Anger and Blame

My novel is edited and I’m still alive- I know that sounds a little melodramatic but I did just sign off the last post expressing the desire to kill myself. I have my dress for the ball but I’ll talk about that another time, I’m not in the mood at the moment.

I’m going to see my psych nurse again tomorrow, I’m in such a weird place mentally. I’m still waiting for Wren to come back- I do understand that this makes me sound mad. I am mad, in both senses of the word.

For the last few days I’ve been fuming angry, angry at everyone who’s ever walked past me and left me alone to deal with this by myself. I’m angry because they can’t cope, they can’t cope enough to look after me and make things better for me. It makes me so furious that they say they can’t deal with it when I have to. I don’t have a choice. At the end of the day I can’t just turn and walk away from this, I can’t go home to safety, I have to deal with this every second of every day. It can be like a prison sometimes.

When I have a low mood it feels like there’s an ache in my chest, a sort of weight that drags me down and presses on my shoulders and my face. It makes everything feel heavy and stops me from moving. I feel this constant pain in my chest, an achy desperate pain. I know that it’s not physical- it’s in my mind alone but it hurts more than any physical pain ever could.

Add that to the way it feels in my head- like I have all my thoughts racing around inside and I can’t concentrate on anything- there are so many different trains of thought, and each of them has its own voice. They all sound a little different and they all talk at once. Things are so confusing.

But this scares people. This frightens them, this makes them turn and run away from me. This is what they can’t handle.

Well I can’t handle it either.

But I have to, it’s my life. I can’t make this stuff go away; I have to deal with it and the implications of it ever minute of every day.

So I think we’ve established that I’m mental. I think we’ve also established that it’s not something that is well received with other people- and to elaborate on that we’ve firmly established that other people’s reluctance and squeamishness makes me furious.

And I think that perhaps the best thing we’ve established out of this post is that I’m in one piece- and that looking back at the above I’m now even more worried about my mental health.

Don’t be scared of me, I’m nice, I’m kind and sweet- but just a little confused and in pain.

Wren gets angry when people don’t think she’s their problem.

EDIT I’ve been up since 7 this morning, my dog has passed away, he was ill for a long time and I miss him like hell already. I might be taking a break from writing for a while; peace, love and blessed be.

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