I’m all about the “let it all hang out” mentality, and I DO air my dirty laundry in public.
The above photo, taken moments ago, is as raw as it gets. It’s a double whammy: makeup + pyjamas. The two most featured photos on my instagram. But this is a crumpled sort of version. Like when you have a chocolate egg/bunny/bilby and try and unwrap the tin foil without tearing it, and then after you carefully unwrapped the chocolate object you try and smooth out the wrapper.
But, it’s also covered in creases. It’s not perfect. And neither is anyone else. But it is so imperfectly perfect it’s ugly.
I am so tired. Yesterday was my sister’s wedding. And it was a very long day. I am so exhausted emotionally and physically from it. My mum asked me this morning, if I was feeling relieved? If I felt relieved that the whole stressful thing was over. That the drama, the Bridezilla Virus that infected my dear sister, the outright bullying that drove me to tears on multiple occasions, the whole “ness” of it all, was over. Do I feel relieved?
No. I don’t. I feel sad. Achingly inside my little heart is sad. Because nothing stays the same. I feel like I’m being strangled. I feel like my throat is being squeezed closed, like the words in my throat are being stoppered. My heart flutters, but not because it is excited, because it’s in fight/flight mode and it’s trying desperately to escape, banging itself against my ribcage, over and over and over, trying to escape the slimy, sliding, slippery, other ‘s’ words, the oozing black tar of my disorder, that is trying to trap it and cage it like a little parrot. Only it will be one of the birds they would take into the mine shafts, and who would die from gases and other toxins and that would be the sign the workers needed to leave the mines.
My head is dull. It feels foggy. It isn’t drugged or drunk. It is foggy from fear. I am not thinking before I type I am just typing what comes out. So sorry if it is senseless. My brain, my mind, both are foggy. I don’t have any other words to explain. Other than they are dull. “Dead” is not the right word. But close.
My heart is still fluttering. It’s trying valiantly to stay beating. But there is only so much beating one can take. And then eventually, it becomes too much.
I don’t know what is going on.
See, you know what is REALLY annoying? I have had this disorder – Bipolar – my whole life, but it really became a problem starting at 14. I will be 28 in 8 days time. You’d think that having roughly 14yrs of living with this illness, this disorder, this disease, I would know what the “signs” are. Whether the way I’m feeling is just a “phase” and will pass soon, or if it means something bigger is on the way.
But I don’t. Sure I know some things. I know I have different moods, more than the typical “two” (as in “‘bi’polar”) and I know when a day is going to be hard. But I don’t know how to tell if this is a storm that is coming or just a strong wind.
Do you want to know WHY I don’t know? Because for about 12 of those 14yrs I was misdiagnosed and therefore my illness was being treated incorrectly. It was only roughly two, maybe three, years ago that the fact I even have a fucking mood disorder was even believed by my (then) treating doctor.
So I only really have 2/3 yrs of understanding of why I do things, what to do instead of doing some things, how to ask for help, when to ask for help, who is best in what situation, etc.
I am scared. I am scared that the TMS didn’t work and since I refuse to take antidepressant medication and I refuse ECT, I’m pretty much out of immediate options. I am scared that it didn’t work and I’m going to be stuck an agoraphobic drain on everyone around me.
And I am so so tired.
Only those that have nothing left to give, know that exhaustion.