am not crushed… I am more than that.
I am done. I am gone. I am so worked up I’m having heart palpitations and I am so downtrodden that palpitations are not enough. And now I’m crying my way through Cannon Street national rail station, and don’t worry – I don’t… I don’t… When did it all go so wrong?
I need some time.
I know there is a way through this, but right now I am nothing. Well, I’m a crying, slightly drunk mess on a packed commuter train. And nobody cares. Why would they?
I’m so pathetic and I’m so done. I’m sorry.
I’m not going to do anything to induce the grim reaper’s presence. I could never do that to the people stupid enough to waste energy caring about me. But that is it now. There is no defiance. There is no… Anything. I am nothing.
And the two people I could trust with this haven’t spoken to me for months.
I just can’t stop crying.
I can’t believe today happened. I knew that even “just about clinging on” was too good to be true.
I hate myself for being so pathetic right now.
My world just fell apart in that clinic room. I want to go back to uni, I need that back, it will get me through possibly. I don’t even…
“There’s nothing left to say now, I’m giving up” – Imagine Dragons, Nothing Left To Say
I can’t even words any more. I can’t even cry any more.