Sink.

The thing is, I wasn’t expecting this. I knew the side effects would be nasty. The swimming head, the slow line of sight, the electric feeling on my skin. I knew that I’d feel hopeless; that I’d question it all - is it worth this? Am I going to be able to do it? I’m so ready to throw in the towel.

But what I forgot to expect was that every emotion is going to be new. Like getting your eyesight corrected after years of wearing glasses: you are seeing the same things as always, but it’s as if you’ve never seen them this way before. It took me a while to catch on, that its been years since I’ve really felt. Years since I’ve had an emotion that arrived naked - not dulled by a pill. These emotions are familiar, but the intensity of them is new. It’s less like the heat of a summers day and more like the heat of a turkish bath. Encompassing. Sweaty. Overwhelming. When I feel anger, for example, it’s all-consuming. I can actually feel it bubbling around my bones. When I feel shame? Fuck me, the world is ending. I stand above the sink and look at myself in the mirror and think - you are unbearable. Unloveable. Unworthy. I can hardly bear to look at my own reflection. Fear is particularly nasty… but I guess if I was being honest, that’s really nothing new. It’s just that this fear has sharp bits - edges that cut and bleed, like glass beneath my feet.

Close the door, I think. Close the door and stay here until you’ve sorted your head out. I can’t trust myself not to fall apart from something as simple as a thoughtless sentence thrown my way. And it’s embarrassing - this heightened sensitivity. It was cute to talk about - “It will be hard for a while,” we both agreed, “Yep, Really, Really, Hard.” But really hard back then was abstract; a problem for future me. Really hard now is a kick in the teeth with a steel boot, not an abstract idea but a reality, palpable and exhausting. I already feel like apologising for myself, for my anxiety, for my tendency to panic before all else, for being 'unbalanced’ enough to be on medication in the first place - and now even in the tapering of the medication (read: in the trying to be balanced without help) I’m still apologising.

I am learning, though. I am learning what to do with these feelings. With these sensations. With these thoughts that are not so much a silent contemplation but a loud, messy, uncomfortable physical state. I am learning how to balance feeling with living, how not to sink or swim, but just for now - to float.