Why does our Mental Health make us feel so alone? “I kept trying to make these posts eloquent, or at least a tad bit inspiring as I didn’t wish to burden you with my sadness. But I’ve been going through a rougher patch than normal the past few weeks, and it’s dawned on me that I feel painfully alone in it.”
I’ve let myself down. I’ve let the wonderful people who gave me the opportunity to put my story on living with Body Dimorphic Disorder out there on #MentalMovement down. I’ve also let you down, the reader. It’s been over two months since my first and only post got published on this site. I wanted to write more, and it hasn’t been for lack of trying.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found myself sitting in front of the laptop, a blank screen staring back at me, just waiting to be filled with words. Yet it’s remained empty. Not because I have nothing to say, but rather I don’t feel as though I have a right to. I kept trying to make these posts eloquent, or at least a tad bit inspiring as I didn’t wish to burden you with my sadness. But I’ve been going through a rougher patch than normal the past few weeks, and it’s dawned on me that I feel painfully alone in it.
I feel alone in my journey, in the crazed moments and the beautiful ones. I feel as though nobody understands and just maybe, someone else out there feels like that. So I’m going to write now. Whether the post has a purpose or not. You can act as my friend who is kind enough to listen, and I’ll simply write my thoughts. Eloquence be damned.
I guess in short.. I had a moment. One of those very brief moments in time, where everything seems to come to a standstill. Everything that would normally pass by without you even noticing, appearing bright and sharp – etched into your memory so vividly.
I was sat at this quaint inn/restaurant in Scotland, the atmosphere resembling that of the sound of crackling fire on a cold Winter’s evening. The man I love sat beside me, looking as handsome as ever. A bottle of chilled wine stood proudly on the table, a bead of water trailing down it’s neck. The sound of laughter and merry people surrounded us. The smell of food continuing to waft from the kitchen, seeming far more appealing than the microwave meal he and I had split for lunch. It was a perfect moment. A perfect date that had accidentally stumbled upon us – the kind we would one day tell our Grandchildren about. I was watching my better half from the corner of my eye as he gazed far ahead through the blackened window. Our fingers were entwined on the table, the wood slightly sticky from whatever they used to clean. Sensing my eyes on him, he turned to look at me, and before I had time to do anything, it felt as though a brick had suddenly been thrown down my throat and into my stomach. I could only think one thing; ‘If he looks at me, this moment is going to be ruined as I am not beautiful enough for it. I’ll ruin it. He’ll be disappointed. He shouldn’t be with me.” He looked into my eyes and I was forced to look away due to the lump forming in my throat. He asked for my thoughts and I couldn’t say them, as I knew any other person in that room would think me mad or depressing for thinking such a thing. I don’t know what brought it on. It was incredibly silly, but thoughts often resemble a car crash. One wrong swerve and it’s out of your control, even when you’re the one behind the wheel.
The evening progressed and I managed to put it out of my mind, but ever since he left to fly home (distance relationship issue), I’ve been terrified.
We can control what we do with our bodies, we can control our actions, but thoughts.. Thoughts make us as helpless as children. And that realization has terrified me. I’m scared that I will never be able to gain control of what goes around in my head. And I’m fearful over the fact that I’m stuck with this mind for the remainder of my life. I loathe my thoughts and I hate being in my own company for too long, and I am unable to escape either. I feel like I’m in a cell with no escape. I’m not going to blame BDD for my brains stupidity, as much as I kind of want to. It simply happened. It was a moment that was out of hands, yet entirely of my own doing. I’d say it was ironic, but I can’t seem to find it humorous enough to.
Upon returning home myself, I’ve been faced with the difficulty of not allowing that single moment to affect my relationship with food – it isn’t going so well. I’m too embarrassed to tell anyone that. Health prohibits me from working out, so my mind is reaching for the closest thing I can control. I’m aware of that. I’m aware that I need to eat nutritious foods, and allow myself a sneaky treat every now and again. And I am. But my mind is also counting every calorie and gram of fat without my permission. Then at night, it is all circling my mind and not coming to a stop until exhaustion kindly knocks me out. I can’t seem to quiet myself down.
I long for a peaceful mind, and although I know it’s an impossible ask, if I happen to see a shooting star any time soon, I’ll be wishing for a new moment. A moment of internal silence.