Journals, mood charts, counseling, medication and shrinks- surround me, circling to guide, gauge and reflect on my mind. Secrets I hide, feelings I pretend, smiles I fake, subtle shifts in personality to twist perception ever so slightly away from the truth. Years of outward lies to appear to be okay to the people around me when the bottom of the world has fallen away. I can't shake irritation or hostility so I appear as a hostile person to the ones I live with and deal with. For that hour in an office, though, I can mostly divert and change subjects now. Counseling isn't like it was a few years ago. Now I am a drive by check-in mostly. How is your sleep, mood, appetite? Okay, see you next month. If they catch the depression or flatness, smile and pop in a fake laugh. See you feel better already. Right...Meanwhile, what they don't see is the truth. I plan my eulogy, write goodbye letters and instructions for how I want my funeral to be. I think I will see dead people everywhere. I pray for an accident to end it all. I visualize the ways and means of death. I beg for an end. I pray for an end. I stay perpetually paranoid. I hear things that are not there- and I know they aren't. Thoughts ever discordant ring in my head. Over and over like prayers and litanies they circle and repeat in my mind. I gather my things to me in a need to disappear. Music to block the thoughts- loud and soothing. Sleep I long for that escapes me. I will take extra over the counter things in an effort to avoid the hospital or allowing anyone in. After all I have done this for so long who really cares? I am merely pointing out that if I am able to fake my way through life appearing happy and normal while planning suicide, do I really need help? No one sees what is inside. No one believes I need help. No one questions or looks inside. No one comforts me. No one says what's wrong except when I am pensive. As long as I talk and laugh and tell jokes am I safe? At what point do I start raising my hand saying hey there is something really wrong with me? I walk through life really and truly alone while I am surrounded by these people that I lie to. So in the grand scheme of things where does this put me? Is my treatment working? I am still here after all. I still am medicated. I still go to therapy. I still am able to fake my way through life. What makes it fall apart? I find myself holding on. Just holding and holding and holding and wanting so bad to just not respond to anything. Just for once-Just once to let it all be about me. To scream out loud for someone to look at me, look inside, listen to me, really listen to more than my voice, look me in the eye and say-"Liar". To call me on the fake person I have become. But if they really look inside-- will they love me anymore? Will they care for that darkness inside that I hide so well? Will they bring me out to the light? Or will they walk away or ignore me as they have for decades already? Where do I stand? Every fiber of my body and mind is screaming and yet.. For all the world to see, all is well. I sit and think, plan, and swallow the screams that bubble up my throat. I smile and tell jokes. I do all the things a good girl should and try so hard to not be irritable. After all, there is nothing wrong- is there?
yes...........we are hidden within the deep turmoil of our souls. Your description in words gave me the vision of a painting:
It will be about feeling. It will include the blues of the ocean, the darkest parts, the violets and magentas ,all blended well until mixed enough to show the world this hell. But no one really sees, not particularly because they are blind, but because our souls are ours. I know mine, you know yours. Even if we share our souls...they are still not completely known. This is the part that is hard to explain, the part that is sad and painful, the part that is moist with tears. It is hard becoming ourselves. It is hard becoming authentic. One step forward, one step backward, and then once more, and again. There never really is an end. I thought one day as I lay day dreaming...no one really knows me. No one really does. How clandestine, this. How fun to be a spy! But we are all charlatans....the only one that knows us, is us...and sometimes, this knowing is not quite evident. It is more a walk, a journey, an adventure, a haunting,or a piece of poetry, bits and pieces of prose. Tints and shades, juxtaposed....and the very special ingredient is that we, yes, you and me, and all those too, who suffer, have the ingredient that makes us different, unique, sensitive, daring, vigilant, improper, rebellious, humane, compassionate, crazy and insane. These are the ingredients that make good art. So, take heart! Be brave! Live your life...live it passionately with all its lows and fury! We should boast! Breathe deep, exhale slow...dive into the ocean, be refreshed. Life is our soul. Our soul is life. And now....I will go paint. I will paint for you...I know you well. And
I care.
raku
Thank you. Thank you for both responding and for understanding. My initial response was to cry because not only did you understand, you responded in a way much like me. Artistically from the heart. With thought. With care. With knowledge of the soul. It is so hard to explain to people that are not like me what is "going on in my head". They do not see the turmoil that runs rampant and twists with every thought I have. They do not understand it is a journey without leaving home. It is not nearly impossible, it is impossible to bring understanding of chaos to those who do not experience it. Sometimes I think they should get a drug to make them get a glimpse of where I am. As Doctors have to go through being a patient to learn bedside manners, so should people who cannot, will not, or refuse to understand mental illness take a walk in the shoes. They look at me and say get over it or physician heal thyself. They act as though I am this way on purpose! Why? Why, oh why, would anyone want to temporarily seem to lose their minds. But then that is judgemental of me as well isn't it? From one spirit to a kindred one... now I go to write for you. For that is where I go to escape it. To calm me. To leave it behind.
You are sure a great writer! I am bipolar type 2. I have more depression than mania. You journal very well! I have been in your state of mind. My family and friends,coworkers always ask me if i am feeling ok. You know what I say! I am fine thank you.I know if i tell them how i am feeling it just causes problems. I family always says you are not ok you are lieing.