My head’s full of electro-static cotton wool … don’t google it, I just made it up. Nothing else can fully paint the picture of a feeling of cumulative nothingness piqued with jabbing, piercing needles which are prodding at my conscience and my consciousness every waking minute of the day. I feel permanently sick. I can’t smile, I can’t laugh without feeling I have to kick a concrete ball out of my chest first. I’m clawing at air.
I have so much to say and can’t utter a word. I feel so much but am numb, anaesthetised … nerves and limbs dormant at someone else’s will other than my own. Or maybe that’s just me : maybe I’m just shutting down as a defence mechanism so I can keep going on, one foot in front of the other, smiling and being happy, bouncy, silly with my boy, always a light word and a grin for the old man neighbour downstairs, who, let’s face it, needs cheering up much more than I do. My life may be about to radically change for the worst, but his is about to end. And when his does, doubtless sooner rather than later, I will break down. He doesn’t know it, but he is my pillar through this … he has no idea how his fragility is keeping me strong. How selfish of me is that.
In November something picked me up and flung me hard against a wall. I’ve been fighting and scratching at every crack and crevice on the way down since, but today they told me it was over … I have to stop … It’s time to give in and sacrifice my last bit of pride in order to salvage the tiniest remaining speck of dignity. My head is still up, just about, but I’m howling like a wolf on the inside. There’s a Venetian mask across my eyes but I can feel my lips crushed tighter together than they have ever been. How are you MJM? Oh ya know, I’m getting by, you have to don’t you …
Well, apparently it’s not that easy, the old ‘getting by’ thing. And honestly? I’m actually really not.