I can take the nights I cry myself to sleep and the days I laugh myself to insanity, but it is the days that fool me for a second that hurt me the most. The days when you wake up and follow the plan, the days you go and take care of yourself. You eat your vegetables, you do your exercise, you work efficiently. So you hope. You hope that maybe, just maybe you are on the way of getting better, because you finally feel better. You feel more stable, collected. But it doesn’t last long. It never does. The sadness sneaks up on you and you are not prepared.
Normally, you’d have a plan of action. A way to escape. But how can you escape the sadness you have not expected? I think days like these are the worst for me. They are my least favourite thing about this illness, not that I find many enjoyable parts. It’s the kind of sadness, when nothing has gone wrong, but you just feel so.. so alone. You need company, you need someone to be around constantly.. But you also realise that’s not a realistic plan. It’s the kind of sadness, where you just sit and feel the pain in your heart.. It’s a strange feeling, almost as if your heart is trying to sink and find a way out of your body. It’s the worst kind of sadness. It almost feels like you’re heartbroken… but there is no reason why. You finally have what you’ve wanted – a great relationship, an understanding family, friends who support you, motivation to work and succeed. And then you crash. And nothing can prepare you for the fall. You cry and scream, but no one can hear.
You hate yourself for it and once again wish you were normal, wish that you could control your emotions and your feelings. You wish more than anything that you could just feel according to your situation.. at least for a while. But it won’t let you. Who are we fooling thinking we could be normal, they don’t call it a serious illness for nothing. We are so utterly fucked up, there is no cure. And here you are… left with the feeling of doom that this will forever be your reality. That you might feel so terribly heartbroken at your own wedding or maybe… maybe you’ll be so heart-warmingly incredibly happy at your own father’s funeral. You realise that it is not an illness, it truly is a curse.