Septic Shock

There comes a point where the things which provide you with life, turn around drain it back like a leech. Hanging onto something which nourished you and made you feel alive can end up being your downfall, your ultimate and utter destruction. At what point does a person draw the line and make the conscious decision to let go of the things hurting them? When does your physical brain stop processing memories which cripple you with hurt? When does your soul stop feeling like a piece of lead has been tied to it like a masochistic balloon? When does that aching feeling go away? Most people will say time, time heals all wounds. Time may heal all wounds but some wounds never go. They catch infections and weep for months on end. They cause septicaemia and poison the blood. The infected haemoglobins get pumped around the body and rest in vital organs. Ever heard of Gangrene? Ever heard of Septic Shock? Those are wounds that no amount of time can heal. Sometimes you got to reach for the antibiotics, the painkillers, the morphine and the drip. You name it they give it, pump you up to the eyeballs till your body is a network of spaced out neurons and drugged up synapses. So if they can fix a wound that won’t heal then why can’t they fix a broken heart?

Broken hearts aren’t real. That pain you feel in your chest isn’t real. That lump that you feel in your throat when someone says her name is just psychological. That ache that you feel in your stomach when you realise she’ll never look into your eyes the way she use to…that’s just physics. The stabbing in your chest and the shortness of your breath isn’t a faulty heart or clogged up arteries, it’s the mental infection. It slowly seeped into you when you thought you were ok. It quietly festered into an epidemic inside your bones and under your skin.

Lying comatose won’t help you. Sometimes it helps if you switch off every outward receptor, vision and hearing. If you can’t experience these things then you can’t process, if you can’t process then you won’t use memory to identify previous experiences, if you can’t tap into your memory then you won’t think about her, because at the end of the day that’s where she lies. Dormant in your memories, even in the ones you never knew you had. The ones you never thought you would even remember.

I want to tell you that one day you will scab up and the infection will be overcome. I want to say that one day your mind, body and soul will be restored to the healthy, vigorous working machine it formerly was. I don’t want to feed the paranoia that niggles in your mind, that perhaps this will leave a dent in you. Like a small depression which will shine in the light like a dent in a new car door or a scar which only becomes apparent with a nice golden tan? I don’t want to leave you with this grim, defeatist possibility but that’s all I can leave you with. Unfortunately I have no idea if true heart break ever heals. I don’t really know if that empty feeling will go away no matter how much shit you cram into your life. All I can say is don’t let love be your master.