There is this Girl I know. She Wishes I would Shut up about Poor Mental Health.
I nearly got run over tonight.
Some pizza delivery guy with an Express Margarita on the back seat.
As I write this, the words are jumping around on the screen, much like my favourite five year old, I cannot make them sit still.
Last night for almost 5 whole minutes I believed I was dead.
Funny how a silver Micra can feel like a fucking tank when it’s approaching you at 30 miles an hour, and the driver isn’t aware he is about to use your fabulous boobs as speed bumps.
I actually pushed myself off the bonnet to propel myself out of the way.
It was not graceful.
It was at that moment he noticed me.
Doodle the poodle walked right past me as I stood at the front door half an hour later, arriving home from work- he didn’t notice me at all.
The usual ‘Hello mummy!’ was absent as I slammed the door closed, brain heavy with the weight of another day missing out.
‘Am I dead?’ I half smiled in a bid to remain calm, seriously teetering.
My heart sped up a little.
‘Wanker!’ I had screamed, shaking like a shitting dog on the side of the road. ‘You nearly flattened me, and for what? A fucking pizza?’
Was I dead?
5 minutes previous to this I had been stood on the very edge of a 60ft drop.
I had leaned over for a little while, daring myself, looking down, romanticising about having the courage to feel free, about having the courage to ‘just do it’ and fall.
Like a really sadistic Nike advert.
‘Hello? Addy?? I am home baby!’
If I want to die though, why am I veering in to sheer un-aldultered panic now that no one can hear me? And why am I so incredibly angry with the Domino’s delivery guy for nearly flattening me?
Wouldn’t being run over be the perfect ending? It wouldn’t have been my fault. No one would be able to call me selfish, or thoughtless, or weak.
There is no dignity in Suicide. Or the possible return of Psychosis.
‘Doodle look at me! Look at me! Look at me! Oh shit Doodle! Look at me! Can nobody hear me? How the fuck will Addy be told I am gone forever?? Oh Jesus no.’
Too late, I have crossed over the threshold in to what is considered abnormal behaviour. My vision ebbs and flows and almost at once becomes Fisheye.
I have my forehead pressed against the cold hard floor, the palms of my hands pressed against my ears, my knees tucked up under me and I am about to be sick with fear, when the Irish one finds me two minutes later.
I am wholeheartedly lost and completely petrified.
I nearly got run over tonight.
‘You are not dead Lexy. Addy is in the bath, I am bathing him.’
His face is too concerned.
Well Ok then.
I stop instantaneously, breathe deeply, and very slowly get back to my feet, the dizziness of relief nearly making me keel over.
‘What’s for dinner?’ I smile sheepishly through the nausea, he has to think I was joking.
This week has been a really long week.
I have died every day, in a million different ways and yet here I am.
As I write this, the words are running about on the page like busy little fleas on a mangy dog and the noise in my brain is overpowering, constant and repetitively intrusive.
I am incredibly lucky that not everyone is cold and cruel when it comes to supporting someone with mental health problems.
I am incredibly grateful to the people who choose courage.
This illness does not make me anything other than ill.
(And a nightmare to live with. – Sorry Irish One, and thank you for this weekend.)
I was nearly run over today.
Turns out I don’t actually want to die.
That is a relief of sorts.
Now I just need to figure out a way to want to live.
I am so fucking poorly right now, but today is not the end of me.
Rudeness and ignorance is not strength.
Smearing a smile on my heart and pushing it out in to the open, in the hope others will feel less alone, when I am down on my knees and so close to giving up myself, well, this feels a lot like strength.
And I am not doing it alone, there are millions of us.
Women who have done it for me before, Men who have inspired me.
All these survivors who talk me down from the ledge, all these women who stick together and show compassion, all these friends who don’t only see illness when they look at each other. Women who die a thousand times a day before getting up to struggle through the school run with a smile on their faces.
I know I am not alone.
I am so fucking poorly right now and I am also Fine.
The main word being ‘right now’ as James my therapist used to say ‘tomorrow this may pass.’
And one thing I will never do, is stop talking about poor mental health.
Because Tomorrow is somewhere we don’t always get to, alone.
Rest In Peace Tim.
You will always live on in my heart and I will smile and think of you whenever I eat a bag of Doritos or hear the serenity prayer. The world lost another fighter and Heaven gained a Handsome and Brilliant friend.