A boat will only drift at sea for so long before it hits land.Read More
I’m incredibly tired. It’s been far too many years, and the metaphorical concept of shit sh*t hitting the fan was truly made for describing the sudden and crippling impact of type 1 diabetes complications. It feels like being pelted with bullets that are constantly firing from a smoking gun.
But it’s okay to feel like we can’t cope, okay to feel like we need some extra help when everything feels too much right ? Even me? The idea is so foreign to me, it feels wrong, it feels like a betrayal to all I’ve ever believed, that I should seek that help.
Diabetes is relentless, all consuming, even when it exists without deep-set mental health issues.
Eating disorders are always exhausting, they strip you of strength, and I’m in tatters. It’s slow at first isn’t it? You can feel like a cat with nine lives that just skims the edge of danger, until suddenly you realise you sink in like sugar dissolving into a bowl of rice krispies, a crackling echo rings in your ears as you feel yourself questioning just how long that damage had been simmering under the surface, and every warning sign you brushed away.
I just want my brain to stop wittering at me, every day, a slow and deep hum that goes on and on. I ache inside.
It’s okay to to not be okay I am trying so hard to rewire my usual faulty belief system. But it’s like being a toddler and trying to walk and talk. I see where I want to go and what I need to be doing out in the world but I can’t will my shaky legs to move. I merely shake and continue to ruminate.
But it’s okay to admit you can’t do it on your ow anymore. Maybe me too?
It’s okay to let someone else care for you, particularly if your life depends on it, isn’t it?
Falling down the rabbit hole and embracing insanity would be a silent release, - slipping away, a relief of no longer having to try.
But there’s no way I don’t find that guilt, the shame in other places. But least of all, the fact I’d given in.. Denial just doesn’t fit me the way it used to.
Drained, wasted an wrung out like soggy dishcloth.
It’s okay to not be okay, right? To say it out out loud? To admit you just can’t do it on your own.
I’m just so, so tired. It hurts.
It’s time to take a chance. I have to.