The light beneath the void

Reality is an acquired taste. What to do with dark thoughts?

A little over a year ago

I’m a teacher. I get up, go to work, teach, come home and complete domestic tasks. I didn't think much of it. That was to change drastically.

September 2024

Another sleepless night. Pain, spasms and crazy thoughts. It’s been happening a lot recently. I got up, dressed for work, and packed my bag. Then I sat in my chair in the kitchen.

It was still dark outside, but the gloom was lifting: slowly. My mind wandered back to my family holiday. The sunshine, the heat.

July 2024

We were on the beach. Enjoying life. But I couldn’t settle. My bones were sore, painful to the touch. I was sitting on a blanket. I could feel every grain of sand against my body. No matter what position. Lying, sitting, kneeling. All were painful. I couldn’t understand what was happening with my body.

I gave up. I moved to a bench on the promenade. I could feel my bones against the wooden bench. My wife couldn’t understand why I had to move, how I was unable to relax on the beach. I didn’t understand it. Do I have bone cancer? Something wasn’t right. What was wrong with me?

The darkness within

I heard the distinctive sound of a crow cawing. It startled me. I was back in the kitchen. It still wasn’t light, although I could now see the light starting to rise slowly under the darkness. I stared through the kitchen window.

I was tired and irritable. My eyes were heavy. Only the pain was keeping me from dropping into unconsciousness. Something wasn’t right. 

I looked at the clock. My eyes had to focus. It didn’t look right. Time was going backwards. Still not time to leave for work. The crow cawed again.

Sometimes I fight back. I’m not taking my meds today. This isn’t me. That’ll teach them. But no. The pain is horrific. I get back in my box. I take my medication. 

I sit in my chair. I’m broken. Broken. I’m losing the battle. The crow was now joined by others. They let out a string of loud caws. Had I denied MS three times?

My mind wandered. I’d been thinking about it as I lay awake that night. I had to make the horror less real. In actor Mathew Perry's book, one of his councillors says, “reality is an acquired taste.” I don’t like the taste of this darkness, so I need to deflect. Change the horrors. Change the narrative.

I think: “Have I had my sertraline, my antidepressants?” Did I take them? It’s getting dark again.

Grahame created the image above, and two others that appear in this blog, using AI (artificial intelligence) chatbot ChatGPT. He uses his AI-generated images to illustrate his podcasts. 

Breaking point

The door opened. I was startled. My wife came in. “Did you get any sleep?” she asked. I thought. The same thought had been in my head every morning for I don’t know how long. I turned and said: “Liz I can’t do it anymore.” It hurt, but I had at last admitted defeat. Strangely I also felt a release that I’d been seeking.

I really couldn’t do it anymore. I looked out the window at the grey darkness. I didn’t realise then that this would be the end of my working career. I thought a break, a sleep, a visit to the doctor and it would be fixed.

October 2025

I’ve been advised to seek medical retirement. So much has changed in such a short space of time. Was this failure or self-preservation? I felt lost. I was in the wrong film. It's all a mistake. How has it continued so long? Has no one noticed the mistake?

I felt the same lost feeling walking out of the final meeting at school. It was getting more real every day. Make sure you stay in touch. Sure buddy. This chapter is closed. I would not be returning. That film has ended. 

Feeling winded, lost. No direction home anymore. What’s next? Fifty-four! Don’t think I’m ready to be disabled. Broken.

I’m not liking reality

I think of my life now. Sitting in my chair. Forgetting things. Forgetting to take tablets. Not able to remember if I’ve taken them or not. 

Returning to bed more often than not when the fatigue hits. Like a toddler going for their afternoon nap. 

Consultant phone call: I’ll sign your retirement paperwork. Really? Don’t take standard pain meds as they won’t work with nerve pain. I’ll give medication to slow down cognitive deterioration. It won’t improve existing damage? 

A phone call from the doctors: Your GP has filled out your medical retirement form. She’s included two covering letters. Really? Is she talking about me? 

What’s happened in a year? Is this really happening? I feel like I’ve been press ganged, kidnapped. Taken away from what I know.

Am I Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense? Does everyone else know something I don’t? 

Drop out, tune in

I search for inspiration. Music, humour, absurdity. The Libertines: ‘Don’t look back into the sun.’ Nina Simone: ‘Ain't got no - I got life’ comes to mind. Again, “reality is an acquired taste”. So change the narrative. From ‘MSed up’ to ‘Don’t MS with me’. I’ll embrace my situation. Drop out, tune in. Find usefulness in my dark thoughts.

Creating my podcast, Descent into MS, has been my salvation — a place to tell the story, find connection, and turn the chaos into something meaningful. Adding light and sound to the darkness.

I can write down my dark thoughts as I lie awake most nights. Play with them. Add punked humour to horror. Add sound effects to lift the mood. Create my own narrative with a script.

Maybe this is it: not an ending, just a strange remix. A different rhythm. The world still spins, even if I can’t always keep up. Some days, I’m Spartacus, charging into the fight against MS. And some days, I’m just sitting here, wondering if I’ve taken my antidepressants or left them on the kitchen table.

But I’m still here. Still laughing, even when it hurts. Still writing my scripts, allowing the light to crawl under the darkness. Still trying to follow this script I never auditioned for; where the plot twists come from my own body, and the punchlines are mine to deliver.

MS may have rewritten the script, but I’m still able to laugh at the footnotes.

If you’ve been impacted by any of the issues in this blog, or you’re struggling with your mental health, our free MS Helpline gives emotional support and information to everyone affected by MS. Call 0808 800 8000 or click here to find out more.