I do know how to spell ‘loss’, honest. Loss is a description of an abstract state of psychological being. ‘Lost’, by contrast is the post-mortem adjective; how you describe yourself after the feeling of loss has registered within you and you are wrestling with how the hell to cope with the beast.

When we lose, we experience loss, and it is that alienating sense of psychological lostness that creates scenarios where when someone asks how we are feeling, we truthfully say, I feel…..LOST.

Loss generates a feeling that we are lost, which is why it is so immensely destabilising and painful.

To feel lost, to lose, or to be in the midst of psychological or emotional loss is disorienting, visceral, frantic, numb and dead all at once. We feel a sense of sinking and drowning and floating and dragging and soaring then slumping.

A washing machine cycle of epic emotional shitness that it seems we must survive and endure.

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There is no cancel button. We cannot wait till five minutes has elapsed then be rescued from the watery drum by some uber efficient house keeper. No. We have to stay in the drum. We have to stay in the dirty water. We cannot stay dry. We can only accept our fate that we will get wet and stay wet until the cycle of the lost programme ends.

We can see the outside through the thickened safety glass of the circular porthole. We see people going about their business merrily and they are dry. They are out of the machine, standing, hips leaning against worktops, or walking free to answer the doorbell to good news and nice people. They are laughing, talking, sipping tea and washing dishes in domestic chore oblivion.

I am stuck in here, alone, in the cycle of loss; and believe me, I am feeling LOST.

Lost like you cannot believe.

Rug-pulled-from-under-me type baseline lost.

I don’t want to be wet in this skin wrinkling heat.

It doesn’t feel like this is the process which will clean me. No way.

This is horrible. This feels frightening and very very bad.

We curse the person or people that shoved us in the half loaded drum against our will.

“If you hadn’t done this to be, I would not be here, in this drum of artificially heated watery sloppy shit, feeling even worse than I look, which is already dischevelled and dirty and ashamed.

I am the soiled one that you discarded.

I am the one you thought needed to be thrown down the chute with the other laundry for a deep psychological clean.

Believe me, after my contact with you, I feel dirty.

I feel contaminated.

I feel polluted.

I feel heavier and messier and more tangled up and crumpled and creased and ragged, because I’ve been touched psychologically by your messy hands.

It was your muddy hands that put me in here, in this place for the discarded, the uncared for, the poorly-looked-after, and the soiled and soured.

You soured me, so now I must get clean again.

I will tumble around on this slow and uncomfortable repetitive journey around the drum, staring at the world around me, wishing I could be where those people are who I see smiling and twinkling and shining.

I want to shine too.

I know I will shine once I’ve completed this cycle and got clean, but who knows how long the programmers designated this cycle of loss to last?

I feel lost, because I have lost. I’ve lost something valuable that was difficult for me to lose.

How much longer will I have to stay in this cycle of LOSS-T-ness?

I want to climb out of the drum and be wrapped in a fluffy towel and get dry again. It’s a simple want, but right now, I’m stuck in the drum and I’m wet.

:(

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summerSHINES

This song below is the song I most strongly associate with my suicidality and inner sense of emotional loss. I listened to this on repeat during my worst and longest psychiatric admission. I’m in a difficult place right now so this song popped into my head as it always does……..

 

 

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