Another day of confusion. How do I get my life back together? How do I find myself again? I went through my robotic morning of getting up, washing my hair, trying to look normal – whatever that is supposed to mean.
I am on a destructive path and I know it, and I am trying desperately to come back from it. I know what I am supposed to do. I know that I am supposed to keep myself on an even keel – keep a schedule, get enough sleep, exercise. But I don’t want to do any of it. I don’t have the energy for it. I just want to sit on the couch and stare at the walls or fall into an endless sleep.
I’ve thought about cutting but I haven’t yet. I have to figure out where I can do it that it looks like an “accident” when my boyfriend comes to visit. I spend nights Googling how much of the medication I’ve been prescribed that I can take to never wake up again. This is my brain. This is my disease.
And no one sees it.
That is the problem. If I had a broken leg, a broken arm, sympathy would come pouring out of the mouths of everyone I encounter. But my illness is in my mind, hidden from view so for most people it does not exist. Because everyone wants you to be “normal”.
I don’t want this life. I don’t want this disease. I don’t want to feel the weight of it, and have the knowledge that it will be with me forever. Up and down, the roller coaster. If I were manic right now, I’d be on top of the world, posting about how amazing life is. I wish, desperately, that I was. I wish anything other than where my brain is stuck – in a deep, dark hole. And what I hate the most is not knowing how long I will have to live in Hades.
It’s always a challenge when I apply for jobs. Technically, I am protected by the ADA, as my disease falls into the disability category. But I have never checked that box. There is such a stigma around mental illness that to admit to it feels shameful. I should be stronger, I shouldn’t let this disease take over my body, my mind. But it does. It always wins.
The only thing that could save me right now is a manic episode. Where I feel I can do anything. Where I feel I am valuable. Where I believe I can make a difference in this world, to give me a reason for my existence. But I can’t crawl out of this hole and I don’t know how long I am going to have to live here, desperately holding on, until one morning I wake up, hear the morning birds chirping and can look outside and see the beauty of life again.
I want it so badly and yet I am afraid it will never manifest itself again.
That is always my fear. I just wonder how long I can take this pain, how long I can wait for my synapses to spike, in order to understand why I exist.
© Sorrow & Kindness