Funny old word isn’t it. Recovery. To recover. To mend or fix. Recovery. A word I’ve never felt closer to and yet further from.
Where to start but the beginning. Within my cognitive behavioural therapy I recently discovered that what I believed to be the source of my illness, was in fact a correct theorem. Having to openly discuss [aloud, in general, to myself] this topic for the first time in sixteen years, I [hopefully understandably] struggled more than I thought one could. To cure you need to kill the disease though, right? So I tried to talk openly and in detail about the event that ultimately lead me here. Here in life, here on this forum, here in general. In doing so I opened that event up to those who inhabit the dark corners of my mind, and typically [as they do with negativity] they armed themselves with it fully and engaged in war.
This particular war became one I conceded. After four days of no sleep, little food, and constant haunting hallucinations, I attempted to take my own life. I remember the build up, the fear and sadness of everything, and I remember waking up and feeling like I’d been brought back to life. I had, little to my knowledge. I’m told I wasn’t breathing for around four minutes, what must have felt like an eternity to those attending to me. Firstly life does not flash before your eyes, there are no pearly gates and certainly no flames. Just quiet. Peace. Slipping. Comfort even, perhaps. Belonging,
In any event, something small in me didn’t give up even if the bigger part of me did. I don’t believe in god, I don’t believe in anything but science. For some reason something in me didn’t give up and I’m ever so thankful that it didn’t. Even in my darkest hour it seems some small part of me was strong enough to cling to life like it was it’s very own illness. I’m dropping anti-psychotic medication and weaning myself off, week three of that now and though my symptoms are worse, the side effects are gone. No shakes, no headaches, no vomiting, a little more sleep. I feel positive, I have the will to survive and fight, despite feeling so defeated that it took something so dark to bring it out of me again, I feel alive. I don’t feel as if I just exist anymore.
I only speak to a handful of you, but I imagine we’ve all been in similar moods or spirals and figured I needed to share, if it’s in the wrong category or deemed too negative then please advise me and I’ll have the topic removed. Today is the first day I feel like I could recover. Thank you for any contribution to my day any of you have made, every second does count and every conversation proves we’re not alone.