This is what you get...

I don't think I'll ever get over my wife, now ex wife, leaving me. 
Not fully. I'm sure over the years it'll fade but the scar will be forever be there, faded and dull but still there like a little ghostly leech. These last couple of days I have missed her intensely. It came after a couple of defeats, (I'm playing football or rather futsal) and I dearly wanted some comfort, last night and tonite, someone to say, 'Hey, no biggie, it'll be all ok.' Someone to hold, squeeze, and someone to do likewise. Most I got was to squeeze the goalkeeper glove of my key ring. Well it is nice and soft. 

When I'm in bed, that's when it comes back.  Last night it certainly did, last night when it all came crumbling down, like a sandcastle being enveloped by the tide of my own fears gently eating away at its foundations leaving a confused and lost little boy feeling very much alone.
Missing her, wondering how I let the relationship escape me, realising those early fears of my depression came true; that she, she could would did leave me. The worst fear that I thought was just a part of my depression had actually come true.
The last day or so it has hurt more significantly than it has done in the last few months and I've only just realised why. It's the third anniversary of the marriage on the 26th of this month. Sub-conscious maybe? Sub-conscious memories which might explain the balls to bone feeling of loss that I'm feeling right now? That deep feeling that is the spiritual equivalent of having a nasty illness, say chicken pox, that horrible right through to your bone marrow sickness that makes you feel so so bad. And which is what I'm feeling now.
It doesn't help that myself and my father rarely talk. When I came home earlier all I wanted was a simple, 'How did it go? How are you?' Something, anything to show we are family. But no, all I got was, 'Is it raining?' The one time I needed something from him that would show we weren't virtual strangers and are really father and son, not just genetically, but no. 

Days like These

It was a hard defeat in futsal tonite. I'm doing my best but sometimes, damn, you don't know what to do.
I guess my deciding to go back into goal, the one position where mistakes and even non-mistakes can be highlighted as mistakes, isn't necessarily the best for my mind right now. 
It can be a lonely position. 
Nuts to it. It's what I want, still want. Robert Enke is and was my inspiration to even get back into football. For Enkus.
I can learn from my mistakes.
I will learn from my mistakes.
I only hope I can last.

Wrapped in fog

This month has been relatively stable for me, hence my lack of blog entries. The last week or so there was a bit of a wobble, nothing as bad as that big Wednesday but still when it happens it always makes me a little fretful. Last night and this morning I had very odd dreams. The oddest one being my return to the small town I used to live in with my ex-wife. There was also the potential or opportunity, I'm not sure which I just know there was a sense of something happening, of me and her talking. It left me with a strange feeling upon waking. I was also due to go to participate in some training with regard to speaking out on mental health but feeling a bit rough, I have a cold, and my usual I didn't go. I took the chance to then sleep, which I did and had some more odd dreams which I can barely remember but I know they were.. odd.

Today's over-used word will be... The. No, of course not, it's, odd.

I was keen to go to the training but what I noticed is that lat night I was slowly getting more up tight about going. Getting to and finding the venue were causing me stress. It was slow but it built up until my chest was starting to feel tight with the anxiety. I don't usually get that bad unless I'm doing something big like going away for a spell. But there it was and it probably contributed to me not going. 

What have I become?
I feel like I' m turning into an individual who I soon won't be able to recognize. Every so often when I look into the mirror the face that gawks back at me, makes me recoil. 
'Who are you?!' I ask before quickly flinching away. My anxiety levels are through the roof lately and whenever I try and think of my future it just scares me. Far too many thoughts and far too many fears are taking their toll and I'm not sure how to break free of them.
And as for relationships?! Forget that. Who on earth wants to spends time or even a life with someone with this illness? I've already had one leave because of it and I'm not keen to repeat that again.

Stop those thoughts, control your mind

So, aftermath then.
I slept long and when I awoke felt quite groggy. Yesterday was a low point, more due to the fact that it had started off well. I'm confused as to why it descended so quickly and why it led me to me feeling as suicidal as I was. Today I feel better but still a bit tense, I suppose you could say. The trouble with having a suicidal mind is that once you've accepted it and have even started planning it, anything that disrupts those plans makes you almost annoyed. As if you're weak for not following through with your plans. It's like having a nagging friend in the corner of your mind all the time,
'You can't think about buying that shirt, you're going to kill yourself. What's the point of planning to buy that or anything else?'
Silly isn't it? My own mind conspiring against me like that. It makes you tired, weary. I have to tell myself, 'Not today eh? Let's leave it for now.'
My depression, (I wish this illness had a new name, depression doesn't fit it anymore, especially as it is used to describe a 'gloomy' mood or an off day. The two are all too often interchangeable) is an illness that doesn't really have a big start point, no big emotional experience or background that set it off. I remember reading years ago about how metal illnesses usually start off in one of two ways:
A big emotional event, death of a loved one, some traumatic event or childhood experience that sets it off. These are usually quick and short.
Slow and steady. nothing in particular sets it off and it sticks around.

Which is mine, slow and steady. 
I could point to various stressful moments over its course through my life but nothing that big. Of course the divorce made it worse but apart from that, there isn't any one thing that started it off. Which makes it harder to accept sometimes. I think, we as humans always look for some sort of reason for conditions and I'm not different.
I have some therapy on Friday. 
I think it's probably about time.

Chocolate waffles

I might as well have them for hands. 

I can barely cope with anything more than a handful and when I do try I leave behind a mess. Today started off well enough, up early for the gym, brekkie and coffee. An hour later and I was back in bed, feeling everything just collapse inside of me. I'd messaged in and said I'd been throwing up most of the night. Let's face it, it's easier to say something like that than, 'I'm feeling suicidal. Again.' 
I stuck on some music, Manic Street Preachers and Radiohead, and let myself nod off into an uncomfortable sleep. Vivid dreams followed, one being about suicide. The dreams were for some reason set in the night-time which felt odd and gave it a darker edge too. After that I felt awful, my stomach felt as if I'd ingested a dozen alka-seltzers, fizzy and uncomfortable. Nerves filled me, dread permeated. My phone, when I eventually checked it had messages and missed calls noted. I still haven't checked the messages. I haven't felt this bad for a long time. I've felt off and bad but today is truly the worst. Certain pictures and sounds on the TV felt almost painful to see and hear. If I'd had some sort of decent plan and wasn't so scared I'd be able to well, you know.
Nodding off in front of that Ken Burns documentary, 'Civil War' offered some respite but as soon as I awoke it was back to that feeling again. I feel unable to talk about it as well. 
My mother asked me what was wrong, what set it off? but I felt mute and said nothing. 
I just can't get the words out. But then it feels easier to say nothing. 
No more words. 
For what is the point? 
It will just be the same ones I've heard and spoken time and time again. 

I'm frightened of what is to come.

1,000 years

Sometimes I really wish I could go to sleep for a thousand years. Then maybe I could wake up and start again. Shed this life for a new one. It's days like these that make me yearn for a sleep like that. Days which are repeating themselves all too frequently lately.
Today has been one of those days and it's been a rubbish one. One which I was all too ready to hide under the sheets, leave the TV on with either Dr Who or football and let things unfold in front of me. Even when I did attempt to try and do something productive like make a meal, that threatened to go badly. The simple act of buttering some bread had me almost explode in rage/burst into tears. Watching it fold up and crumble in my hand still makes me rage when I think about it now. Daft eh? but there you go. That's me at the moment.
The feeling inside is one of cold hollowness.

What on earth am I going to do? 

When I try and think of a future it doesn't look good at all. All I can see it me with 'this'. Everything I ever hoped for or wished for is turning into nothing, just a load of high hoping dreams. A life of this is hard to comprehend, no matter how many times I write about it, think about it or live through it.
Writing these words makes me angry and I don't know why.
My inner rage is giving me a headache.

This mocking disease

It now seems to be settling into a pattern. Things get too much and the breaker switch is activated. My nerves get so high that I become more sensitive (over sensitive?) and find the ability to comprehend even the most basic of tasks limited. Tears will flow at the smallest thing and the thoughts of suicide become commonplace once more. This will also be accompanied by a certain song that will soundtrack my demise, almost like a dramatic moment in a TV show with me the sole star. The tune and images will push my emotions ever upward until I can't sift through what is real and what is my my mind magnifying my taste for the over-dramatic. What is fueling what? Me, the depression, the music? Or is it all three? Whatever. All I know is that when things reach an emotional high point I find myself approaching shut-down. If I was apiece of machinery I think I'd have a warning label that would state: Warning! Machinery is prone to shut down at points of high stress. Excerpts from the climax of Oasis' 'champagne supernova' will sound at this action!

This hating half of me has won this battle easily...

Things were starting to level out a little this last week or so. I had seen an old friend who I found out had depression and gone through a suicide attempt like me so we had a good long chat (over nine hours worth) and that had helped both of us, I think, knowing we could talk to each other about it and that, if things got bad, just by uttering, 'I'm having a bad day', we'd both know what that actually meant as opposed to most who wouldn't know or even care what those words really meant and would take it along the lines of, 'So?! So what you're having a bad day, who doesn't?! 
Having read back over some course work that was returned back to me with some pretty heavy and damning feedback, I've spun back to my usual. Phonecalls, whether receiving or taken are causing me fits of worry and making decisions, (what to eat? what to eat?!?! Jaffa cakes will do) are nigh on impossible. What I find odd and probably worrying if I wasn't already full up with worry, is that I can almost feel my black fighting its way through the anti-depressants. I was almost numb to the worry but I can feel it overwhelming me and well, I'm not sure I want to fight back. It's tiring and near impossible to push back. 
'Chin up', 'Could be worse' and the such like become nothing more than empty hollow slogans when used in the face of this. So what do I do? I don't know. Sit back and let it submerge me and hope I can get through it.
Again.

"Nervous juvenile, won't smile, what became of you..."

At the moment I'm going through a little blip, too many thoughts and worries are over-loading my head and making me close to shut down. The only respite being thoughts of suicide.
It seems like a recent return with a lot of feedback, on an assignment has left me both confused, upset and angry. 
It has also left me wondering if I can even complete this course with any sort of reasonable grade. It doesn't bear thinking about as I've really put all my proverbial eggs into one cliche laden basket so if this doesn't work I don't know what I can do or even try next.
It seems like my ability to cope or to take on any sort of criticism, be it constructive or very destructive is getting smaller and smaller. That isn't good where feedback is of, if not essential, to the things I like and am involved in. 

Why can't I cope anymore? 

The person who did a parachute jump, went on stage, could mix with a variety of people from different backgrounds in a room and who could handle a roomful of people and make them laugh with it; little man, what now little man?