Friday, April 3, 2009

Voice in my head

I am not embarrassed for people to know about the illness. I have bi-polar. It is often far from pretty. It is a difficult thing for me to live with at times. At other times it is nothing, just the background noise of daily life. We all have our problems. Mine could be treatable. These are choices to make.

So I begin to emerge, tentatively. I do not want false hope. I distrust the idea of a dawn, free of nightmare. But here I am and I look back over the apocalyptic landscape of the last few days and I look for wounded. There is an odd silence in the aftermath. It is the voice in my head turned down, not completely silenced, but reduced to a vague crackle like a radio playing in another room. The soft toxic dust is settling and I wonder about your lungs, you who have stood too close and breathed my poison. I think about metastasis and long term damage. I remember that story by Tove Jansson. Moominland. The Groke, exiled to the ice. Everything he touched froze solid. And it comes back to me, this figure that most closely resembles myself.

I am not so brave. The lonely Groke wanders in self-imposed exile. I hold onto you like a buoy and if I drown there is a risk that you might come with me. It is unfair. It is selfish of me.

Still the clamour of voices raise themselves to an ugly shriek. They misinterpret the world and I am confused by the ferocity of lies. I listen and the world becomes an unrecognisable confusion of self-doubt. I reach for a hand and I cling to it. There is a desperation to the gesture. I am aware of it and this awareness joins in with the cacophony.

This sudden silence. A world returned to it's waking and sleeping. I stand in it and survey the damage. There will be damage. I am incendiary.

Then your voice. The voice in my head. My imaginary friend. Who has not been imaginary for quite a while now. And you say 'Hi'.

This blog post is not about sex.

This blog post is about love.

You say 'hi' and it is like a wound beginning to scab over. It is like a fur of grass growing in a dug out vacant lot. It is the 'post' to the word 'apocalypse'. One word, a voice in my head but a good one. A solid one. I turn the radio of self-doubt down to a mere whimper. There is another voice here. Yours. A good person, my poor shell-shocked friend. I am glad of you, and I am sorry for the damage.

3 comments:

Kat said...

Nor should you be embarrassed Krissy. This is an illness not recognisable to all but is most definitely recognisable to me. For the last 9-10 years I have ridden the bi-polar roller coaster with my eldest son & of course the rest of the family along with us.
I grieved, I've cried, I've grieved & I've cried some more. I've cried & cried a river of tears for this handsome, talented & beautiful young man of mine. I've fervently sought for ways to help him escape this destructive and at times suicidal state. There's been counselling, hundreds of doctors appointments, special treatment centres, medication & voluntary hospital stays. There's been screaming, aggressive displays, destruction & loads of frustration & despair. Such an intense despair like I have never experienced before. Finally, I feel, we may have reached a middle ground. I am reluctant to say that he's all better because I know this is an illness that will walk with him for life. But he finally has some peace. He now sleeps. He no longer paces the floor boards at night & me along side him. He isn't compelled to scream out at the demonic voices that invade his thoughts(which he explains are his own)in an attempt to drown them out.
He's an artist. An extremely talented one at that. But his head is still cluttered, cluttered with self doubt. He's also a perfectionist but only when it comes to his art. The rest of his personal life is messy & disorganised but this is something he continues to work on.
He is now medicated and has finally after trying 10 or more different medications found a combination that helps but does not drown out his creative thinking.
It is an exhausting illness not only for the sufferer but for those who suffer beside you...
He is my son & I will continue to love him unconditionally.

Krissy Kneen said...

Kat it sounds like I am listening to my own story back to me. I empathise. I feel most sorry for my partner and my support friend but they, like you stick we me and I am so very very grateful to them.

Kat said...

Oh my goodness Krissy...It is I empathise with you! You are so brave! Although I don't suffer this condition myself.It's been close enough for me to have an understanding of how lonely & isolated it can make the sufferer feel. Isolation & loneliness is the last thing that you need to be feeling with this illness.The only advise I feel compelled to give is never let yourself suffer in silence. As I say to my now healing son...nothing you can say will ever shock me... I will always love you & will help whenever you need me.
Your partner & friends love you & as you say stick with you because they are able to see what you yourself probably cannot! That you are a beautiful person!
The other bit of advice I would give is to say: Let them love you because you deserve it!