Grief, anxiety, depression – the struggle is really real.
It’s like lying on the shoreline and the waves just keep coming, barrelling over you, and sometimes you just manage to keep your head above the whitewash, but other times you’re thrown around in the wave like a whale tosses fish around – being battered while you’re in the air and when you hit the water.
The waves comes in sets, starting smaller and building to the seventh, the one you know is going to be the biggest, the hardest to avoid. And just as you get over that one, surprised you came back up after it,… they start again, back to smaller waves.
Between waves you get short reprieves, and at the best of times it becomes low tide and you think maybe it’s over. The silence is deafening though and the remnants of the recently departed crashing waves lay all around you. It’s not the relaxing reprieve you’d hoped and you’re not able to capitalise on the break before she rolls back in and the waves start again
It’s exhausting, and frustrating, and seemingly endless. You’re grabbing for something to help, anything, but empty words can’t save you. You find a life jacket but you can’t get both arms through, so you’re feeling half buoyed, half drowned.
I expect at some point I’ll be washed up on shore, as a bedraggled, shell of a human, left to deal with the after effects and trying to find the parts of me I lost in the turmoil, wondering if I may ever fully regain them.
And so it goes on… and you ask yourself how endless is the ocean? How long can you endure it without a life jacket?