I have mentioned before that during my illness I kept a diary. I was very much encouraged to do this. The type of things I wrote tended to vary and there were periods when I wrote nothing at all. The piece below was written during one of the low periods but certainly not at the lowest I did get. It is longer and more coherent than most things I wrote.
It’s 3 am and, of course, I can’t sleep. If I don’t sleep soon I think I’m going to completely lose it. Feeling very much at the end of my tether. Dwelling far too much on crap stuff. Amongst other things recently I have been thinking about the people I should not have fallen in love with. Going through the moments that I should have picked up that they were wrong for me. And I realise that I actually did pick up and notice those moments but went along with it anyway; romance over sense and experience! And on the (many) occasions that they broke my heart I would be forgiving them even as they did so. It’s such a massively painful and violent thing a broken heart. Yet that pain is never really acknowledged, we go weeks maybe months with the pain, the emptiness and the guilt for feeling like that. Of course people tell us there is no such thing as a broken heart and we will get over it and time heals etc etc. But right now there are chunks and shards of glass in our chest, our veins our bodies and they hurt like hell. The most intrusive shards get trapped in out heads and they make us remember the broken promises, the betrayals, the way they said “I love you”. So much pain and violence and we are given half hearted sympathy and assurances we will find someone else. Of course we probably will but right now it hurts like fuck.