Quoth the Raven


Never have I starred into my computer screen, mulled over for so long, pained at the thought of a post as much as I have today. Not because I am unable to write, or because of time constraints, or lethargy. My issue has been how to express what is going on in my Brain, I was reminded of the opening verse of a very well known epic poem by Edgar Allan Poe.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”
The Raven
Edgar Allan Poe
selective focus photograph of black crow
Though there are similarities between this verse of fantastic work and my blunted brain, there are some stark differences. Though I would love to say that I pondered over volumes of forgotten lore, alas, patient charts and nursing text books are the closest I come, there is still plenty of pondering, and defiantly lost of weak weariness to boot.
While this is curious, and quaint, the rest of the verse is what resonates the most. The gentle rapping at the chamber door, though the chamber door is merely a objectification of my brain. There has been this niggling, sometimes quiet, sometimes deafening tapping going on in my brain. The unfortunate thing is I know who is on the other side, and I don’t want to let them in. This unwanted house guest is, Anxiety. I have felt the crippling presence of it looming over me with more and more weight his past week. My neck and ears feel as though they are being pulled and stretched, I have had a persistent headache all week that nothing will shift, I feel on edge like I am going to snap at a moments notice. I continue to put on a brave face, laughing, joking, or otherwise attempting to deflect any real interest of curiosity that is likely to bring down the fragile house of cards that is my emotional state.
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I feel guilty for sharing with my wife, who has always been my shoulder to cry on, as I don’t want to over burden her. She has shifted from full-time Teacher to full-time Mum of our three children, two of whom are home all day. She deals with me working all kinds of crazy shifts, studying for my bachelor, a teenage son who has his own issues to worry about, maintaining the house in some resemblance of order, and somewhere in all that actually caring for herself so she doesn’t burn out. I did however have to share where I was at with everything. I felt terrible after the fact. In the interest of continuing to share my story, not hide anything, and normalise the conversation, this is what I sent my wife;

I am sick of memory blanks, sick of apathy, sick of lethargy, sick of feeling like a fat useless piece of crap.

I’m just sick of it. I want to know why this happened, I want to be able to feel joy in things without it being surrounded by worry and regret. I want my mind to be mine again.

I don’t want to be a burden, I don’t want to be medicated for eternity, I don’t want my life to be vanilla, I don’t want to be angry, I don’t want to short tempered.

I just want to scream, and cry and let everything out till I pass out and wake up from this mental nightmare I seem to be stuck in.

I want to show you that I love you, I want to show the kids I love them, I don’t want to be acting like everyone is an inconvenience to my existence.

I just want to be me

My wife was speechless, as you could imagine, when I got home all she could do was hug me. I thought she was never going to let go. Frankly, I don’t think I wanted her to. I am still not OK. I am safe. I know I am surrounded by love and help and encouragement. I just need to let my visitor know that he is not welcome here anymore.

Maintain the Rage

Luke Sondergeld

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