You Are Not Going to Die


I drown out the voice of Myrtle quite easily now. Particularly when I use diazepam. But the feeling is such a strange feeling. She is still there, whispering, cajoling, nerve-shatteringly close to my ear. But the diazepam makes the sound feel as though she is locked in the bottom of a jam jar, filled with water, her shouts and screams for attention a mere distorted sound that doesn’t quite compute.

 

The feeling of angst is still there, nudging against the little blue pill bubble I’ve built for myself, but it can’t penetrate it. And I am able to ‘other’ her, something I’ve spoken about in previous blog posts, with ease. She is merely another being inside me, vying for attention, wilting with my neglect, but becoming louder the more I ignore her.


My head is funny today. I feel purely happy and content, but there is still that nagging feeling of doom. That ball of lead in my stomach that tells me my life is ruined. That I can’t cope, and that I’ve fucked everything up.

 

Name your anxiety. Don’t ignore it. Don’t pretend it isn’t there. Acknowledge it. Be kind to it. Soothe it, tell it you understand its concern, but you’re actually not about to die. And If he/she/it still won’t cease you can scream at it to go away. You never know, it might become frightened at your sudden strength and go running to hide itself away in a little corner of your mind you never knew existed.








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