Earlier I wrote about the first tiny glimpse of optimism I’ve experienced in decades; tonight I wanted to follow up by writing about what a poorly brain can do to even those fleeting bits of positivity or hope. How I scare myself with the level of self-sabotage my brain undertakes automatically.
Since my meeting earlier, my body and mind have been fraught with a very generalised anxiety (racing heart, racing thoughts, jumpy, no concentration, fraught, etc.) that morphed in to very specific fears and anxieties that are really familiar to me:
- What if I can’t ‘do’ recovery/be any way other than consumed by illness?
- What if I let everyone down?
- I’m taking a place away from someone more deserving – that is selfish of me
- Resources/time/help are wasted on me
- I shouldn’t need help at all, let alone this level of help – it’s unfair of me to accept the support offered
- I should be able to make myself better or accept that a healthier/happier life isn’t a possibility for me
The list goes on and on in that same theme. The cycle of self-hatred, guilt, self-punishment and illness continues. That chink of optimism is quickly covered over. I would never say, think or evem begin to emtertain the idea of believing any of that about anyone else, but compassion, positivity, hope and optimism for myself aren’t allowed to live in my brain.