Yesterday, when I was at lunch with Michael, we sat and talked extensively…well I sat and talked extensively about the latest rut of depression I have been experiencing. The conversation actually started through muffled cries and rivers of tears streaming down my face the second we left the driveway. Yesterday was enough, and trying to get dressed just to leave the house proved to be more than I could bear in that moment. Its been very hard for me to get dressed lately, and on top of not being able to get through that simple task I am ridden with guilt and embarrassment because of the fact that I cant get through just putting clothes on my body. I cant get dressed because if Im experiencing any level of anxiety in the moment that Im trying to get dressed, my clothes feel and fit differently. The fabric is too tight, or the shirt is too short; or the back of my shirt doesn’t hang off of my body like the front of my shirt does. The best part is knowing what one article I could wear that would make all of that obsessive anxiety go away and its usually nowhere to be found.
Story of my life.
When I finally got comfortable and I feathered my still-super-short hair into a ruffled mess we promptly left so that I couldn’t become anxious or upset about anything else. The PTSD that developed over the past few years makes handling moments of anxiety especially worse because any loud sound, or sudden outbursts trigger a panic attack you’d have to see to believe. My oldest son suffers from Tourette’s, so he is always making loud unexpected outbursts or sounds. I cant make this shit up, this is my life. My impulsive reaction when I hear a loud noise is to grab my chest, cover my eyes, then turn and face a wall… And quite honestly I have no idea why facing the wall makes that single moment when Im panicking better,but it does. So if you hear a loud noise or someone trips over an entire sculpture made of crystal pieces that somehow magically appeared when I was around just so someone could trip over it, and its the loudest sound to ever ring out into the universe– expect that you can find me hiding against the wall on the opposite side of a doorway somewhere.
I know, it sounds utterly ridiculous and really fucking stupid.
I recently had to cut my medication in half because although its an amazing drug for depression, its make the manic side of me so much worse and again, it is so much more than I can bear. My options lately basically boil down to me being so depressed and absolutely pathetically helpless, or so over-the-top manic that I cant stand to be in my own skin and I need to occupy myself, which involves me exhausting myself in the process. I know that when people talk about Bipolar disorder there is still this massive stigma surrounding it, that all Bipolar people are really fucked up and crazy and that sucks. It makes me not want to talk about it out loud because I have watched so many people fucking turn on me, that it makes it hard to overcome. The ones of you that know me understand that majority of the time Im pretty logical and level headed. At least I work very hard to uphold that kind of personality because outside of my crazy I do believe in being a decent citizen. Thats something else that is always on my mind- the idea that because someone suffers from a mental illness others assume they dont want to be decent people. Im just not even going to get into that one. Everyone thinks it, no one wants to admit it.
When Michael and I were on our way to lunch I slowly broke down. I was trying so hard to hold it together but I knew that a quiet devastating meltdown was coming and who the hell am I kidding. I expressed to him that its not just a normal bad day, that lately I have been really lost and I sadly feel like my brain, my thoughts, and my obsessions are getting the best of me.
My soul is flickering out, and Im slowly dying inside. The depression is killing me.
I have passed the point of being positively affected by others and their support and I have no interest in a lot of the outside world anymore. Any of my desires to associate with people on any level have dissipated and I dont care to show up to another outing, birthday party, family event, or commit to anything the requires me to interact with others using happy feelings that just simply arent there. I realized just recently that I dont care–really about anything, and Im exhausted from trying to keep up with the world and all of its need & wants. I am surviving at this point because there are people that depend on me and whatever little bit of life thats left in me is hanging onto that and thats it.
I was terribly disappointed by my father recently and I was doing a great job not thinking about it, but deep down Im not one to avoid things. I usually keep everything at the forefront of my thought processes so that I am always consciously aware of everything that is taking place in my life. Welcome to the fun part of my OCD- I might not wash my hands a thousand times but I cant wear certain fabrics or use a washcloth for more than one purpose and I can think the shit out of my own thoughts while making myself fucking insane. My father came back into my life after almost two months of us not speaking. We all moved out of our old house where he was staying with us. We got evicted, and for many reasons it was a blessing in disguise but one of those reasons was to separate me from my Dad. I couldnt bear living with him anymore because hes not the person I knew all these years and the nature of his many addictions and behaviors was way too much for a person such as myself to handle. Sadly, my father will never be able to look at himself in the mirror and fully accept responsibility for himself. Often times, when we talk it doesnt take long for him to blame something on someone else and its usually because he did something that someone else didnt like. I thought he would get his life together when I was helping him and I was unfortunately very mistaken.
Two weeks ago I got a text from my dad late in the evening explaining how he crashed his motorcycle because he was drunk driving. His reasoning behind getting smashed was because a friend he went to rehab with had died, so he thought it’d be best to get really drunk and drive his motorcycle down a backroad at night time. He really knows how to make a daughter proud. He didnt accept responsibility for what he had done or the danger he put himself or others in… he simply sent me a text and acted like it was no big deal, while blaming his actions on the death of his friend. Although that act alone is enough for karma to condemn him to a life a suffering, he was given a second chance. In a separate situation, he won a temporary disability case and was awarded a small sum of money. It was no surprise to me that he was quick to offer me cash and make a bunch of promises that I knew he wouldnt keep, but the money would smooth over all the guilt he feels for letting me and everyone else down so much. He promised me a vehicle since I dont have one, to which I naively believed but now understand he will not be delivering. To reassure you that Im not usuallythis superficial, I dont ever ask my father for anything and thats honest. I have been stranded without a vehicle for almost a year now and it makes managing my own problems very difficult on top of making life in general very difficult. He gave me a glimmer of hope upon promising me he old car, but when he expressed to me the other day that he blew all his money I knew the car would not be fixed and/or given to me. After all of this and so much more… Im just done.
When Michael & I arrived to lunch we had to sit in the car for a good 20 minutes so I could collect myself because I was so visibly upset I couldn’t possibly walk into any establishment and not panic. I told him that although I am not suicidal, I dont have anymore fight left in me and I have secretly been giving up. Its one thing to recognize and accept that you have a multitude of mental illnesses but its another devastating situation entirely when you realize that it will be with you for the rest of your life and maintaining wellness is so much harder than everyone makes it seem. I manage a a wide spectrum of issues, so one medication will never be a good fit; something will always be exacerbated by something else- and this vicious cycle will be my life. During much of my alone time I think about how to explain the way I see my life with mental illness to others; and yesterday I told Michael “The rut of illness that has consumed my life is like a long, dark, endless tunnel. People come and go and from time to time that makes me feel better, but I cant leave and there seems to be no hope on either end of this.”
I’d love to exercise some super-motivated notion about turning the bad stuff into good stuff and feeling all the good things but Im a very dimly lit soul– and I cant. I cant, and Im not going to pretend to turn bad things into good things and keep my chin up and think positively so positive things will happen to me just so everyone else can feel fine. Its real. And it sucks. And Im exhausted. Ive exhausted myself trying so hard to pretend that Im dandy when Im really fucking shot. I cant keep up with you or anyone else and sleep is my only friend and comfort at this point. I have no more advice for anyone else that needs a long winded feel-good conversation and I dont give a single fuck about anyone else’s senseless drama because I have accepted I just need to work on staying alive and somewhat cognitively aware of life in general. My father has sucked the emotional life out of me and I dont have anymore care left in me to watch him cry away his shame & guilt. He will learn one day that settling down and getting his shit together are the only healthy options he las left . Not my problem anymore.
As for myself, I know in my heart that I want to live and I want to feel alive but I also know how consuming depression and bipolar can be, especially when coping has manifested into an entirely different beast. I cant walk around and pretend that I have them but dont struggle with them, just so everyone else can be comfortable. These diseases are present and very very real, and it has an effect on me every single day. Every time I put clothing on, every time I try to cook food and it tastes slightly off so I dont eat, every time I try to ride in a car and my heart is pounding twice as hard as usual. Every time I wake up and go throughout each day, they’re there and I need to deal with these things so I can function appropriately in society and in my own home around the people that I love. Forgive me father, friends and anyone else that things Im being selfish, but I cant help you anymore. I have to help myself.