Tuesday, 1 May 2012
I opened my bedroom window this morning just in time to watch the smothering waltz of the grey as it devoured the blue and closed my eyes feeling the brace of the wind slap into my face before the window slammed shut with a thud.
& then it started to rain, ineffectual droplets at first a mere smattering both `insubstantial and forgetful like the verse everyone fluffs with a hum before they belt out the chorus.
Another day at home it is then. Last year I'd think nothing of staying holed away inside for days, weeks even months on end. I only left the house if it was absolutely necessary or if pushed and even then it was under duress. Call it what you will, it was some form of agoraphobia. It wasn't that I simply didn't want to go out, it was more the thought of it caused paroxysms of dread and anxiety. Even now when I'm able to leave the house I rarely do so alone and if I do it's always negligible to anyone else and 'normal' yet to me, it's an achievement, one that is riddled the whole way with anxiety and paranoia and of course the conversational diatribe within my head that never seems to stop. This isn't where my mental health problems begin nor where they end it's merely one of the roads on the busy and complex ragged map.
So here I am with this obstacle in front of me. The weather and my ankle. My ankle is relatively back to normal during the day but it aches something chronic at night. The worst is usually over within two weeks yet it takes an average of six weeks for ligament damage to recover. Where we live there is literally one road with a few shops on it and that is a two mile round trip, up hill all the way home. I fear that halfway there my ankle will give way and we'd have no money to catch the bus. As each day passes I feel myself regress and it feels harder and harder to think of going outside into the real world amongst real people and the familiar comfort of staying at home is no longer suffocating it's slipped back into the realms of safe and comfortable.
I seem to be consumed by vapid lethargy, again.
Hopefully tomorrow will have a break in this wet spell, if only a pocket of time so I can force myself out and breathe. I think The Toddler and I have cabin fever.
⋅ Labels: mental health