Every day, I
go to war with my mind, an organ that is in a constant battle to kill
me. Every day, I get up and grin at the monster that looms before me.
Black and stinking, with bloody fangs and pebble eyes, it grins at
me, hoping that today will be its day to win.
The monster
has never won. Every morning, I stand firm and grin at it, sending it
scampering back to the place from which it has come.
You can't
see the monster. But I can. This is the dark side of my brain. The
place that tells me I can't do something. One of the haunting,
horrible parts of having Bipolar. And whenever something good starts
to happen, the monster makes an appearance, snarling and laughing,
ready to snatch away whatever I've been building.
As you know,
I've been working on several projects recently. Some of them are
nearing completion faster than others. And this is when the monster
decides to visit.
If you were
reading last year, you may remember the Great Pumpkin Delivery of November 2015. It was an event that made me look myself in the eye
and finally push beyond the fears that have been building for many
years. That event was several hours of pure Hell. Of crying, of not
eating, of being on my hands and knees as I fought with every ounce
of my being to put the monster to sleep once and for all.
And it's
here again. As pieces of the next project fall into place, the
slumbering monster rises and stands before me.
You don't
deserve this.
You can't
do this.
You can't
have this. It's not for you.
Crawling behind the blackened beast is the pain. Pain so harsh and so
violent that, in the past, it's caused vomiting. It's like your soul
is being dragged from your body. Desperately you try and cling to
that precious fibre of your being but eventually the searing pain
becomes too much to bear. You give up. You sit and cry before closing
your eyes and hoping never to open them again.
And all the while, in the back of your head, that rasping voice
hisses, Do it. It won't hurt for long and, when it's over, the
pain will be gone forever.
Life becomes
a battle of wits as I try and piece together this next book while
artfully dodging around a creature that would like to see me dead.
But, as happens every time, I can feel myself going in to my shut
down mode. The mode where I don't talk, don't eat, and don't do
anything other than go to work. I push people away and refuse to
acknowledge anyone in my sphere. Because, as the monster has told me,
I don't deserve any of this, not even people who care about me.
This is
probably the hardest post I've ever written. It's also one of the
most freeing. Rarely am I honest when it comes to how I truly feel. I
much prefer to plaster on a smile and pretend that everything is
okay. Because I'm healthy, right, and what more is there to life than
that? But... There's always a but...
I don't want
to lie to anyone who reads this. Life is hard today. Today hurts and
aches with a pain that tears straight through the body. It feels as
though I'm slowly being cut open. My eyes are dry and my face aches from the crying. Where there was once light at the
end of the tunnel, there is now none. Darkness has settled and, in
the distance, I can hear the monster cackling. Its claws are
whispering over my skin and its putrid breath is trickling my cheek.
I've given this battle my all and now I'm on my knees. The
time is nearly upon us.
Yet tomorrow
is another day. Tomorrow the sun will rise, and it will set. Life
will happen all over again and it's another chance to battle the
black monster. To stand up it, and smile, and say, “Not today. Not
tomorrow. Not ever. You don't control me any more.”.
But I'm
scared that one day I won't be strong enough to battle the monster
that lives in my head.
I'm sorry.
~~~
Rae is an award winning author with several books to her name. When she's not battling the beast inside her head, she enjoys seeing how far life will take her. She's currently running a Kickstarter to help fund her first non-fiction book:
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