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Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:

Cheeky Monkey

Cheeky Monkey

I almost died last December.

I woke in regret. Three days after the deed, and out of intensive care unit, I lay in hospital on a ward with a middle aged woman, a pensioner and a stuffed monkey.

“Do you like your new friend?” the middle aged woman asked cheerfully. She continued in cheer despite my unresponsiveness. “What will you call him? Cheeky monkey?” she grinned.

It’s not like me to not say thanks or be polite. But I wasn’t me. In the throes of a major depressive episode, zapped of all will to live, and consumed by the devil that is depression, I was not me. I was a mere shadow of me.

Months after the failed suicide attempt, I sat in my bedroom and I remembered the middle aged woman in hospital. Mr Cheeky Monkey was staring at me still, this time on my book shelf.

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One step at a time…carry on


Photo by Meg Wills

Photo by Meg Wills

This week I did alot of things I didn’t think I could manage.

I got out of bed.

I showered.

I combed my hair. And I went to work.

I smiled and meant it.

No matter how many times one has confronted that black fog, when one has to get with the business of carrying on, it can be surprising to find that normally routine tasks, turn themselves into complicated duties. View full article »


Photo by Julia P

Photo by Julia P

I’ve been completely trapped by pain in the last three days.

I cannot lie, with the right medication I had managed to push through the barriers in an attempt to live (ie go to work, have friends, relationships and fulfil my dreams) albeit at a much slower pace than a healthier person but still. Still.

Then the F monster attacked with full force, and I had to leave work early on the brink of fainting with heavy spinning head and fiery jabs of pain all over my body. By nightfall, a titanic migraine moved into the front of my head and I could barely sit up.

The tummy aches and cramps (IBS which many of us fibromites suffer from) have been unbearable. I went for the hot beanie bag on the tummy and a cold washcloth on the forehead as I also started feeling feverish.

When I tried to go collect my meds later that day I had to rush back home, the dizziness is so consuming, it’s like a whirlwind that picks you up making it impossible to walk in a straight line.

I felt drunk. View full article »

Releasing the broken chains


 

Photo by Brian Smithson

Photo by Brian Smithson

It was one of those weeks where everything that could go wrong did.

Still, I was hoping to get uplifted from attending and volunteering at Hillsong Conference which I was so excited about. I felt I needed something majorly great to lift my broken spirit.

But by the end of the week, on conference day I was bound in bed unwell with pain and such debilitating exhaustion I couldn’t keep my eyes open for very long.

I was devastated but thought I could at least attend the final evening session of the conference. I forced my achy self out of bed, got dressed and headed out despite feeling dazed.

But I didn’t make it to conference because a car reversed hard into me. View full article »

Just hope…


 

By pol sifter

By pol sifter

Sometimes we’re not always sure why we bother to hope against the darkness.

We cannot see ahead as we feel our hands about, walking aimlessly in the pitch black, yet seeking.

It is called blind faith.

Believing in the absence of proof.

This is faith.

I am in short supply of optimism, but faith and hope are always rife in my corner. Because there is still the greatest thing of all, love.

I am here because of love. Love is why we are saved. And we are born to love. Despite sickness, and pain. Despite emptiness, and unrequited love that threatens to shatter our hearts.

One day my love will be returned, and this weary heart will fill. I hope.

If we don’t have faith, hope and love, then what else is there?

Press on my sister, remain steady my brother.

Better days are yet to come. We hope together.

Gentle hugs:) x

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