Head Above Water

I'm still here. And still struggling. So much so, I'm properly convinced now that this is my life. Things like this do not last for 6 weeks and more. They just don't. Does that mean this is just me from now on?

That question has crossed my mind countless times. Will this one ever end? I'm still not completely interested by anything. Cricket is more of a chore than an enjoyable hobby. I only carry on doing it so I don't disappoint more people than I already have. I'm becoming more and more of a recluse and I never went back to that job. They thought I was lying so began procedures to get rid of me. I'm fairly sure what they did was illegal, but I haven't got the energy, the inclination or the know-how to challenge them. I can't even describe how much my blood boiled upon reading their thoughts. Who on Earth lies about this sort of thing? Who?

So now I'm a few days away from being a literal charity case. My worst nightmares are coming true and this is reality. My dreams are becoming more and more real, maybe in desperation more than anything else. I can physically feel the black cloak drape itself over me as I open my eyes from long spells of sleep. I hate it so much that I attempt to close them again but my body wonders what I'm trying to do after being asleep for 18 hours already. It takes me a few seconds to realise what day it is. It takes me more than a few seconds to do anything useful. I am now a burden. And I hate it.

I feel so sorry for Mum. So, so sorry. She is trying unimaginably hard to get me up and going, but I just can't. By God, I want to. I just want to be me again. That confident young man of last July who was dancing around the Barley Mow, confidently strolling up to guys I'd never met and chatting to them. That confident young man who expressed himself on the cricket pitch and scored 153 at Sandy. That confident young man who got promoted at work. What happened to him? What happened to me? I feel scared to leave my own bedroom sometimes, for a reason I don't even know. Its the impending doom that may lay on the other side of that creaky door of mine. And the guilt... The never-ending guilt...

I don't know when this will end. Or whether it ever will end. Or whether I'll recover and experience my usual winter of discontent. I just don't know.