This has not been an easy week. The trajectory of the week before has continued its spiral, plummetting ever further downwards. The tiredness does not abate no matter how much I sleep, oversleep, rest. Voices chant incessantly at me from inside my head, ‘I want to die’.
The landlord of where we are supposed to move to keeps changing his mind. Emails between letting agent and my friend swim back and forth, back and forth. What if I am moving from the frying pan into the fire? What if it falls through? But I haven’t given notice yet. I don’t need to worry – yet. Everything is OK. Our images of harmonious living matched almost exactly. It will be good to have company again. But what about my job changing? What about therapy? How will that dovetail with where I am living? How will it all come together? I cannot distract myself from these thoughts. Uncertainty reigns.
The amount that I have to do at work is added to. I feel overwhelmed with all that I agreed to do when I was well, had more energy, more drive. It is all too much. And I am not doing enough. I have no job security. I need to do more to get it. Sat at my desk, this week, I am not at my desk. I am three feet in front of it. I have lost all proprioception; disassociated. I am stressed. I begin to ground myself. Feet on floor, hands in lap.
I want to rail at the landlord. Ask him what he thinks he is playing at. Rail at the letting agent for being so slow. I tear at myself for being so stupid, to commit to so much. I want to scream and scream and scream. That would ruin everything.
But beside me are friends. Friends who invite me to tea, and who text me. Who seem to want to spend time with me when they don’t have to. Their voices are there, too. I am held.
I manage to keep the rage inside myself. I haven’t ruined things. This is a good thing. Inside my head I am going out of my mind. But as long as it stays in my head, it’ll be OK.