I didn't want to live any more.
It wasn't that I wanted to die. I just wanted to stop.
I didn't want to breathe. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to feel. And I certainly didn't want to think.
I came home to find my gorgeous toddler nephew and this didn't stir me.
I was so depressed, nothing meant anything, nothing permeated. I just wanted to not exist, to stop.
I felt so guilty for wanting to avoid family. For not wanting to play, laugh, join in. Not wanting to enjoy the sunshine or a meal or any kind of connection. I just wanted out.
In the end I sat on a chair at the end of my bed and just stared. At nothing. Face set. Body slumped. No amount of anything was going to make me move or try to feel better. I wanted to cry but that felt too real, too much effort. I didn't want to feel better. I didn't want anything. I just wanted it all to stop.
I fought it and fought it, trying to work out what to do, what I wanted or should be doing, or what I needed. But thoughts raced as always and came to nothing. Like speeding cars round a track but not in line, not in direction… just moving randomly, skidding and sliding and weaving around randomly. The only inevitable conclusion - a pile up.
The pile up was catatonia. Complete shut down.
And without realising it or choosing it I found myself lying on the floor.
First on my knees, then my head found the floor, and my arms alongside my legs.
Some residue of kindness made me reach for a cardigan to place under my forehand to soften the weight onto the floor.
And there I lay. Just in total catatonia.
I want to say I gave up. But it sounds like a choice. It wasn't. I didn't have the energy or the brain power or the inclination to do anything as sophisticated or enlighten as give up. I simply ceased to be.
For an hour, that's exactly where I lay.
Feeling hot and stifled, and so full of contradictions in my head that it was like an oven. Hot, dry eyes, sore neck, stiff body, heavy limbs. I felt like a corpse but without the oneness of being with the earth and without the release of spirit.
Somewhere in the middle of it all I fell asleep. For maybe 10 mins.
And after an hour, still lying on the floor, I started to find consciousness.
My body started to feel a little more form, a little less blob-like.
My mind felt less foggy, a little more calm a little more cool.
And slowly, slowly, I started to come to my senses.
Thoughts stayed away for a while. Not completely, but at least turned down in volume.
The rest of the evening involved tears, research about OCD, a difficult conversation with my other half, anger, frustration, guilt, fear, sadness, hopelessness… but some sort of peace.
Some sort of feeling of being able to carry on long enough to seek another step in the road to recovery. To at least glimpse healing on the horizon, even if the steps are too hard to step.
It's got to be possible.
And that's not going to be the last time I lie on the floor in the foetal position (baby pose). It's the best thing I've done in weeks.
With love x