Written In Low Light

I'm writing to heal, to let myself know I can take up space

[writteninlowlight]

Changing medications

🌊💊🌊💊🌊💊🌊💊🌊💊🌊💊

I'm in a storm. I was sailing, then I had to change boat.

But I fell, and I'm being dragged under water. Something grips me and pulls me under as icy water tries to rip me apart. I don't know what way is up or down. I can't see any light. Just dark water.

I'm fighting, and I'm terrified. My lungs burn. My eyes burn. My muscles burn. This sea of chemical induced stability has turned on me and is drowning me.

I have no energy. I'm so tired but I can't sleep. And when exhaustion finally takes me, I can't wake up. Everyone, everything, is just another passing wave.

They tell me I'm strong, but I'm barely surviving. They tell me I'm okay, but I feel like I'm drowning.

I don't want to die, but I don't want to exist. It's too hard. It's too exhausting. I don't know if I'm fighting towards air to fill my lungs or deeper into the impossible depths of my depression.

I'm afraid, I'm tired and I just want to sleep.

[writteninlowlight]

Girlhood

🌸🔪🌸🔪🌸🔪🌸🔪🌸🔪🌸🔪

Girlhood isn’t just barbies and makeup and shopping.

It's a wolf that makes you feel like a doe. It's a touch that lingers too long, too low. It’s convincing yourself the instinct that says 'wrong' is just nerves. It’s feeling stares like daggers in your back.

It is hoping to trust others only for some to throw you to the wolves. It turning yourself to stone as catcalls and “but you’re my girlfriend” chips away at you. It’s double standards and contradictions.

It's silent resistance in the face of “but he’s so nice”.

It's trusting the instinct that tells even the bear to run, even when everyone else says stay.

It’s standing strong and waiting for the wolf to get bored without his fun, but knowing not everyone's wolf gets bored.

We are taught to cover up, not to tempt. But they aren't taught restraint.

Girlhood isn’t just rainbow and glitters, it's survival, it's messy, it's bloody and it's scary. None of us escape without scars.

[writteninlowlight]

Hypoglycemia

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Dying. 

That's what it is. 

That's what's happening.

Your brain realises it first. It slows, it blurs, it knows. 

It doesn't know why. It just knows something is wrong. Confusion wrapped in irritability, fear and a feeling of tiredness that can be deadly. 

It sends a red flag of panic everywhere else. 

Shaking, sweating, heart racing, the world tumbling. Adrenaline races through you. 

Danger, we are in danger.

But there is nothing around, no sign of physical danger, but it's still there. That anxiety and fear. It's powerful, it's primal.

Your body may not know. But you do. You know. 

Low blood sugar. 

Not like others. Not like needing a coffee or treat after a workout. 

Diabetes. Your body betrays itself.

Your very cells don't work. They can't. They don't have the resources. 

Expecting your body to fix it is like asking someone to build a house within any materials.

This is fear. This is death. This happens daily. 

It would terrify most. 

But to us, it's life. It's part of survival. 

We drink our juice, we have our snacks. 

But every time, we know. 

Hypoglycemia isn't just a side effect of existing. It's a taste of death that we have to live with.

[writteninlowlight]

The Hours I Don't Live

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Hours I'm lost to sleep. All night, all morning, all afternoon, all evening, all night again.

Even then exhaustion hangs like a dark cloud.

There are no dreams, nothing to let me feel rested. I lay down, my eyes close and it feels like a blink. 6 hours squashed to a second. Then 4 hours, 7 hours, 5 hours.

A day gone in a few blinks and the heavy, hollowed out weight still remains.

Muscles ache, a thunderstorm rages in my head, oppressive heat curls around me. Discomfort lays beside me like an unwelcomed lover.

Even silence feels like a loud ache as my body struggles to catch up with life.

[writteninlowlight]

Mirrors

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Mirrors were always something I avoided. I never liked what was in them. I never liked to see me

My cheeks too full, nose too small, eyes an awkward shape, resting face resembling a frown. And that was just the shoulders up.

Showers couldn't be avoided. I had to clean. But they were quick and if not I didn't look at myself. I'd look at the wall, the ceiling. Anywhere but myself.

If avoiding my reflection and body were a sport, I'd have a gold medal.

Pinching at skin, sighing at clothes I'd never feel comfortable in, longing to feel comfortable in my own body.

The day he forced me to look in the mirror broke something in me. It was a quiet confession in tears.

“I hate myself, I hate my outside and inside.”

He made me stand in front of the mantle, look in the mirror and stare into my own eyes. I couldn't. Even when my shoulders were held and I was faced towards it, I couldn't look. Couldn't meet the broken eyes of my reflection.

He was trying to help, but it shattered something within me. Something I'm still finding jagged pieces of.

I still can't look too long. Because if I do my mind lingers on everything wrong. Every perceived flaw.

Belly too big, thighs to big, legs to short.

My body takes up space not just physically, but every flaw grows. I could lay in a king-size bed and still feel like I'm too large.

My stomach says eat, my mind says no.

My body asks for nutrition, I count calories.

I push exercise, my body can't cope.

I avoid mirrors. Because it's one less window I can over analyse

[writteninlowlight]

Too much, not enough

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I feel like too much and not enough all at once.

I'm too excitable

Too sad

Too loud

Too quiet

Too much

Too little

I see the tired nods when I talk too much. The distant look when they zone out.

The apologetic smiles when they see me notice.

The worry when I stop. The “are you okays” when I cut myself off from rambling. The looks of confusion.

I have too much energy and not enough.

I talk too loud or not enough.

I don't mean to be, I don't even notice. The guilt and anxiety is overwhelming.

Every interaction analysed in the dark. Every reaction over thought.

I am tired. They are too.

I am too much, and not enough

[writteninlowlight]

5am and the urge to hurt myself hit. I'm diabetic, insulin is something I need to live. But it's also dangerous when my mind spirals.

I was spiraling. As instead of succumbing or freezing I let myself be still, and I gave myself an alternative. Destruction or survival. I wrote this because I'm choosing to fight.

When Medicine is you Blade

It's needed to survive. It's needed to live, to function. It makes sure my body works. It makes sure my brain can think, my heart beats, my lungs breathe.

But it's not just salvation. It's a weapon.

Not against others, against myself. Only myself.

I hear the beep, the beep that says I need to take care of myself. It's supposed to alert me, to remind me. But I hear it whispering.

You're failing

Failing

Failure

It would be so much easier if you just

Stopped.

I know that voice. It's been with me for years. Over a decade. The voice is familiar, but not welcome. It comes when I'm alone in the dark, when the world sleeps. It comes when I'm surrounded by love and feel unworthy.

This voice is not my friend.

Yet its words are like an addiction. Tempting, soft, like a much needed rest after a long day.

What it wants can't be taken away from me. It's not a blade or flame I can hide away until the voice quiets.

My weapon of choice is my lifeline, my medicine.

My medicine is my weapon.

[writteninlowlight]

Chronic

🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨

Chronic conditions are cruel. They are a hidden force that only you feel. Only you understand. Others can try but even others with the same conditions have their own experience. Yours is yours. They can empathize, they can share their experiences. But only you feel your emotions.

It can be crushing, it can feel like you are Sisyphus, every day struggling with the weight of your own limitations, what you have to do to survive and what the world sees and judges.

It's suffocating.

The daily struggle of choosing between things others see as basic chores or care.

The feeling of failure if you don't do what you felt you had to.

The crushing weight of "god, why am I so lazy?" When your body or mind forces you to stop.

The desperation of having to choose between things like "do I shower today or do I have a meal that isn't microwaved?"

The "damn it, I wasn't upbeat enough for my partner"

It's crushing, it's exhausting, it's a prison we are trapped in within our own bodies.

We have wants.

I want to go out with friends

I want to travel

I want to do an activity with family

I want to make the person I love feel happy

I want to enjoy a hobby

But when your body and mind fight against you all the time, wants are a luxury.

Every day we survive. Whether we see it as productive or successful. We survived. We managed. And sometimes that's enough. That's all we need. We matter. All of us. Whether the house is clean or your hair is brushed. It doesn't matter, but you do. Your boulder is heavy, yes. But you still manage it. And when it feels too much, it's okay to let someone else help.

[writteninlowlight]

This is just a way for me to get all the shit in my head out in a healthy way.

I shared a piece with my friend and she encouraged this so it's here I guess.