Me, Myself, and I.

I revel in the fact that I can look back and say "I've come so far". I think of all the times it could have been worse and all the roads I could have gone down instead. I will not minimize the things I have done or accomplished  but the fact of the matter is I will always struggle with myself.

*WARNING: This post is about mental illness with brief mentions of abuse, self injury, etc.

There was a very scary time in my life when I was lost inside myself. The thought of rolling out of my bed seemed so daunting and agonizing that I found myself habitually missing the bus before school. I spent endless hours making up "what ifs" and chewing on my nails because there was so much worry in my head I thought I might explode. I prayed for rain every day so I wouldn't have to face the shame of someone seeing the scabs on my legs. My brain and my heart were so sick that I fell into a scary World from which I never expected to escape. 

I have left that horrible time behind me. It took a lot work from a lot of people, including myself, but I found that the sun really could shine again. Getting better seemed just as scary as getting sicker would have been, but I started this journey to recovery and here I am. I'm not at the end of the road because, well, there is no end when you have mental illness. There will be no point in your life when you will look around and say "Oh look at that! I'm all better! What a relief!" There's some crazy formula that has mixed my genetics with past abuse and brain chemicals and had ended in a very particular set of illnesses. Along with my wild soul, my brave heart, and my steady feet, I have a really confused brain. I see and experience the World differently from most people, and that's okay. 

My alarm goes off at 6:45. The buzzing is electrifying and I can't turn it off quickly enough. I need to hurry up and pee so I can get to the kitchen and let the dogs out. I don't stay and watch them because I am thirsty and if I don't drink 1/2 of the green water bottle worth of water before breakfast, I will be dehydrated all day. I have to rush the dogs inside and I leave them to sort out whose food is whose because I need to cook and top my bagel right now. They eat too fast and by the time I sit on the couch with my snuggie, they are in my face. I need to eat this bagel and drink another 1/4 of the water before 7:10 or else...or else... I need to put on my make-up and tame my hair in 15 minutes. There is no end to my frustration over the fact that this seems to be impossible every.single.morning. The clock says 7:30 and I've lost it. I am crazy over the fact that I will be so late I will probably get fired. Maybe I yell at the dogs for being in my way or I jostle my husband out of his slumber. I swear under my breath because the 5 minutes it takes to make my coffee is too damn long. Because I need to be out the door and why the hell isn't my husband locking the dogs in their kennels? It's 7:45 and I know 100% without a doubt I am late. The cars aren't moving and this light is taking forever and I swear we took a wrong turn and it's 7:58 and I'm here. But it takes longer for me to get a grip on reality before I can move forward and put up my lunch. The last hour was off by a few minutes and it felt as if it had taken years just to make it into work. I need to breathe. I need to stretch my neck. I need to drink my coffee. Everything is fine and I'm not late and everything is fine. I sit and wonder what it must be like to not have this battle 5 days a week. 

I don't tell anyone about this hysteria I experience as the clock ticks away on the wall. I try so hard to get my head together before anyone comes in so they don't know I'm crazy. When I'm in the bathroom and I have a quick pee, I don't always wash my hands. Gross, right? But I do it because I didn't use to have the control to not wash them. Sure, in a dirty bathroom or a really public one I will wash..and maybe even sanitize as well. But I don't need to every single time. When someone talks and I get stuck on a word, and I think about it for 10 minutes I get so frustrated. I spell it and whisper it and chew my lip for as many letters are in the word and I am stuck. But I don't write it in the air with my finger, or write it on paper, or go over it for hours on end. When my heart is tight and my leg is bouncing and all I can focus on is the bad stuff, I really struggle to pull back. I have a hard time moving past the worries but I know I have to so I pick and pull and pry myself away...at least for a while. 

I get really upset with myself sometimes when I hit a rough patch. It's been years. I've done my time. I've had my therapy, taken my pills, fought my battles. I have poured so much time and love into myself that I feel like I deserve to be better damnit, and I'm just not. So I dig for some more patience, sprinkle a little forgiveness, and tell myself that it is okay to have bad days. I worry that people are going to see me having a bad day. I know the stigma associated to mental illness and even worse, I know the fear I'll see in their eyes. Other people aren't going to get why being 5 minutes late is "that big of a deal". They're going to get upset when I insist on cutting the night short because yes I am tired, and yes I have the rest of my life to sleep, but I planned to get 8 hours of sleep and I'm already only going to get 7 1/2 and every moment we spend arguing is cutting into that and that is a problem for me. My brain doesn't work the same way as everyone else's. 

Despite all of the things I have accomplished, having mental illnesses is the one thing that can threaten my happiness. I am so proud of my progress and so ashamed of how far I have left to go all at once. My husband is always telling me I an enigma. I guess there's worse things to be.