Post by chris107 on Oct 7, 2016 7:53:16 GMT
A Light In The Dark
Sometimes it feels like the only time that I am ever truly awake is when I close my eyes. It’s as if the second my eyelids coalesce; every neurological pathway of my brain illuminates to form a warped tapestry of conflict. A tapestry that’s never quite finished. So many thoughts, and never a conclusion.
However, as I sit here gazing from the window of my home overlooking the white cliffs of Dover, I am in a temporary state of ease. The state of my mind is reflected by the ocean I can see rolling serenely in the distance, kept secluded by the rolling peaks of the cliffs I reside on. It is quite a stretch but I can just make out the placid, lapping movements of the water. In the foreground, a zephyr compels the grass to dance; almost as if the elements of the landscape were working together to create a vista of natural beauty. It’s having my eyes open and witnessing these sights in these brief moments of tranquillity that inspired me to move here. It’s a shame it couldn’t be this way permanently.
It is as I contemplate this thought that I rest my head in my hands and shut my eyes. I should know better than to entice the demons back to my consciousness but there’s an almost addictive quality to it... I mean, you can only be content for so long. The condition of my mind is no longer reflected by the calm of the ocean. Dark clouds circulate my thoughts as the equilibrium of my mental state is ruptured by waves of crushing blackness. I struggle to draw breath as normal. The synapses in my brain go in to overdrive as a flood of scenarios intertwine in my head to masquerade as the black ball of anxiety and fear that haunts my every waking moment. I feel the all too familiar pounding of my accelerated heart beat thud against the inside of ribcage like a battering ram. I open my eyes.
I feel like I have resurfaced from drowning, as if a hand had reached in to the water that was enveloping me to yank me back in to existence. I take a deep breath as my heart rate gradually returns to normal. The dark clouds part in my mind and a sea of mental neutrality is present once more as I gaze back out of the window to observe the countryside. The comforting visual stimulus of the rolling hills and the seagulls floating carelessly in the breeze has once more managed to deter me from doing something I shouldn’t.
As I take one last look outdoors, I begin to rise from my seat. I can still feel a weight in my stomach from my episode; a pressurised feeling of unexplainable sickness that always lingers after. I do my best to ignore it and take a brief scan of my surroundings. It has to be said that the inside of my house is somewhat bleak to say the least... It's not so much the building itself, but the contents of it. Out of date newspapers, half empty tin cans, sections of peeling wallpaper that were opening up to reveal a rugged and ageing brick wall. Empty and used boxes of pills were scattered about the place too. I was told they would help me with my episodes you see. Evidently, I never thought they had that much of an effect.
The clock strikes 9. Going to sleep is always the most dreaded part of my day, so I may as well get prepared for it now to make it quicker. As I begin to gradually make my way towards my bedroom, I cannot help but gaze upon the one object in my home that has any significance to me. In amongst the trivial and discarded belongings dispersed across my living area there sits a vibrant beacon of consolation. An image of my daughter. She was much younger in this picture, around six or seven I'd say. For the first time in a long while, I almost manage a smile.
She hadn't changed much despite the photograph being twenty years old. frAt least I assume so. I can feel a lump moving its way up my throat as I continue to look on; my eyes stinging as I a feel a single tear begin to make its way slowly down my cheek. It had been 8 months since I had last seen her. She said with me being the 'way I was' she no longer felt safe around me. Hearing those words again, even in my mind is gut-wrenching enough. I force myself to look away and head swiftly to my bedroom, brushing tears from my face as I slam the door behind me.
I hear the clock strike 10. A whole hour I had been stood there. I slump on to my bed in a state of disbelief. My hands tremble violently as I lay on my back and use them to cover my face. This is it. The section of the day I dread the most. Closing my eyes, and attempting to sleep. It happens again almost instantly... The anguish, the fear, the sadness; it once more begins to envelop my mind as if the black hand of a spectre were closing in on my brain to veil my thoughts in shadow. The barrier of relative sanity I sustain with my eyes open is purged by a black sludge of hopelessness and despair as they close. I can see the face of my daughter rising from the ooze and begin to melt before me. I dig my nails sharply in to the front of my scalp with my fingers curled as I writhe uncontrollably upon my bed. I never get used to it. It's always the same.
The clock strikes 11. I can't take it anymore. I sit up rigidly in my bed and open my eyes to face the wall. I can feel my ribcage shudder and my hands tremble from the cold produced by sweat evaporating from my skin. Something was different this time. The feeling of sickness in the pit of my stomach isn't fading away as normal. My mind refuses to settle as it does normally. Electrical impulses continue drag thought after thought from every darkened crevice of my brain; swirling them together to create a harrowing vortex of internal conflict. I swivel in my seated position and plant my feet on to the stone floor which is icy to the touch. I swiftly stand upright and make my way back in to the living area at a rapid pace as I feel the glassy chill of the night touch the back of my neck. It isn't helping.
My hands continue to waver as I frantically scour through packet after packet of the carelessly strewn boxes of pills laid about the room. Nothing. They never helped that much anyway but this is the worst it's ever been. I pick up my mobile phone from the mantelpiece in an attempt to call for something, someone, anything. No signal. I put it in my pocket as I kick the edge of my skirting board in frustration, my mind still encased in a black fog. I can't think straight. I feel an intense burning sensation move its way up my throat from my stomach as I keel over and proceed to vomit violently. I can't take it anymore, whatever is happening, I don't know if it's ever going to stop.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stagger across the room, defeated. I begin to scream psychotically as I pick up a glass from the coffee table beside me and throw it at the wall; the sound of glass shattering echoing through my ears as shards erupt from the point of impact and rain down upon the floor like distorted confetti. In the spur of the moment I fixate my eyes upon the picture of my daughter. I remember back to when she was just a child, a child who saw me as an idol, a role model, but most importantly, a father. Now I’m nothing to her but a shadowed memory of the past. I move towards the image swiftly, my eyes clouded by tears as I place my right hand upon it and throw it to the ground. Glass shatters across the room once more as I stare down at my shaking hands with a sudden sense of realisation; struggling to come to terms with what I have just done. My last remnant of her and I am willing to destroy it? What am I? What have I become?
I sprint towards my front door and slam my hand down on the handle. Before I have even opened it a quarter of the way a gust of wind hurls it open with a mighty force and smashes it against the wall. I step outside and take a deep breath of the country air in an attempt to calm my senses. Nothing. As I look up to the already darkened sky I feel as if I am watching a blotch of ink bleed out on to parchment as the blackness ripples out through the atmosphere. The horrors of my mind continue to consume me and I am powerless under their influence. I am left with one conclusion. With my throat burning, my eyes stinging and my thoughts racing uncontrollably I set my sights upon the cliff top overlooking the ocean. I drop my arms to my side effortlessly and begin to walk slowly towards the horizon. For a brief moment, everything stops. I feel almost at peace as I walk slowly towards the cliff top. My mind begins to clear... The unrelenting wind howls around me but I hear nothing. All I can feel is the grass stroking my bare feet as I draw closer and closer to the edge.
I suddenly regain my senses, as I have arrived. I stand feet from the edge, staring down at the enormous drop I am confronted with as waves crash against the jagged cliff-face. I inch my feet closer to the edge, my mind still racing... I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I had always thought about it but only as a last resort. I guess this is how it ends for me. I could cry, I could scream, I could call out for someone in the hope they would listen... Or, I could just accept it. I'm centimetres from the edge now, my toes curled in to the dirt to anchor me. I'm not letting a strong wind finish me off. This is up to me. I close my eyes and take one last deep breath. I feel sweat trickle through the back of my hair and my stomach plummet as I prepare to jump. I am ready.
I feel a sharp vibration pushing on the right side of my leg. My eyes part instantly as if I've awoken from a nightmare and I reach towards to my pocket in shock. It's my phone. I take it out cautiously and look at the screen. I almost drop it over the edge after another sharp gust of wind pushes me off balance. I regain my footing temporarily and take a look at the screen. What I see causes my knees to buckle beneath me and I fall backwards on to the floor in disbelief. Laid on my back, I raise my arm above my head while clutching my phone and take another look at the screen to ensure it isn't just my mind playing tricks on me again. "I'm sorry. I want to help you." the message reads. It's from my daughter. The mist of fear and sadness shrouding my thoughts begins to fade instantly as I realise just how close I was to doing something terrible. I look down at my hands… Their shaking ceases. I look up to the night sky which no longer seems as daunting and desolate... I feel my heart beat slowing down as my breathing begins to normal. For the first time in a long time, I am at some form of rest. Just moments ago I was at the lowest point of my existence and now... I feel more content with myself than I have in months. All this time living in my own hell when all I needed was for that one person to reach out to me; the person I care about the most. It just goes to show. Late is always better than never.
Sometimes it feels like the only time that I am ever truly awake is when I close my eyes. It’s as if the second my eyelids coalesce; every neurological pathway of my brain illuminates to form a warped tapestry of conflict. A tapestry that’s never quite finished. So many thoughts, and never a conclusion.
However, as I sit here gazing from the window of my home overlooking the white cliffs of Dover, I am in a temporary state of ease. The state of my mind is reflected by the ocean I can see rolling serenely in the distance, kept secluded by the rolling peaks of the cliffs I reside on. It is quite a stretch but I can just make out the placid, lapping movements of the water. In the foreground, a zephyr compels the grass to dance; almost as if the elements of the landscape were working together to create a vista of natural beauty. It’s having my eyes open and witnessing these sights in these brief moments of tranquillity that inspired me to move here. It’s a shame it couldn’t be this way permanently.
It is as I contemplate this thought that I rest my head in my hands and shut my eyes. I should know better than to entice the demons back to my consciousness but there’s an almost addictive quality to it... I mean, you can only be content for so long. The condition of my mind is no longer reflected by the calm of the ocean. Dark clouds circulate my thoughts as the equilibrium of my mental state is ruptured by waves of crushing blackness. I struggle to draw breath as normal. The synapses in my brain go in to overdrive as a flood of scenarios intertwine in my head to masquerade as the black ball of anxiety and fear that haunts my every waking moment. I feel the all too familiar pounding of my accelerated heart beat thud against the inside of ribcage like a battering ram. I open my eyes.
I feel like I have resurfaced from drowning, as if a hand had reached in to the water that was enveloping me to yank me back in to existence. I take a deep breath as my heart rate gradually returns to normal. The dark clouds part in my mind and a sea of mental neutrality is present once more as I gaze back out of the window to observe the countryside. The comforting visual stimulus of the rolling hills and the seagulls floating carelessly in the breeze has once more managed to deter me from doing something I shouldn’t.
As I take one last look outdoors, I begin to rise from my seat. I can still feel a weight in my stomach from my episode; a pressurised feeling of unexplainable sickness that always lingers after. I do my best to ignore it and take a brief scan of my surroundings. It has to be said that the inside of my house is somewhat bleak to say the least... It's not so much the building itself, but the contents of it. Out of date newspapers, half empty tin cans, sections of peeling wallpaper that were opening up to reveal a rugged and ageing brick wall. Empty and used boxes of pills were scattered about the place too. I was told they would help me with my episodes you see. Evidently, I never thought they had that much of an effect.
The clock strikes 9. Going to sleep is always the most dreaded part of my day, so I may as well get prepared for it now to make it quicker. As I begin to gradually make my way towards my bedroom, I cannot help but gaze upon the one object in my home that has any significance to me. In amongst the trivial and discarded belongings dispersed across my living area there sits a vibrant beacon of consolation. An image of my daughter. She was much younger in this picture, around six or seven I'd say. For the first time in a long while, I almost manage a smile.
She hadn't changed much despite the photograph being twenty years old. frAt least I assume so. I can feel a lump moving its way up my throat as I continue to look on; my eyes stinging as I a feel a single tear begin to make its way slowly down my cheek. It had been 8 months since I had last seen her. She said with me being the 'way I was' she no longer felt safe around me. Hearing those words again, even in my mind is gut-wrenching enough. I force myself to look away and head swiftly to my bedroom, brushing tears from my face as I slam the door behind me.
I hear the clock strike 10. A whole hour I had been stood there. I slump on to my bed in a state of disbelief. My hands tremble violently as I lay on my back and use them to cover my face. This is it. The section of the day I dread the most. Closing my eyes, and attempting to sleep. It happens again almost instantly... The anguish, the fear, the sadness; it once more begins to envelop my mind as if the black hand of a spectre were closing in on my brain to veil my thoughts in shadow. The barrier of relative sanity I sustain with my eyes open is purged by a black sludge of hopelessness and despair as they close. I can see the face of my daughter rising from the ooze and begin to melt before me. I dig my nails sharply in to the front of my scalp with my fingers curled as I writhe uncontrollably upon my bed. I never get used to it. It's always the same.
The clock strikes 11. I can't take it anymore. I sit up rigidly in my bed and open my eyes to face the wall. I can feel my ribcage shudder and my hands tremble from the cold produced by sweat evaporating from my skin. Something was different this time. The feeling of sickness in the pit of my stomach isn't fading away as normal. My mind refuses to settle as it does normally. Electrical impulses continue drag thought after thought from every darkened crevice of my brain; swirling them together to create a harrowing vortex of internal conflict. I swivel in my seated position and plant my feet on to the stone floor which is icy to the touch. I swiftly stand upright and make my way back in to the living area at a rapid pace as I feel the glassy chill of the night touch the back of my neck. It isn't helping.
My hands continue to waver as I frantically scour through packet after packet of the carelessly strewn boxes of pills laid about the room. Nothing. They never helped that much anyway but this is the worst it's ever been. I pick up my mobile phone from the mantelpiece in an attempt to call for something, someone, anything. No signal. I put it in my pocket as I kick the edge of my skirting board in frustration, my mind still encased in a black fog. I can't think straight. I feel an intense burning sensation move its way up my throat from my stomach as I keel over and proceed to vomit violently. I can't take it anymore, whatever is happening, I don't know if it's ever going to stop.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and stagger across the room, defeated. I begin to scream psychotically as I pick up a glass from the coffee table beside me and throw it at the wall; the sound of glass shattering echoing through my ears as shards erupt from the point of impact and rain down upon the floor like distorted confetti. In the spur of the moment I fixate my eyes upon the picture of my daughter. I remember back to when she was just a child, a child who saw me as an idol, a role model, but most importantly, a father. Now I’m nothing to her but a shadowed memory of the past. I move towards the image swiftly, my eyes clouded by tears as I place my right hand upon it and throw it to the ground. Glass shatters across the room once more as I stare down at my shaking hands with a sudden sense of realisation; struggling to come to terms with what I have just done. My last remnant of her and I am willing to destroy it? What am I? What have I become?
I sprint towards my front door and slam my hand down on the handle. Before I have even opened it a quarter of the way a gust of wind hurls it open with a mighty force and smashes it against the wall. I step outside and take a deep breath of the country air in an attempt to calm my senses. Nothing. As I look up to the already darkened sky I feel as if I am watching a blotch of ink bleed out on to parchment as the blackness ripples out through the atmosphere. The horrors of my mind continue to consume me and I am powerless under their influence. I am left with one conclusion. With my throat burning, my eyes stinging and my thoughts racing uncontrollably I set my sights upon the cliff top overlooking the ocean. I drop my arms to my side effortlessly and begin to walk slowly towards the horizon. For a brief moment, everything stops. I feel almost at peace as I walk slowly towards the cliff top. My mind begins to clear... The unrelenting wind howls around me but I hear nothing. All I can feel is the grass stroking my bare feet as I draw closer and closer to the edge.
I suddenly regain my senses, as I have arrived. I stand feet from the edge, staring down at the enormous drop I am confronted with as waves crash against the jagged cliff-face. I inch my feet closer to the edge, my mind still racing... I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I had always thought about it but only as a last resort. I guess this is how it ends for me. I could cry, I could scream, I could call out for someone in the hope they would listen... Or, I could just accept it. I'm centimetres from the edge now, my toes curled in to the dirt to anchor me. I'm not letting a strong wind finish me off. This is up to me. I close my eyes and take one last deep breath. I feel sweat trickle through the back of my hair and my stomach plummet as I prepare to jump. I am ready.
I feel a sharp vibration pushing on the right side of my leg. My eyes part instantly as if I've awoken from a nightmare and I reach towards to my pocket in shock. It's my phone. I take it out cautiously and look at the screen. I almost drop it over the edge after another sharp gust of wind pushes me off balance. I regain my footing temporarily and take a look at the screen. What I see causes my knees to buckle beneath me and I fall backwards on to the floor in disbelief. Laid on my back, I raise my arm above my head while clutching my phone and take another look at the screen to ensure it isn't just my mind playing tricks on me again. "I'm sorry. I want to help you." the message reads. It's from my daughter. The mist of fear and sadness shrouding my thoughts begins to fade instantly as I realise just how close I was to doing something terrible. I look down at my hands… Their shaking ceases. I look up to the night sky which no longer seems as daunting and desolate... I feel my heart beat slowing down as my breathing begins to normal. For the first time in a long time, I am at some form of rest. Just moments ago I was at the lowest point of my existence and now... I feel more content with myself than I have in months. All this time living in my own hell when all I needed was for that one person to reach out to me; the person I care about the most. It just goes to show. Late is always better than never.