Doctor looks down… words almost a whisper. “You have cancer.” Patient looks up, (devastated) with many questions and tears in her eyes. Doctor gains composure. “Now, now, just pull yourself together and it will all be fine. You didn’t give yourself cancer did you? So choose not to have cancer! Right off you go then.” Confused patient exist stage left.
Imagine.
Yet, be it a mental health illness, that is what society is telling you. You are the cause of your mental fuckwitness, so sort your shit out, get with the program and off you go.
The past weeks, which turned into months have been unpleasant at best. Here and there a small display of a promising light, perhaps even a firework display or two, but the darkness as always a faithful mistress.
Mental illness, or circumstantial evidence galore, am I a slave to the mistress, or is she to me? In my search in forever after, it can be said, she has been the most faithful and long suffering. Though the suffering is mine. My breath her delight.
Anxiety is chasing me. Every day I have battled this drama inside my soul, doing my utmost to curb the fear gripping my heart and pulsating in my veins. Get up. Be useful. Find purpose. Give of yourself. Be present in the moment. Do something meaningful. Basics, Stel. Believe you are enough, just as you are. See the light. Believe. This too shall pass. You can do this. Dark chapter, not Stephen King novel. Turn the fucking page.
Yes, I am drinking my meds. Gym is helping. Positive step for mind and body. Winner. 🙂 The episode will pass again. I know it will, no matter how long it lasts, it always goes again. I have been surfing this wave for at least 34 years, I know the drill, yet have never figured out how to recover faster. Visiting both polars are exhausting.
Get out the black hole. Believe you are whole. Laugh. Live. Love.
Find me.
I wish you enough,
Wenchy
Nocturnal Wenchy 
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