How are you doing?
It’s an innocent question, I’m asked almost daily, and one I’ve been answering for most of my life.
“Ye I’m fine thanks,” or “I’m good”
It rolls of the tongue in an automated fashion.
But right here, in this moment, I’m anything but fine.
Yet the preprogrammed response is out before I even think of what I’m really saying.
At this time I should be answering no. No I’m not fine. I’m not safe. I’m toxic, and I risk infecting all those around me.
Can you imagine the responses of people if I really said that outloud. If I told them the truth of what’s in my head?
But what is in my head?
Whilst it has stopped the constant noise telling me to cut. It still tells me I’m unworthy. I’m just an inconvenience and that things for those around me would be easier if I wasn’t like this. And whilst the latter line is true, my heads not telling me I need to heal to make it better. It’s telling me to let go.
Whilst others daydream about lottery wins or fabulous holidays, my current daydreams involve walking into the ice cold sea in the hope the weight of my wet clothes and a strong current will be enough to drag me under. I’ve heard once you give into the reality you’re drowning you enter a state of euphoria.
I fantasize about smashing the locked medicine box and taking all of the different packets of what’s in there. Let me fall into a deep sleep and quickly fade away. But the alternative scares me, a risk of lying in a hospital bed whilst my organs slowly fail in an agonizing process that there is no way of reversing.
I feel that I should be taken away. Somewhere where I’ll not be such an inconvenience . I see the rapid change of my moods is exhausting my family.
And I feel they deserve better.
I want nothing more than to be surrounded by my husband and kids. But at the same time I don’t want them anywhere near me in case I poison them too.
So it’s probably safer, just don’t ask me if I’m ok.