My Journal

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DAY 1….There is nothing, no thirst, no hunger, no hope, no despair, no tears, no anger. All that I see is the great blackness that has become my life. I’ve been in this place before but never for this long. It seems like I haven’t slept for weeks and yet I sleep all the time. I cannot remember the last time that I felt rested. My psychiatrist, Dr. Thomas, who shall from here on be known as Dr. Twit, tells me to give my medication time to work.

“It’s only been two months.”, he patiently tells me.

I’ve heard it all before. Was I born depressed? That’s what it often seems like. When was the last time that I felt true joy, experienced laughter, or felt good about myself? I can’t seem to concentrate long enough to remember. Oh, yes. About a month ago, as I was drifting off to sleep I felt a warm and loving, motherly presence enter my bedroom, held me in it’s arms, and gently, and with much tenderness rocked me to sleep. It was a wonderful experience but I’ve not been able to recapture it no matter how hard I try. It was after that, that I began to bathe again. I hadn’t bathed, brushed my teeth or washed my hair for almost two months. I haven’t left the house except for appointments so why bother. I know my husband and children have turned away from my stink and Dr. Twit opens the windows during my appointments. They don’t have to worry any longer about that though. Now I take icy cold showers, so cold that I lay shivering in bed for hours afterwards. I refuse to cover up. I want to feel the chill through to my bones.

DAY 2….Today I haven’t the energy to write on paper so this entry will be written on the pages of my mind. Today, I find myself reflecting on those who think that they love me. I know in the depths of my heart that they would be happier without the millstone of my existence around their necks. To my husband I have become a fat, fearful, and yes, feared wife that he is bound to by law. My children are ashamed of me. I cannot remember the laughter that used to be such a big part of our lives. My parents are baffled by me and have stopped calling and visiting. They fear me as well and I suppose probably feel responsible in some way for my present condition. I have no answers for any of them and have no interest in developing any. It is what it is,
this state of current and utter despair. I’ve done all the reading, all the research, until my brain is ready to explode but here I am, still the same. I feel in a state of complete supplication to this disease, enshrouded and unable to claw my way from the ties that bind my body and soul.

DAY 3….I woke from my first dreamless sleep in months. I took my usual one hour punishing shower. I have finally changed from the old plaid dressing gown that I haven’t laundered for six months and donned a beautiful white floor length nightie that a bought for a second honeymoon that was never taken. The softest of cotton lawn feels foreign on my skin. I brush the tangles from my salt and pepper hair and spray on some Arpege that my mother gave me as a gift. I have decided on a trip to Lochman’s Beach in Sydney Mines. I have always loved the sea and need to be here today. Just above me, on the cliff, is the church that I was married in. I remove my coat and boots and begin to wade in deeper and deeper with each footstep. It isn’t so bad. I’ve been training for this, after all, for quite some time now. The cold showers have hardened me to the gripping cold of the ocean. I walk farther and farther from shore. My head is immersed and I try desperately not to fight for breath. I want this to be over quickly. Finally, and strangely, warmth surrounds me. It’s that same loving feeling that entered my bedroom all those weeks ago. I feel her tender loving embrace and then an utter and complete peace. It’s finally over.

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