You don’t wake up, well not for a while. Every morning on automatic pilot, no amounts of coffee will see me right. The fog never fully lifts, by the end of the day a light mist still shrouds me.
Inside is a man begging to be let out. To be set free. Not shackled to the very thing that, ironically, was meant to set him free.
I met my diagnosis with relief. It had a name. Everything I had been feeling and experiencing had a name and I was not alone. For a while this worked but then others were added because my new friend, alone, would not be enough. 11 years on my faith has diminished. What annoys me the most is the refusal to even acknowledge the hard work I’ve put in myself is relevant. The recovery is all down to the medication. I can tell you it’s not.
I long to control my day, to refuse to allow the frustration to fester, to find that smile within me first thing in the morning and bare it on my face for all to see.