DisplacedDiva

My story. Wow, hard to sum up in 800 words. My earliest memory is of talking to the wall. Yes, talking to a wall as though it was a close friend, a confidante. I would tell the wall everything I was feeling. And I felt better talking to the wall. I was 7 years old.

I believe I was born  depressed. I havent had a life altering event which has depressed me. For as long as I can remember, I have had a knot in my stomach. Its a gnawing, twisted, hot knot in the pit of my stomach, which tightens my throat and causes my eyes to water just thinking about it. If I dont concentrate on it, the knot tends to loosen. But then it comes back, tighter than ever, and I am curled up on the bed crying, and not being able to face the world. I cant even face myself some days. Why do I cry? I dont know. Why do I spend  days at a time inside with all the windows and curtains closed? I dont know. Why do I think, no not think, dream, of ending it. Of making this knot in my stomach unravel for one last time? I dont know. Why do I lay awake for what seems like days, only getting up to go to the toilet? I dont know.

The doctor says its a chemical imbalance. Take more tablets. I dont want to be zonked out on lithium. I want to be me. But if being me means having this knot, then I dont want that either. Talk to a counsellor the doctor says. About what? I dont have a horror story to tell. I come from an upper middle class family. I dont have a history of addiction, abuse or any other terrible affliction. What is there to talk about to a counsellor? That I have a knot in my stomach that makes me ache. Makes me want to stop it all. Makes me think Im nothing. That Im not worthy of showing my face to the world today? How on earth can talking to a counsellor fix that? I just want to go.

I imagine the finality of taking my last breath. Drugs dont make this pain go away. They may deaden it to a degree, but they also deaden whats left of my soul. I have a problem. A big problem. I cant live another 26 years like this. My throat tightening, my stomach knotting, my body not being able to go on. Why should it? I think about my funeral. I think about what people would say about me. How unexpected it would be to everyone. How I was always the funny one, the one laughing and cracking jokes. No one wants to see me curled up crying, wondering why I am still alive, wondering why I feel like this, wondering why no one can see it and give me a solution. I am one of those people that no amount of drugs will help. I am one of those people who just gets by. Teetering on the edge of insanity. Waiting for it all to end. The only reason I havent done anything yet is because I still live in hope that one day things will get better. One day I will wake up and the knot will be gone.