I am mentally ill. No, I take that back. I am living with mental illness. What does that mean, you might ask? Well, I ugly cry a lot. I have panic attacks. I hyperventilate and choke on air. I'm afraid of social situations and people I don't know. I see the world in black and white; all or nothing. It's hard to make friends, and I feel like I don't fit in with "normal" people. I self soothe with triple chocolate chunk cookies, marshmallows, pop tarts, ice cream; basically anything classified as a carb or is doused in sugar. When my husband isn't looking, I sneak two bowls of cereal in the morning. If I walk to Dairy Queen, then there is no harm in getting a Blizzard; I practically worked it off dragging it home with me! My favorite part about going to church every Sunday morning is the three gooey cream cheesy oozing cherry filled donuts I will eat and hope no one notices. I might sneak another one on the way out as well. I sleep 12 hours a day and am convinced I can't survive a day without a nap. I am most afraid that having children would interrupt my very important sleeping time; not to mention the hours of getting lost in books every day. I have very little idea of who I am and what I want. Except chocolate. I will always want chocolate. I pick incessantly at the imperfections in my skin and desperately try to hide it with concealer multiple times a day. I yell and swear and insult the people closest to me. I've broken up with my husband so many times, he doesn't believe me anymore. He calmly picks up my wedding and engagement rings that I have undoubtedly thrown across the room at him, places them on the bookshelf, and replaces them on my finger the following day after I've calmed down. I confess we have not been able to find my engagement ring after the last "episode." I've broken a clock, a chair, and an address book. I've flipped a kitchen table over. I storm off into bedrooms and slam and lock the doors in juvenile defiance and frustration. Some days I feel so ashamed and sad and hopeless. Some days I want to die. I don't think of the people I would leave behind. I only think of the excruciating pain in my head and in my heart. It's a pain that radiates into my whole being. I feel it in my chest, in my stomach, in my eyes, in my muscles. An emotional pain so great that I would do anything to escape it. Sometimes it lasts for days; sometimes it lasts for years. I know it will always come back, but I have to remind myself that it always subsides too.
Like in everyone, mental illness doesn't define me. It often feels like a huge road block in my life controlling everything, but I have to give myself credit for the things I've accomplished in spite of these challenges. I have family and friends and a church who love me and (God forbid) when I am hospitalized, I always get the award for the most visitors. I have a job that I love that has miraculously hung onto me since I started in 2004. I've managed to keep my pets alive (for the most part) over the years. I thought I would make a career out of being a college student, floating around not knowing what the heck I wanted to be, year after year. One day it's an entrepreneur, the next a veterinarian. Oh, how about an actress? No, definitely a stay-at-home mom barefoot and pregnant with a loaded husband. Somewhere in the midst of that chaos I managed to earn myself two college degrees, make straight A's, and give a graduation speech. I somehow failed a gym class, though, but I digress. I started playing the double bass again recently after quitting when I was a very depressed 16 year old. Let's not talk about how many years ago that was! I own a car and have a mortgage. I have a pretty awesome credit rating, thank you very much!. This is nuts! I'm really quite competent! It's like I'm a bona fide adult! Or so you might think. I would rather give an original speech or star in a play in front of hundreds of people than fold laundry. After all, why fold the laundry crumpled up on the bed when you can simply sleep in another room of the house for several weeks. I would rather skip a meal than face the anxiety of planning and preparing it. I would rather go back to sleep than decide what to do next with my time.
As you can see, I'm pretty messed up, but I'm pretty blessed as well. Today, I'm beginning a new journey to recovery involving intense individual and group therapy. Sure, I've done all this before on and off for years with small improvements, but this time I really want to fight this beast and claim my life back. Maybe by opening up and writing what it's like to live with mental illness and to heal from it, someone else out in this great world might also find solidarity and comfort. I hope it will be a cathartic experience for me as well.
No comments:
Post a Comment