Inside a Canister

I feel like I am in a canister, where no light gets in, and I can't get out, but inside I am fragmenting, disintegrating into a million pieces, yet no one can actually see me breaking up. I can't remember what it feels like any more to be happy and not broken, yet another part of my brain knows this is not how I always am. I want to feel happy, to laugh spontaneously and to not keep fighting the complicated algorithms in my brain...if I do this, then the consequence is this...

I feel paranoid, that I am being watched and listened to. I even feel responsible for the A & E crisis, as I know if I do anything then I will only add to the long lists that really ill people are on. So then I plot and plan to make sure I get it right; until I picture my granddaughter and feel her arms around my waist...

I am like a hamster on a wheel that I can't get off. I am booked to see a psychiatrist and I am expected to have phone calls from CPN...when I can hardly bring myself to speak to the people I want to talk to. How did I get back here? I almost don't remember. But I don't want to carry on this trajectory. I almost want to yearn myself better. I am sure I can do it, and then I can cancel all this nonsense; get back to normal life. If there is such a thing.