Damocles and how sometimes we wish the sword would just fall..

Damocles is probably the Sleep Token song that means the most to me. The first time I heard it I felt seen in a way I never had been before. Initially, I related deeply through my depression, but I came to realise that I related deeply to it from the perspective of chronic illness as well. I don't like to choose favorites amongst Sleep Token songs, but if I had to, this would probably be it. It's the song that sits with me while I sob in the floor on the days that bearing my chronic illness and depression are just too much and the pain spills out into puddles of tears at my feet. It's the song the tethers me to life when I don’t think my next breath is worth it. And it's the song that holds my hand when I finally stand back up, brush the dust off, and wipe the my eyes to face another day. I will never be able to express how much this song truly means to me and how much it continues to save me.

For starters, I think Damocles is a beautiful representation of the daily struggle with chronic illness and depression. Our bodies and nervous systems are on high alert and in a constant state of survival mode. Always watching, always waiting, expecting the sword to drop on our heads. We never let ourselves truly relax and feel a sense of safety and comfort. While we may not actually be in immediate danger (although sometimes with chronic illness, you really are), but the illusion of danger is ever-present. We never rest. We never feel like we can truly enjoy the good things life has to offer because we're always on guard for the next flare or set back. I can't remember the last time I felt truly relaxed or at peace in my mind or body. My mind is always going in a million directions because I never know what thing I might eat or activity I might innocently do that will set off the inflammation. Something as simple as a new fragrance or toxin in the air can knock me on my ass. And the same is true with my depression. The smallest things can send me into the deepest spirals of despair. If I don't stay on a strict diet and routine for my health my brain will try to convince me that I'm not trying hard enough, that I don't care enough. I'm waging war with my mind while my body is waging war with my soul and it's a never ending cycle. Some days it feels like it would be easier if the sword would just drop and end it all. Other days I can enjoy the wind blowing through my hair and see all the beauty the world has to offer. I truly never know what I'm going to get, or where I'll be from one day to the next.

"Well, I've been waking up under blades, blue blossom days, if only Damocles would hit me back."

When you struggle with chronic illness/depression you never know what to expect from moment to moment throughout the day. It feels like from the second you wake up to the time you lay your head back down at night, you have a sword hanging over you. But you never know what is going to be the final straw that causes it to fall. It could be choosing the wrong thing for lunch, doing too many jobs around the house, or even just a change in the weather, and suddenly you're on your ass and you don't know how you got there. I spend so much time laying on my bed staring at the ceiling recounting every thing I ate or drank, every step I took, wondering what misstep there was that pulled the rug out from under me. A lot of days the constant anticipation is too much, and I find myself thinking it would just be easier if the sword fell. Whether that sword is a flare so that I can at least feel vindicated in my constant fear and stress, or the final blow changes for me from day to day. But the thought that it's all too much, the constant exhaustion is in my mind every single day.

"No alabaster carvings or faces on a farthing will prevent my head from fading to black."

For me, this line sums up a lot of things that have been very personal to my journey in particular. My parents were very lost when I became sick and have continued to blame themselves for multiple reasons over the years. For them, the solution to not being able to "fix me" was to buy me literally anything they could afford to in a vain attempt to make up for what I'm missing out on in life. And I will never begrudge them for it. I understand they have to grieve my illness in whatever way they need to, the same as I need to. However, it is a very strange feeling going through your things remembering what hospital visit or stay that particular item was bought to try to fix. I appreciate every gift, but no amount of buying me things or giving me things will keep my head above water. I can have all the riches in the world and my physical health will still be in shambles and my depression will still pull me under. It's not about what I can obtain or gather unto myself. It's about being able to feel safe and secure in my own mind and body. But when you struggle with chronic illness and depression, there are days where no matter how hard you try.. that's just not possible.

"And it feels like falling in the sea from outer space in seconds to me."

Flares from chronic illnesses as well as spirals into depression can both feel like this to me. One moment you're drifting blissfully, content and enjoying your life, and the next your thrown into a spiral you can't escape. Being sucked into the earth's atmosphere is violent and nearly impossible to avoid once gravity takes hold. The catastrophic damage objects undergo from the heat is comparable to how inflammation ravages your body once a flare starts to set in. Or the way your own thoughts eat you alive once the depression starts to sink it's claws into your mind. "Am I good enough? Why does this always happen to me? I must not be trying hard enough. Maybe I am too weak, or too needy, or just too much." And then, when you start to make progress and break through, you're submerged in the ocean and fighting for air. Sending your body and mind into a state of shock where you wonder if it's even worth trying to fight your way to the surface. If that next breath is more valuable than slipping into oblivion and relief. Days when the flare has set in, it feels so much like I'm drowning. My body and mind are too tired to fight it. I can physically feel my body struggling to perform the most basic functions to keep me breathing and it would be so easy to just drift and let the water over take me..

"And I play discordant days on repeat until they look like harmony."

Please remember, this is just MY interpretation and what it means to me. But this always reminds me of my obsession to force things to look like or be what they aren't to make my situation/illness more appealing and easier to swallow. I obsessively replay things until they aren't so bad in my mind. I've recently realised that I do this without even thinking. I can convince myself of anything if I replay those moments in my head enough times. Cover them in a filter, put on some soothing background music.. and suddenly fighting for my life looks serene. If I tell myself my life wasn't really in danger, the pain wasn't so bad.. that makes it true, right?

"When the river runs dry and the curtain is called, how will I know if I can't see the bottom."

The continue descent into pain and nothingness. Where is the bottom? When does this end? How will I know I've reached my end when I don't know where I am and there is no end in sight? The feeling of being completely lost and not even knowing which direction to look for answers. So much of your life when you suffer from these issues is just wondering..

"Come up for air and choke on it all"

This, for me, represents how every time you think you make a breakthrough, something inevitably causes a back slide. Every ounce of progress you feel you make and fight for, can so easily be stripped away. I may have been able to finally get my head above water, but now I have another symptom, another spiral, another flare, another failed treatment. The relief I thought I was about to receive is just as damaging as the waves I'm trapped under. The illusion of health, of peace, of security, it just that. An illusion.. and sometimes that false hope, that thought that "just maybe" is more painful than anything else.

"Noone else knows that I've got a problem."

I'm not sure about everybody else, but I mask to a ridiculous degree. It started when I was little always being the "weird" kid. I desperately wanted to fit in, yet no matter how hard I tried I never could. And it just carried over when I developed chronic health issues and my depression worsened. I couldn't stand the disappointed looks on people's faces when they asked if I was feeling better or if the new treatment had worked and I'd have to say "no." I couldn't stand the pain on my parent's faces as they watched me struggle to do basic things, like walk or fix myself meals. I couldn't stand the way my friends had to watch me transform from somebody so full of life and laughter to somebody fighting to want to want to live. So, I began to fake it. I began to appear like I was handling everything with such grace nobody could fathom how bad things really were on the inside. On days when my pain was so high I should have gone to the hospital, I would laugh and joke until I was safely alone and could break where nobody else could see. And eventually I stopped allowing myself that much. I started masking even when I was alone..

"What if I can't get up and stand tall? What if the diamond days are all gone and who will I be when the empire falls? Wake up alone and I'll be forgotten."

What if?.. this question haunts me..

Society puts so much pressure on us to live our lives exactly the same way, at exactly the same pace, and it's just not attainable for those of us battling chronic illness and depression. Which is where I really feel the line about standing tall fits for me. What if I can't? What if I can't keep getting up over and over? What if I can't measure up to the expectations thrust upon me by a society that doesn't even care if I sink or swim? Where does that leave me? Who does that make me? What am I worth?

The part here that I relate to the most though is, "what if the diamond days are all gone?" I feel this so deeply. What if my good days, my happy days are done? What if the Universe allotted me a certain number and I've used them all up and all I have left are sick days. Days where I'm fighting to keep going. Days where I don't want to be here. Days where every breath, every step forward is a struggle. What if I'm just not meant to have what other people have? The questions pile up, and nobody is there to answer them..

"Who will I be when the empire falls" for me expresses who will I be when this life I've strived to create falls apart because I can't maintain it while fighting to survive? Who will I be when the "me" before my illness or depression is completely gone? I truly feel like in the early stages of these struggles I went into a bit of a daze, I was very numb to it all. And after a while I began to wake up and realise that everything I had been working towards and building, my goals, dreams and ambitions, were in ashes at my feet and nobody was there to help me rebuild. I was standing in the middle of this mess trying to figure out how to take my next step all on my own.

"Wake up alone and I'll be forgotten" is exactly how it feels to not be in the same place as your peers. They're moving on. Starting careers, getting married, having kids, even simply going on vacations and trips. None of which you may be able to do for so many reasons. So, you sit around wondering why they get to have lives worth living while you spend your days and nights in and out of hospitals and doctors offices, wondering if you're even going to be here 5 years from now. Through often no fault of any one person, phone calls and texts get less frequent, attempts to spend time together are rarer and rarer, and it's just you. Forgotten.

"Well, I know I should be touring, I know these chords are boring. But I can't always be killing the game."

This always reminds me of the way I feel like I disappoint everybody in my life. I disappoint my parents because I'm not living the life they dreamed I would have. I'm not happy most of the time. I don't have a fulfilling career, or a husband, or children. I may never have those things. I feel like a constant disappointment to my friends because I have to cancel plans, they never see me. Sometimes when they need me I'm asleep because my body demands more rest. I can no longer do spur of the moment hang outs. I can't be out too late or too early. The entire landscape of my relationships has changed and nobody asked for that. And in some ways, I've always felt like a disappointment at doctors appointments because they can't "fix" me. I'm not the patient that one medication or surgery can cure. After awhile they get exhausted of trying to figure out the hellscape that is my daily struggle. And most importantly, I become a disappointment to myself. Everyday I have goals, even if it's just to eat real food and shower. And it becomes a constant struggle to give myself grace on the days I merely survive, because I can't always reach every goal.

I know I *should* be working a regular job. I know I *should* be doing the marriage and parenting thing. I know I *should* be the fun friend, the reliable friend, the happy one. But, I can't always be those things. Some days I can't even be one of those things. 

"No golden grand piano or voices from the shadows will do anything but feel the same."

Some days, no matter how strong your support system is, no matter how much they're cheering you on, it doesn't change the fact that you're drowning on dry land. No amount of love and support can ease the pain of your body attacking itself. It can never ease the fact that you don't feel safe in your own skin. Or the fact that you can't escape the thoughts in your own mind. It's a battle that you have to fight on your own, constantly made harder by your own bodies' betrayal.

"And it feels like falling into the deep, from somewhere way up over the peaks. And I'll play discordant days on repeat, until the tape runs out on me."

The cycle continues and we're falling again. Only this time from not quite as far up. Maybe we've gotten used to the physical and mental abuse our bodies and minds force us to endure, or maybe we haven't climbed all the way out from the depths we were thrown in the last time around.. or maybe we just aren't as hopeful now so we don't have as far to fall. Yet, somehow we continue to fight, we continue to relive this cycle. To play it again and again until the music stops and our time runs out.

"When the river runs dry and the curtain is called, how will I know if I can't see the bottom? Come up for air and choke on it all. No one else knows that I've got a problem. What if I can't get up and stand tall? What if the diamond days are all gone and who will I be when the empire falls? Wake up alone and I'll be forgotten."

As the cycle continues our minds become prisons that we can't escape, and we spend so many nights trapped in this endless loop of questions. We may initially reach out for help, but soon realize, either from reality or another cruel trick of the mind, that people don't want to hear us hash out our problems on repeat so we lay awake and battle these demons on our own.

"And nobody told me I'd be begging for relief when what is silent to you feels like it's screaming to me."

There are a lot of different ways to look at this line. The one that resonates with me the most may be what's seemingly obvious. Chronic illnesses (and depression) are often invisible, or "silent." I can appear to be having a nice evening out, but on the inside my pain level is almost maxed out, I want to throw up, my head's spinning, and I'm so overwhelmed I want to lay in the floor and cry. But I LOOK fine. The constant struggle to fit into societal norms when we just aren't capable. Yes, YOU may be able to work all day, come home, cook, clean, keep your affairs in order. And yes, that may make you tired. But for me, those tasks all in one day is like asking a fish to walk on land. It's just not happening. I'm screaming on the inside, and society thinks I'm "lazy." Or how no matter how many times I try to explain to friends who are blessed enough to never have experienced these things how I'm feeling they just don't get it. The blank stares.. or worse, the assumption that they know how I feel because they get sad sometimes too. Or they once got sick with the flu for weeks. I'm screaming for help and they just can't comprehend what I need so they, whether knowingly or not, diminish my struggle.

"Well, nobody told me I'd get tired of myself when it all looks like heaven, but it feels like hell."

When you're trapped in a body and mind that are constantly at war with you, getting tired of yourself is a very real feeling. I'm tired of the obvious, how my body doesn't function. But also on a deeper level. I'm tired of disappointing myself. I'm tired of feeling broken. I'm tired of never feeling like I do enough to get well no matter how much I do. I'm tired of my belief that if I just try a little harder maybe, just maybe life will get easier. I'm tired of feeling guilty for being hurt by others walking out of my life because they can't handle it. I'm tired of my mind telling me I should just be grateful I have anybody that sticks around.. but most of all, I'm tired of being my biggest enemy. Both in my body and in my mind.

Another view I apply to this is how maddening it is to be told things like, "at least it's not cancer." "At least you're not terminal." "At least you get to rest." "At least you're still young." "At least it's 'just inflammation.'" "At least you don't have to work." "At least you can do what you want all day." My situation may not look that bad to YOU, but I can assure you that I am in Hell, and everyday is a struggle. And some days I'm not sure I'll win... I'm not even sure I want to..