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Suicide is so hip
What's with that?
You know what's not -
Talking it out
Forgiving
And (sin of sins)
Believing it will be okay
Living for the moments
Your soul craves

If a surgeon pulled your heart apart
She'd stitch it back together
But healing will take time
It's the same with being lonely

Physiologically, being dumped
Activates the same part of your brain
As physical burns
(And did you know that
Harmless game of "tickling"
Activates the same part of your brain
As torture? Dude.)

Anyways, what should be hip
Is finding a way to develop
Strong character,
A kind and gentle heart
And encouraging words

It seems my body succumbed to all these feelings,
Helpless but breathing.
I shake and **** -
Made everyone confused,
Then I struggled to reach,
Not even able to get a drink.
What they said was seizures.

Seizures usually stop though:
It's day 34 now.
Next I wasn't able to walk,
Do you know what it feels like
For your body to just give up?
Collapsing is now regular,
Sometimes my whole body won't move
And currently as I write this,
Sitting up is a joke too.

Psychological seizures -
Last longer than usual
Yet can mimic epilepsy.
All the tests back normal,
Except from the ones which take weeks.
In my head, really?
That's basically what they said.

Now at a specialist talking therapy session,
For 'exactly what I have'
They told me:
You can't separate the mind and body.
The thing I like that they said most
Is that the physical symptoms are real,
That I'm NOT making them up.

However, I still don't appreciate when they tell me "this is good".
You see, they act like because it's not caused physiologically:
It's much easier to fix.
At the hospital: "I'm confident this will just stop
And probably won't come back."
Here I am still counting days,
I was in hospital for 3,
The 34 does not include the first week of milder ones,
One month till my exams
And actually it's just under that,
I count the minutes I can attempt to revise for.
I recognise the month I missed when I finally became productive,
Now I don't have a choice.
The teachers compliment how well I'm doing,
But they don't see me
Lying on the floor at home,
Pushing and willing my muscles to set me back up,
Whilst going
Absolutely nowhere.

My great Granny is way more capable than me.
Do you understand how embarrassing and berating it is,
When the paramedics come for the second time within a week or two,
Just to tell you quite simply:
"There is nothing medically wrong with you"?
"You're breathing is perfect,
Oxygen 100%"
"Does she have social anxiety"
-One of the first things that he said.
Can you guess how many anxiety attacks I've had?
Enough to be sure I'd recognise them by now.
"I wasn't anxious" I told them,
Desperate to be heard,
But as soon as they know about your mental health,
Nothing ever matters.

It's true that you take independence for granted,
Until it's taken away from you.
I don't think I've ever wanted to leave the house so much,
Than when I physically couldn't exit for
Just about a month.
I don't like burdening my family and friends,
It doesn't matter how they assure me
Either way I'm still dependently relying on them.

Although this does have one benefit
And some of it does make sense;
There are things I haven't been wanting to do,
By this it means that I can't do them.
Putting this open and honestly:
It's a potential get out of jail free card.
This way not doing it wouldn't be my fault,
Because I am physically unable.
That makes sense that it's psychological.
Another thing I tried to disprove it with was that,
"I've been better lately"
Which yesterday I finally got that explained,
The symptoms come on when you're relaxed,
As they are finally given the chance.
My body's saying no,
And sometimes I partly agree.

What doesn't help me is the:
"Therapy is how we treat this"
"It's good you don't have a physical cause."
Right, yeah, okay then.
So look me in the eye again
And tell me that it's fine.
Tell me how I recover from this debilitating illness
By doing what I've been doing for two years,
If that was going to work surely it would have been prevented?
People with a physical diagnosis receive physical help.
But what about me,
Do I just fall through the system's gap?
What happens when I can't walk,
When I fall off my bed from lying flat?
If I had a broken leg they'd give me crutches,
I get an "it will go away soon but it's impossible for us to say when".

If there's anything you take away from this,
Then it should be that:
One. It isn't just in my head.
Two. I am not in control of what's happening.
Three. It may be a conversion disorder but it's no less real.
Four. The last point states the fact that it causes PHYSICAL symptoms.

If I want to tell the whole truth then I have:
Non-Epileptic Attack Disorder,
A movement disorder causing seizures often looking like epileptic fits.
The truth I will give (probably) most people:
I have seizures which are not caused by epilepsy,
Which makes me shake and collapse
And if I'm feeling generous I might add another symptom on,
Because the longer this has lasted,
The more there are that come.

Far too often the past few years I've felt as if I were C3PO dragging my robot-feet through the parched, endless dunes of the Tatooine deserts in the opening salvos to A New Hope.

"Oh R2, it seems be our lot in life to suffer."

The past 2 years, though it would be impossible to say each and every contiguous moment was terrible, has, in the aggregate evaluation of retrospect, been the worst 2 of my life so far. Two good friends have lapsed into the realm of death as a result of drug overdoses, I've slogged through episodic epilepsy which has precipitated a full return of my anxiety and major depressive disorder, seen the end of the longest relationship I've ever been in after 3 and a half years following which my ex-girlfriend (probably legally a civil-union 'spouse' by the point of departure) immediately leap-frogged into the newly committed arms of someone I thought to be a best friend less than 2 weeks after our termination as a couple, my compression-of-self to manically pursue academic ends, some of which would never reach fruition regardless of my best efforts, Donald Trump's election to the highest office of political authority in the United States and all that is contingent on this terribly seminal event, my manifest inability to accept that I am perhaps affected heavier by the loss of these two said friends than I often actively feel myself to be within any given moment, aaannnd.... where has it all lead?

This is perhaps the $64,000 question. I feel it is most certainly the reason I write today.

I have been, on many levels, classically defeated by forces of life known to human experience since the beginning of time. I am emotionally, intellectually, and physiologically exhausted.
I desire nothing more than the ability to take a period of hiatus, to retreat and regroup for a few months, let all bleed to paper, a catharsis permitted as energy levels allow. But I'm afraid because I don't have the money to support such a retreat despite my knowing exactly what I need. Rent will still rear its ugly head to guillotine my unprepared neck and truly substantiate a hard, physical contrast between the 'body' and 'mind.' This being said, it is only the dissonant forces of economy which maintain this illusion as a practical necessity.

If economy can't let go of me so I can let my soul soar to express, I often begin to contemplate yet again the only third option between a rock and a hard place: that of suicide, the ultimate and final release. The 'greatest' final "Great Escape."

Just let me go, or I'll do it for me.

Please, convention. Give me the space I need. Because I know, I know, I know I need it.