The storm clouds gather; the shadows descend.
All light is gone from the world in despair
But you do not see, because I pretend;
There is no scar for the pain that I bear.
I sit at the eye of the hurricane
With a tempest raging inside my head
Being tossed and turned. Trussed and spurned. In pain.
This sterile frame retreats to sleep instead.
But this world is construct of my own fears
Save me from myself; I cannot break loose
Redrafting my last, my eyes sear with tears,
As in dire torment, I long for the noose.
Reverse paranoia; I see their guile:
Always they are plotting to make me smile.
Never, ever, give up.
No matter how endlessly dark and painful the days may seem, there is always something worth fighting for. You may not see it, and you certainly won’t believe it, but I promise, you want and deserve to lead a happy, successful life.
Every day I am grateful for the doctors who saved me. Suicide is not the answer. Not for you, and certainly not for those who love you and will always be there to pick you up when you are impossibly down, no matter what. So please, do not let the voices win; never, ever give up.
I’m not religious personally, although I did go to a Church of England primary school, so unless my memory fails me, wasn’t “Job the Long-Suffering” an example of how human pain etc is a test of religious conviction? i.e. the belief that suffering has a purpose?
If so, and you’re identifying with my - hmm searching for the right word - ‘unfortunate life experiences’ shall we say, then that’s very sweet of you. Perhaps it does have greater significance, and I’d love to say I find that a comfort, but it’s certainly difficult to see; depression forces you to believe there can never be a light at the end of the tunnel.
No fucker cares that I sit here and ruminate, suffer and bleed alone.
I give so much to others, and get so little in return. I reassure anyone enduring a sleepless night when insomnia has destroyed my health; I support those feeling ‘low’ when I’ve lived with depression for years; I comfort those feeling ‘stressed’ when my life is dominated by anxiety disorder; I console people through their petty little grievances in life when I have traumas in my past they couldn’t conjure up in their very worst nightmares… When will I be worth that effort?
I haven’t been posting a lot about it recently but I am in crisis at the moment, and being supported heavily by an emergency counseling team. Sometimes I really feel like I’m coming on leaps and bounds, and other days it feels like I’ve hit rock bottom all over again, and should reconsider a psychiatric ward. Can anyone enlighten me, is this a normal aspect of recovery?
The shadows are descending… the storm clouds gathering. Sleep is no refuge to me now; a night-mare world constructed of my own fears and insecurities. Please, please, save me from my own thoughts.
The shadows are descending… the storm clouds gathering.
Sleep is no refuge to me now; a night-mare world constructed of my own fears and insecurities.
Please, please, save me from my own thoughts.