Dear Universe, I Submit

OK, I give in. You play dirty. You change the rules. You’re like an orca playing with a seal before you eat it… except you never make the kill. Your favourite time to kick is when I’m down. When things go right you shout JUST KIDDING! You feed on my hope until there’s not enough left of it to sustain me, and then you fill my world with people who tell me to think positively as if that will change your course. Normally, I can put up with your rubbish. But sometimes, when I’m really broken, I cry. And then, because I hate myself for crying and the shame is too heavy to bear, I curl up in a ball on the floor and deprive myself of the comfort of a chair because it feels like the floor is where I belong. And that’s how I know I’m really broken.

My mum brought me back to university. We were almost into my accommodation when we passed the front of the campus restaurants with big benches and tables outside. It was extraordinarily busy, and due to the anxiety I have about going ANYWHERE WITH MULTIPLE HUMANS IN IT while in a wheelchair, I was already pretty uncomfortable (being way below eye level and not in control of where you’re going is something I have yet to get used to in a large group). And then I was falling. More accurately, I was being catapulted out of the wheelchair – the old wheelchair that has had several users before me and now can’t turn left – the new wheelchair I was using has had to go back to its former user. Before I really knew what was happening, my mum was saying sorry and my knees were smashing into the ground. I just wanted to get out of sight and out of the way. A girl I’d never met brushed the dirt off one of my knees as tears welled in my eyes, and my mum tried to laugh it off at one point but felt very bad. And yeah, I’d been on top of things at uni. I’d switched off all emotion to get myself through. I was drowning but not yet drowned. Now I hurt in places that didn’t hurt an hour and a half ago. I’m on the floor. I’m all cried out (it took me about an hour to actually allow the tears to fall). Honestly, I’d been so… On it.

Would you be open to a truce? A ceasefire? I promise not to join twitter just so I can internationally mock you in a series of tweets. You already have pretty much every element of my health and I’m not sure what else you’ve left me that I could possibly give to you. But you’re welcome to whatever you can think of. 

I submit.

I don’t want to use the wheelchair. The frustrating thing is that my legs are fine, and they want to walk, and I want to walk on them and run on them… And Skippy says no. And we’re in a stalemate. And I am losing faith in medicine. I think I am losing faith in myself. I have had no idea how to carry on, no idea how to get through the destruction in my mind. But I know I’ll get through. With no idea how, and no real awareness that I’m even making process. One day I’ll just wake up and the world won’t feel heavy. And the awfulness will be behind me somehow. Because time drags you through. So it’s ok that I don’t know how to be. I don’t have to. (Trigger warning). I have fallen apart and the crumbled pieces have just been trodden on, but all those fragments are drifting together, being pulled to the other side of this by the passing of time. There’ll be an end. Even if it’s death. Even if that death is at my own hands, as it so nearly has been in recent weeks (don’t panic, I’m not going to do that, for starters that would involve getting up off of the floor). Something won’t let go. Something won’t give in. Physically I’m not struggling. The physical side of these health things is not what gets me. It’s the mental side. And emotions are not a conscious choice so anybody about to tell me to be positive… please don’t. If there was no positivity, there’d be no human left to write this.

My life at the moment is a situation I can’t control. None of it. And on top of everything else uni deadlines are arriving like rapid machine gun fire so I feel I should leave my friends to their work. I feel like I’m staring in the face of defeat, and I accept that. I accept the outcome and that I can’t change it and that this is what it is, but some stupid little part of my deluded hope is still fighting for its life… and it’s going to kill us both.

“Sugar we’re going down swinging” – Fall Out Boy, Goin Down

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