My darkness – how I’ve come to terms with it

Posted on August 13, 2014

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Even just thinking about it brings me close to tears.

I thought I was getting better – I had thought that growing up, getting wiser, developing more inner confidance – was the cure for this disease.

The light flickers at me in this hail storm in Kenya, like a nodding god.

But I don’t believe it. Or in one (a god that is).

It takes nothing to set me off. To rile me. To lick my insecurities with a pain pleasure receptical that confuses the hell outta me frankly. Am I okay? Aren’t I? Its impossible to tell really. Each day that passes I shoot back and forth along a spectrum of happy / okay / dark triggered by really the most trivial little things.

And yet here I am, achieving greatness.

Who’d have thought. Starting my own company, everything going well. Doing the things I always wanted to.

Yet I’ve been living with a darkness inside of me, of varying shades, for most of the years I can remember.

Fantasising about ending it all – okay I’ll put it out there explicitly, in all its cold glory – killing myself, from as young as when I was twelve years old, is a good starting point for determining a start date for all this icky stuff. I don’t recall any darkness before then, I cared more about my My Little Ponies and New Kids on the Block. But I’m sure it was there, cultivating it’s target. Lurking.

This past eighteen months has seen myself progress from wanting to hurt myself, fantasising about self-harm but never actually having the balls to do it, to full on, end it all, blow my brains out, self-created head trauma. It comes and goes but generally speaking every single week, at least once, that feeling – an intense desire – overcomes me and it’s not fun. Not fun at all. It makes me want to run away from whatever situation I’m in, but I plod on. I try to ignore it. Or I break down, internally that is. Putting a face on to the rest of the world.

Venting helps. Telling people I’m stressed or overcome, offloads some of that bad energy.

At other times that week I might even laugh, or be happy, or appreciate my lot or think fuck, why was I feeling like that, that was totally unnecessary and it suddenly seems like a total overreaction given the reality of the situation.

This week in fact, I felt good once I’d achieved something workwise that involved facing a fear that’s grown in the last 10 years – I wasn’t as bad as I thought I would be, I had overcome my fear of public speaking, I’m actually okay!

But I’m not okay.

This darkness lurks, and it breeds, and it clings and sucks and greeds its way through a body that gives itself up far, far, too easily.

Have I come to terms with it, this black resident that claims ownership of my soul, my heart, my mind?

Nope.

Every time it gains strength, it captures my imagination like when you see something incredibly beautiful for the first time. Or fall in love.

It’s an obsession.

A dominant headspace.

An insecurity that controls, owns your fear and thrives on it, and says ‘there is no god’. Only evil.

Evil I can believe in, this dark force that claims me and shames me.

This is the closest I can come to believing in such a thing. This thing that stops me from being who I am – a confidant, happy, caring, vibrant person who always tries to make things good for people. But when it comes, I don’t believe I am that person – this evil convinces me that no one cares, that I’m unlovable, a dork, a bit weird, contradictory, mental, afraid, alone. Unworthy of a lover, undesireable as a wife.

That’s evil right there.

When I examine my scantily clad body in the full length mirror and I’m often displeased with what I see, picking holes, looking for faults, miserable when I find them. That’s evil. And in equal measure, undesirable, see?

I’ve not written in months.

No thing I have seen has inspired me to. Only I have seen tonnes of inspiring things.

My blog is sparse, and people are dead, and if they had been here they would have been writing, and fricking happy! And just totally cool. They would have been happy. And the would have been writing. And inspiring so many others. It should be me, not them.

And what about The Great Love? He’s out there in the world living his life. He’s gone now too.

He was one of the few that understood this darkness…..

I don’t know what to say anymore.

Perhaps I’m just normal?

I previously wrote a horrendously awkward statement about myself here, written on the date this post is posted, caught in the throws of negativity but actually posted retrospectively once returned to the UK. When depression takes hold, I often think I am a freak for feeling this way. And I lose all sense of myself, who I am. How i’m perceived. So I changed my final phrase to ‘Perhaps i’m just normal?’. Coz really, my only fault is that I care. I care what people think of me. I care that people are feeling good when they’re around me. I care that i’m well liked, that I’m a pleasure to be around… that I’m successful and good at what I do. That I can make a difference, and improve situations for people.  And then I’m just way to harsh on myself when things aren’t perfect, or when they don’t go the way I wanted them to. And I think in all entirety, that that is probably just normal. 

A friend said to me the other night that classic phrase that i’ve said to many people over recent years – that you have to love yourself first etc. Hey, I said that to The Great Love and I meant it. And I was working on loving myself. I think I just lost it somewhere along the way…I guess it’s something that takes time to nuture and grow. 

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