At the end of the day.
There is You.
There is Him.
And you are alone in this.
Today. Today is subjective. Someone, somewhere, was born today; and someone else became a mother. Someone lived today; and someone else died. Someone fell in love today; and someone else’s heart was broken. Someone healed; and someone else was wounded. Seven billion someones; seven billion todays.
Yesterday, I said, “Today was a good day”. Today, I say, “I’m not sure I still remember how that felt.”
Currently, my treatment plan involves multiple sessions of Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT) per week;
“ECT is a procedure, done under general anaesthesia, in which electric currents are passed through the brain, intentionally triggering a seizure. ECT seems to cause changes in brain chemistry that can quickly reverse symptoms of certain mental illnesses.”
– The Mayo Clinic
The cocktail of drugs that was a Long Island Ice Tea equivalent, is now more of a Cosmo mix. Any medications that would prevent the seizures during ECT have been removed. Unfortunately for me, these are generally the ones that help me control my anxiety, and help me sleep. So, whilst facing possibly my worst fear (being hospitals/anaesthetics/needles – and everything that comes with that combination), I have had to go it alone.
Just me. Just Him.
I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the response of my beautiful family, amazing friends, and even distant champions, who have incredibly and unexpectedly come out of my past to offer me their love and support. They have come along for the ride, pitchforks at the ready, storming into battle. And I feel so loved.
And then, like a switch, there is suddenly a disconnect. I will go for a coffee, or a meal, or even just a walk with one of these incredible people, that I am so lucky to have around me… but every time…
I ring that doorbell.
I walk through those doors.
And they shut behind me.
I am on one side. My army is on the other.
And I am reminded that this is a battle that I must fight alone.
I have, for the first time in a long time, experienced a day where I have felt better. I have felt excited. I have felt hope. I have nearly felt normal. And I will have more of those days. I will also have days where the weight in my chest threatens to pull me under, and I don’t have the desire to speak, or move, or fight. All I want to do is close my eyes, and sleep – because this process of being shattered is so, unbearably, draining.
And I have realised, that both days are OK.
On the good days, I will let myself drown in the happiness for as long as it is mine to keep. And when the day turns into night, and the warm feelings become cold, I will sit under my warm shower. I will let the tears fall, and wash off the day. I will get under the blankets, lay down, and close my eyes. I will listen to my heart.
Still beating. Still fighting. I made it.
And I can make it one day more.
And so, to those of you, like me, who sometimes drown in sadness;
“I won’t tell you to have a good day. Instead, I advise you to simply have a day. Stay alive. Feed yourself. Wear comfortable clothes. Don’t give up on yourself just yet. There will be better days – but until then, just have a day.”