Listen. Don’t Talk.

Sometimes all you have are your dreams.

Today I wanted to leave the house. Maybe walk to the end of the street.

Today I wanted to leave the house, walk to the end of the street and walk one minute along the road to reach the park.

Today I wanted to leave the house, walk to the end of the street and walk one minute along the road to reach the park. I wanted to pass through the gates and along the path where I can sit on a bench and watch the sea.

Today I wanted to see the sea. And yesterday and the day before and the week before that and the month before that.

I wanted to get out of bed without feeling like I’m falling. I wanted to breathe without feeling like it was a struggle. I wanted to lie down without pain. I wanted the world to stop spinning. I wanted to eat without feeling sick and walk without feeling sore. I wanted to live a little.

Life’s not fair, one of the most common clichés.

Life’s not fair and I want never gets and every cloud has a silver lining. I suppose clichés stick around for so long because they stay relevant and true. I’ve learnt a lot since being ill- that is my silver lining so far. I’ve learnt that listening is a wonderful skill.

Sometimes I want to say the words- my darkest worries. What if I never get better? How am I going to get better? Why haven’t I got better? Even the times when I have been well the past two years I have still been very sick- WHY am I not getting better? WHY AM I GETTING WORSE? Every day I am up beat. Every day I get up determined that today is going to get better. However, I am a person, a normal, complicated person who is capable of thinking several different things at once, 90% of me remains positive. But 10% is unsure, 10% worries. Telling friends and family these worries is like saying a dirty word. YOU CAN’T THINK LIKE THAT is almost bellowed back. YOU MUST REMAIN UP BEAT is chanted.I think what I must do is different.

I must be allowed to express my feelings. I must be allowed to say the small worries worming away. Out in the open they can be clawed apart. They can be ridiculed and exposed and left behind to rot like the rubbish they are. First of all, you must allow me to say them. The best thing for a worry thought is for it to be expressed. For it to be let free and not trapped in the washing machine of the brain. Let me set them free. Don’t judge, or accuse or think less of me for having them. Don’t order me not to have them; don’t add to them by telling me that they’re wrong.

Listen. Don’t talk. Listen.

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