Chapter One?

I would like to write about what I went through when I was/since I was/while I have been sick. What I write sick I mean sick both physically but also seriously mentally unwell.  I would like to write about it but I am nervous to relive it, to live it too vividly, but also, there is very little I remember. At that point of my life, I was not a conscious participant; I was in it alright, deep in it, but perhaps too deep to see.

As I am writing this I imagine the deep, deep black sea they show on television documentaries the only light is that of the lure of the anglerfish, that hideous creature that draws prey towards it trapping them in its razor sharp teeth. All I remember is a deep fear enveloping my whole body, being in a constant state of confusion and incomprehension at what was happening to me and why. C knew when I was being drawn towards terror’s sharp teeth because my pupils rapidly flickered back at forth and more often than not he was able to bring me back to a relatively safe distance. I still went to work and even did some work. I worked despite the hour long waves of fear crashing over me, filling me with the almost overwhelming urge to run, to hide, the need to get out. But no matter where I went I couldn’t escape. My mind, what I now know was my chemically imbalanced mind, was imprisoning and torturing me. 

This is all very dramatic, at times I laughed, I felt pure joy. But quickly after I slipped into a depression or was hit by another wave of fear married with incomprehension as to why I felt that way, and soon after was filled with the guilt for not being happy. I remember sitting on a beautiful beach with C, watching the waves gently rolling in and out, feeling the sun on my face, noticing my breathing and able only to focus on the barks of dogs in the distance and feeling only guilt and the urge to leave, to go somewhere, but nowhere being good enough.

There is more I wanted to write about but right now I cant remember what that more is. Something that needs to be said though, is that am really proud that I have just written at least some of what I went through. I am proud because to me, that fact I was able to write about what I went through then, although it was only a few months ago, is so far from my current reality that I can look back without getting sucked into that deep deep blackness.

 It feels good.