Not so much kindness as Cathartic

How does it feel? 


There it is. That stabbing tightness in my chest that forces a sob from my throat. A throat that is painfully constricted from holding back hysteria. 


What is that tightness? It’s my body registering my mind’s thoughts of escaping. It’s my body reacting to the feeling of being so trapped, so sad, so exhausted. 


Tears are spilling uncontrollably and I wonder how on earth I’ve ended up here again. 
I was fine earlier.I was happily preaching kindness to Twitter and following my new “routine”. I didn’t do anything to trigger this. I didn’t speak to anyone who hurt me. I wasn’t sad when I started crying even. I was watching a tv series. 
There was a woman on her own, struggling to be everything to everyone and survive. 
Maybe I felt empathy. Maybe, selfishly, I saw myself in her and felt self pity. But it shouldn’t have unleashed this tidal wave of despondency.
 That’s the thing with Depression and Anxiety combined, sometimes how you feel is as changeable as British weather. One minute it’s sunny and you’re up for a social gathering, the next storm clouds are rolling in and you want to run and hide. 


I am unkind to myself when I’m like this. I berate myself with failures. I list my short comings. Even my strengths become whips to flagellate with. I, who advocates kindness, am unable to spare any for myself. 


I think it’s getting better. This episode lasted minutes not hours. This year has improved from days to merely hours. Over the course of my life I have lifted myself out of months of this. So minutes should feel like a triumph. But it doesn’t. It still feels like I’m back at square one. Back in the same old groove. Why can’t I break this fugue? 


My hands and feet are tingling now, as my breathing starts to regulate. My body softens with tiredness. So much energy spent and wasted on..... what? Panic? Fear? Nothingness? If only I could redirect it! Imagine all that I could do and be if I could harness this darkness and use its strength with purpose. 


But I am a slave to it. I bend at its whim. I kneel under its force. I am made weak by the sickness that lives in me. 


If you can understand even a moment of what I share then I am so very sorry that you have ever had to feel this. If you can’t then I envy you. 

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