What I truly despise about PTSD, depression, anxiety, loss, pain, crohns, my heart issues and fibro is people see them as inconsequential and choices. They assume if you dare to share their effects upon you that you are being weak or attention seeking.
Well Saturday I was being strong by letting folk know through my posts. I was fighting one of the hardest enemies any of us can face, ourselves.
I did not do any of the things my mind was telling me, no actually demanding I do. I reached out and some fabulous folk recognised it was bad and responded, some people missed it and sadly a very few others likely didn’t care. Some of those particular people being those that share all the supposed mental health awareness posts.
That’s no matter now, I got through the weekend, I am still here, I am not suddenly well though, every single day right now is a constant battle where triggers, walls, mist, and blocked pathways are the weapons my brain uses to overwhelm my decision making, my motivation and sadly too often my argument to take another breath.
I am no worse off than countless others, and probably better off than many in some ways, and I promise this in so many ways is not about me, its about not being too late to recognise friends and just how things are developing for them.
I fight each day, for me it would really be so easy, a simple extra this, or more of that. I have sat planning far more than once, but so far on the whole have been able to find another road that may offer even if briefly some small semblance of hope.
I see folk and they see a joker, a confident possibly arrogant self opinionated bloke, with good friends and a nice bike. And yes that I’d mainly the me I choose to project when out and about, but I absolutely swear that is only 5% of the true me.
I have remained here with difficulty by remembering I am a parent and son, but recently I have begun to realise in my case that is not how I am seen by those involved in those relationships, so that defence wanes daily.
The person I project face to face is possibly the me I would like to be, however the one I am is fighting a constant war withing a limbo of despair and clouds.
I like everyone have little say in how long I remain, and it may be minutes, days, months or decades, in some ways its no longer about length of time, its about manner, whether I continue to hold my own or whether the illnesses prevail.
Today I am not finding holding on as hard as Saturday, but it still is a struggle and the inner conflict rages on and on.