Panic The MotherPTM


As I tumbled down the stairs I lay there completely still. Fuuuucccckkk! My fucking foot. What the actual fuck. I have no stairs in my home but yet managed to fall down the four perfectly placed steps of my balcony. My foot was in agony. Pain pulsing through my leg. My head hurt. I think I broke it (again)

A&E put me in a cast for a fractured foot and ankle. This would heal. My mind however? Feels like a clean break. The kind of break that requires surgery to fix, weeks upon weeks of bed rest. Mind-numbing painkillers and weeks of rehabilitation to release me back into the world. My panic is like a break that will never heal, I walk on it for a bit. Smug that I'm getting my shit together again only to have done too much and need to crawl back to my bed for the whole cycle to start again.

The last two years I've managed to pull myself out of it pretty quickly yet still the frustration of being mental haunts my thoughts. It's like going back to a shitty fuckboy. You know the drill but you go back only to face palm when once again it goes tits up. My mental health has the power to zap me down at any given moment. I used to be sure it would kill me. One day I'd have no other choice but to surrender to it's pain. When the tigers find me they cut open my mind and let me slowly bleed out. Looking back over my suicidal thoughts I'm still baffled over how my mental health can consume me. I'm a Mother to three magical Sons, how can I of even thought about ending my life, fucking up my children's life and drastically changing their future. Now in this moment the thought reduces me to tears (ok fake tears, my meds are way too high to let any real emotion tumble down my face) Yet looking back over my life this thought had consumed my thinking. No one who isn't broken would make that decision. Suicide is misunderstood. Just like the brain people underestimate its powers. A mind slowly bleeding out is darkness in its purest form. No one is there to whack a cast over your mind.

my panic