restraint. resignation and formalities

Silent voices
in my head
Running in
all vectors.
Screams -
I can't let out
for too much
Restraint!


Eventually it all welled up in me, bounded by my restraint. Some time this week my pain let itself loose from within me and it hurt so much I started drinking from very early in the morning. After breakfast and meds I opened my bottle of scotch. It is sacrilege to mix single malt whiskey with anything other than ice or water but by lunchtime I had six glasses of Glenfiddich mixed with green tea to wash it all down. I just wanted to remove the pain so much. My body started to feel lighter from the tension I had been having since Monday's panic attack. I started dancing in my room to Giles Peterson, tossing my pain away. But it remained inside me, finally exploding from deep within the recesses of my soul in shouts and cries that I could no longer restrain. It hurt so much, so much, I took out my Swiss army knife and whipped out both the small and the big blades, and cut, cut, cut, to try and cut the pain out of my body. I never cut this hard before. I haven't screamed this much in a long while now.

Everyone keeps saying: two steps forward, one step back, but that is still progress. My steps forward are tiny. Like formalities I go through because I am obliged to try and recover. I cannot deny that I have a sense of resignation about this. Like Murakami says in his running journal: his body had reached a point where it became resigned to the weariness of the distance run, that each step forward and every swing of his arms became like formalities his body had to go through. That is me. In another analogy of taking steps, Dr. K said to me yesterday, 'Take small steps. Then when you feel comfortable with one step, move on to the next level of discomfort, try something else.' Sounds just like how Murakami trains for his marathons as a running novelist. But honestly, I feel that my depression-marathon may never end until I die. I will just keep going and on till then. Two steps forward, one step back.

This week is a series of related step-backs. I am thankful for Fluanxol (my short-term, tide-over medication), so that I can stop stepping back so much and hurting everyone around me. My body is tied to a buoy and a weight at the same time, this way I can continue showering myself, talking, eating, and do some non-strenuous hobbies, even though my depression is mightily weighty, seeping out of me like the blood from my cuts. (This is how resignation speaks for itself.)

I am thankful for J who is now asleep after a hard week of work and dealing with my crises. I was about to turn in tonight too, after reading. But I just felt like writing. Granted, I don't have much material to write about, save myself. Even with this limited material I still fill notebooks at the rate of about one in three weeks. I don't know why I have so much to write about.

If I really wanted to do my formalities justice, I should write about that one fact that my doctor keeps asking me to confront. As I open a new notebook, maybe tonight I finally shall be able to face this ghost of my life proper, resigned or not.

worldsuponwords by avalon at 1:15 AM    [ 2 comment | ]