Chasing Amy-Lou

“And as you write this with unexplainable tears rolling down your cheeks – the droplets of water have no source; there’s no reason for their manifestation; they just are -you wonder if the pain will ever cease”

And so it simmers, like a slow-burning pressure cooker waiting to boil and overflow; a series of anxiety-ridden feelings projected as irritation, anger and frustration.
You can’t predict it. You can’t say when it will occur. And you can’t say why. Why does it happen? Why are you depressed? There is often no explanation. The feelings associated with this malaise and the all too often ‘brushed aside as a negative and pessimistic state of mind’ syndrome can’t be pinned down. There is no one single reason.
You look in the mirror and detest what you see. You pick apart every inch of your face and body until you’ve convinced yourself that your imperfections are visibly and grossly recognisable and apparent. That nobody in their right mind could ever love what you see in front of you. Your self-loathing causes you to starve and deprive yourself, to kill yourself with strenuous workouts and set unrealistic targets because you think it will make you thinner and prettier yet when you allow yourself a moment of happiness by devouring and then bingeing on the forbidden fruit, you berate yourself moments later once the rush of dopamine and the flow of endorphins has slowed to a steady halt. That cake made you happy for a second, but it didn’t cure your unhappiness.
You drink to forget how you feel; the first sip of the sweet nectar, that expensive wine, tasting like heaven; you’ve escaped and you’re free, free to wash away the problems of the day, only to be reminded of just how low your mood can go once that inevitable hangover rears its ugly head and the thoughts you banished once again return.
You compare your life to others and call yourself a failure. You’ve over-achieved in everything you’ve done; you’ve been to far off places and seen things only others could dream about; you’ve scaled walls and ran marathons; you’ve passed exams and landed coveted jobs; you’ve been independent and followed your dreams; and you’ve waded through shit and have risen smelling of roses. Yet still, it’s not enough.
And you feel like a fool. A belligerent, whining, selfish old fool.
You’re surrounded by people who love you yet you feel unwanted; you’re not alone in the proverbial sense of the word but you’re unexplainably lonely and unloved; the loneliness only proving itself to be real when nobody comes to your rescue.
You run away to escape your fears; you seek out the new and the interesting, you chase adventure and the unknown in the hope it will cure your boredom, your frustration; but it doesn’t, it only serves as a mask, concealing the real problem, which you still can’t put your finger on.
You flit from periods of elation to severe bouts of unhappiness, loneliness and self pity; your self-deprecation and lack of self-worth hampering your ability to move forward. The anxiousness stopping you from accepting, from relaxing; tense and unnerved, restless and frustrated.
And you fear for your mental health. Good god do you fear for it.
The happiness that once oozed from your very being; that glowing positivity that you once radiated is replaced by the ugly thoughts and feelings you cannot prevent; to the point where it begins to show on your face; your features are marred by the thoughts you don’t want.

And you fear that you’re to blame; that it’s all your fault. 

And you often wonder if you’d be missed once you’re gone.

You wake to a new day with all the vim and vigour of a honeymooning couple; determined to see things in a positive light and preparing for the great things that lie ahead. Yet one insignificant encounter or event will put a downward taint on the path of your positivity – as you spiral uncontrollably into rage, then frustration, then you stop – it’s hopeless. And then the tears come.
And the tears won’t stop. Ever. They arrive unexpectedly – like an unwanted neighbour with a ridiculous concern for your supposedly shared hedgerow. And they outstay their welcome. They always outstay their welcome. They roll down your cheeks when you least want them to: when you’re sitting in traffic listening to your favourite song, they’re there. And then sometimes when you wish they would, they don’t come at all. Sometimes they prefer to sit, waiting, brewing, poised, as if for the most inappropriate moment; like when you’re shopping for tampons and the attractive young man you’ve admired from afar blocks your way; that’s when they come.
And you put on a front for your family and friends; a facade; those years of drama classes finally paying off; you feign your contentment and pretend that you’re coping. You plod from day to day, flashing your best fake smile, pining for the one that was once so genuine; pining to regain that twinkle in your eye, wondering where and why it all went wrong; wondering where that happy ending is…
And you realise the fairytale isn’t true and in the end all you’re left with is you.
And most of all? You can’t explain it. You hate the feeling and you hate the situation. You hate your situation and everything that comes with it. But you wish you didn’t. Out of all the things in this life, you really wish you didn’t feel that way.
You try. My God do you try. You try with every ounce of your strength and your will. You try and you fight and you battle; and you struggle against the tidal waves and you brace yourself against the wind and you push on through. You try to break free from the shackles that seem determined to pull you down. You try to maintain your positivity. You reach for it, you try to grasp onto it. You want it, you really and truly want it; that happiness, that feeling of joy. You try and you know there’s no reason you can’t achieve it; but at those moments, those terrible reoccurring moments of down-beat self-pity, self-loathing and fear; you just miss it.
Then you try again. You never stop trying. And you make it. You always make it. Just. But you can never explain it. You can never voice the reason because there is no reason. And that’s the hardest part.