In Blackest Night – Heart of Darkness
Today I find myself with a hollow sensation in the pit of my stomach and a cloud of sadness formed inside my head. I find myself resenting life, again. I ponder my ability to ‘be myself’ and to be accepted for all that comes with it. I feel myself slipping back in to the dark trench I recently crawled back out of. In two days time it will have been three years since my Mum lost her life to the cunt that is Cancer. The cunt that rendered me an orphan.
Perhaps it’s the ‘anniversary’ that is causing this sad and lost feeling but I’m not entirely convinced. I’m losing the ability to comprehend the notion of ‘carrying on’ and find myself wondering why we do it to ourselves? Why do we plod on knowing full well that we will be kicked and beaten time and again? Why do we continue when we know how it ends? What’s the point?
When I think back to the nights I spent at the hospital in my Mum’s last few days, I realise that I never really committed anything to writing around the time of her passing. I recorded some podcasts which are no longer available due to hosting changes but I only wrote posts quite some time after. I also realise that I still haven’t grieved for her yet and that energy and darkness resurfaces from time to time and could very well be the reason behind this latest bout of darkness but it doesn’t feel like it. It’s certainly not helping things but I don’t think it’s at the heart of this darkness.
I find myself inadvertently holding back tears that I cannot cry because my faculties don’t appear to want to let me do so. The anger caused my this further fuels the desire to let them fall and the inability to do so then fuels the anger further and so the emotional upheaval builds to the point where I feel like I am about to have some sort of breakdown. A breakdown that I am less confident in which I will come out the other side intact. This mental and physical burden is exhausting to the point were I just want to curl up in a ball and cease to exist. To fade from other’s memory and to pass from history itself. But instead, I find myself having no choice but to plod on.
I find myself struggling to continue because this illness will never go away. It will follow me and hinder me at every turn and when it gets its small victories here and there I am the one that bears the brunt. I’m the one left having to explain myself with nothing more than what comes across as an excuse. Why should I feel I have to excuse myself or justify myself for a lapse in judgement or a simple mistake that my mind caused? Why should I have to carry on knowing that people will judge me as a liability or talk behind my back? Why should I put myself at the mercy of others who don’t and never will understand what this illness does?
Despite my new site keeping me busy as well as my general duties as a husband and a father, my mind remains intent on its Hellish path. The weight of the world is overbearing upon my shoulders and I would love nothing more than to just shrug it off. When I feel like this I tend to bury myself into videogames or some other medium that will act as a distraction but sometimes it feels surreal in that I want the lines to be blurred and allow elements of videogames to be part of real life. A save point or a new game+. The ability to completely recreate myself and my surroundings.
If there was a line from a movie that summed depression up it would be Al Pacino’s role as Michael Corleone in The Godfather Part III: “Just when I thought I was out…they pull me back in.”
—The Trying Scotsman has a ‘Don’t Be A Dick’ policy that forbids, but is not limited to, personal insults toward anyone, hate speech, and trolling.—
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