Short circut

waterhouse
The soul of the rose – John Waterhouse 

 

Walking through the city first thing in the morning is usually a relaxing time for me, a part of my daily ritual of basking in the sunshine and clearing my mind as I head to the park on the way home to meditate or read. My brain is usually a scrambled mess of thought, buzzing with ideas and grand plans, it’s hard to slow it down to make any sense of it sometimes.

A year ago I had a mental breakdown, anxiety getting the best of me and I was literally unable to function without being dosed up on a cocktail of anti-psychotics, anti-depressants and benzos. I developed agoraphobia, refused to eat and would spend the day intermittently crying and having panic attacks. I moved to Melbourne with my ex and we focused on getting me the help that I needed one day at a time. 

This morning as I walked home through the park I felt the old familiar dizziness and nausea flood , a swarm of angry bees buzzing in my rib cage threatening to burst out through my skin. There was no coherent thought pattern to break, no trigger or reason. My brain just decided that today it would short-circuit, just for fun. Thanks buddy. I head home to rest after attractively vomiting into a trash can, fighting back tears of frustration.

Although I fucking refuse to go backwards after working so hard to get where I am now, I see this hiccup just a gentle reminder of the difference within myself from a year ago, and the gratitude I feel is palpable.

Gratitude that I am perpetually surrounded by love.

Gratitude that my body has returned to a state of health.

Gratitude for my friends for their support.

Gratitude for the reminder of how far I have come.

 

 

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