intricacies

 her diamonds, by rob thomas - the notes for these words

 

It has reared its hideous head and I feel that I am a-tangle.  My head plays a soundtrack set to replay all the day long and all the night. Tears stream down my cheeks as midnight strikes and still my exhausted body won’t settle into slumber – its on hyper alert. I need a paper bag to breath, as I hyperventilate. I want to scream loudly. I jump up and down on the stop trying to let out whatever it is that is knocking inside me. My whole body tenses strongly as I sit doing nothing – I give myself the direction to relax my muscles and remain that way for all of a minute. Next time I become aware of it, all muscles are taut again. My bowels have given up proper functioning, and my fingers naturally bee-line for my hair – I pull it out and collect a tragic pile of it, I want to tear it all out in a bid to appease my cravings. Meanwhile my physical strength is paling, a miserable grey as it channels everything towards the beast inside me. 

I feel that I have lost control, that I’m a crazy, messy, miserable apology for a woman. I feel like I’m a knot in a necklace, disarranged, distorted. It’s resembles the mess my whole body is in.

What are you worried about? Someone asks. I shrug my tight shoulders in reply.

If I knew, I’d try my best to let it go, stop worrying. If tears and prayers could let it go, it would be thoroughly buried.

 But I don’t know. What makes me want to rock and cry and pull?

 It’s not logical, not simple. It’s a mystery – to man. One thing I know is that we are intricate, we are fearfully made, and these ways are not incomprehensible to the creator.

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.”

I’m intricately woven, and understood.

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 If I have one dream for tomorrow, it’s that problems in the mind come to be considered as shame-free as ‘physical’ illnesses like cancer or diabetes. Sufferers aren’t caged in asylums anymore, but mental illness is still an awkward topic. I’d rather talk about my CFS, than my mind problems. It’s so much safer, radically less chance of being labelled ‘mad’ - more chance of sympathy rather than alienation.