Have you ever been so sick that you couldn’t be around the people you love?
Have you ever been so sick that lifting your head up off the pillow takes everything you have?
Have you ever been so sick that every moment away from someone sends you spiraling back to that place you were at when her father took his life?
Have you ever been in a relationship with a man that took on his role but doesn’t want to hear you talk about these things?
Have you ever had no one, literally, to talk to?
All your friends are gone.
Your parents think you should be over it.
He doesn’t want to hear about it.
Your baby is too young to understand.
You can’t see a therapist or a psychiatrist because if you do they will know that your broken.
They will know.
You were being held together all this time by spiderwebs.
You are alone.
You can’t scream.
You can’t cry.
You can’t move.
Or breathe.
Have you ever been so sick it felt like the entire world ended and you were left alone in the ashes?
5 comments
No. But I have a good imagination.
“You can’t see a therapist or a psychiatrist because if you do they will know that your broken.”
That’s like saying you can’t call a plumber because they’ll find out the toilet is stopped up. You should let go of that one.
Four years after my mom blew off the top of her head I said, “wow, it’s been rough, but I’m coping with it now.” And within a year of saying that I realized it wasn’t true.
Eight years … ditto.
Twelve years … ditto.
Now I’m coming up to sixteen years. I may end up saying the same thing. That’s OK. Her life is part of me. Her death is part of me. It’s a very fucking slowly healing wound. That’s OK. Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean I have to stop living… well, today at least. Today I’ll just concentrate on getting though today. Fuck tomorrow.
No… But I feel like that’s how I’m going to end up. What should we do?
Yes, yes I do. Sometimes I feel like I’m being crushed and sometimes like I’m not part of me anymore, and I know I can’t possibly tell anyone, because of how much pain it would cause them in turn. I know exactly how that feels, and you can always talk to me. Broken people can mend together.
‘Broken people can mend together’ – I love this line.
I’ve been a lot of it. Not all, but some.
When you say you can’t see a therapist or psychiatrist because if they do they’ll know you’re broken… their role is to try to help fix you. If they can’t, find someone else, and someone else… look for other ways. When you’re sick you usually need help to make you better. Some kind of help. And you deserve to have people to talk to. And you do. We’re here.