This Is Me

Sometimes it’s as if you can’t hear what I'm saying, as though my words have no real meaning to you. I am serious about what little I can allow you to know of what goes on in my mind. It is as if my thoughts are once thought then re-echoed a thousand times, a repeat of a repeat of a repeat…..

Endlessly I fumble with the same transactions which spring up and haunt me. Thoughts of plans and preparations, endless lists of jobs to do, places to go, people to see, futures to arrange. I try to sleep, but a thousand words get in my way. And when I dream a million images fight for attention, crowding in on each other, all semi-connected, yet separate. When I speak, what comes out of my mouth is not the same as the thoughts in my head. I have to concentrate to stay on track, all the while fighting with deadlines, priorities, decisions which I am in no fit state to make. I think of big issues, such as harm coming upon my family, the children of Cernavoda, the victims of terrorist attacks, my fear of travelling. I think of minor inconsistencies  which others scold me for even considering, yet weigh heavily and threaten to overpower me. I write shopping lists in the air, plan meals, book events, write greetings cards; devise lists for housework, pay bills, I know exactly what I am doing next week, next month, next year. Yet I am unable to face all the challenges, so I panic, I retreat, I blank off. If I try to tell you I can’t cope, you laugh. You remind me of small past achievements and scoff at the idea of me not managing my future. Yet you can’t see the jumble of nightmares intertwined with shopping lists, filling up the car with petrol, living another hour…..

You only see the positive things that come out of this shell. You can’t understand my fear of failure when it seems to you that I have succeeded. You can’t see the million tears hovering on the edge of reason. You can’t feel the churning in the pit of my stomach, how I have to remind myself to breath sometimes, how my head feels like exploding with the myriad problems I am trying, and failing, to deal with. You think I want to feel like this? That I have a choice? How I would love to cease this endless ramble into insanity, to be still and not think, not dream, not be.

I know I'm crazy, mad, insane, stupid, pessimistic, but this is me.

I really can’t help it.