I often like to imagine that if I do not discuss my mental illnesses they will fade away. Out of sight, out of mind. Such isn’t reality. Living daily with a mood disorder reminds you of the lack of control you have over your own mind. This reminder can be challenging for a control freak like myself. Pretending all will dissipate only works in Hollywood. When I wake, it is still there. Weighting me down on my best days. I wake happy. I fluctuate between happiness and aggravation every day blaming others stupidity, stupidly.
The fun part of it all is ignoring my symptoms. Only to be reminded of them slamming me into a brick wall. Time after time I lose a battle that only I am fighting because only I am stubborn enough to believe I am in control. Who am I kidding?
Medication does its part which I am grateful for. Without it, I am a hot mess express barreling down the tracks at a rate of speed comparable to lightning. Striking every individual emotion along its way. At that point, my illness is out of control fighting against itself. Shew! I don’t miss those days of chaos!
Days spent in la-la land remind me of a time before I was told I was sick. Me with my illnesses were normal, my normal anyway and who else matters? I mean, really! My Ma will tell you I’ve always been special, meaning my explosive moods will catch you, guard, because they are disguised with love and innocence. An innocence that is childlike. Others may call it clueless but that isn’t it. I never know what will make me tingle. But what I do know is that when I tingle, I get mad. I hate it. I despise that part of me. I hate the removal of taste from my taste buds. I hate that damn tingle! And then afterward I am embarrassed and hate myself. It’s a cycle that can’t be broke but luckily it is tamed.
I’m a girl. I’m not supposed to be so mean. So I’ve been told. I’m too pretty to be so angry. Funny thing is, everyone claims looks to be deceiving. I don’t know why I am mad at the world but it sure as hell pisses me off. That’s the thing about anger, it’s an issue. An issue that I live with and not because I asked for it.
Living with mental illness is challenging enough without all the added stressors, questions and doubt. I just want to be me. I just want to feel ok enough to be ok with who I am and who I’ve always been. I live with another side of myself that I can’t explain why it is the way it is and that’s tough. I’ve never met anyone with an anger problem who is proud to have it. It’s a battle. Yes, we learn how to cope but to say it is easy to implement would be a lie. In a fit of anger, all goes black for me. How am I to think then? I try. Man do I try. I’ve gotten better because of medical assistance but I’m not cured nor will I ever be. I hang onto hope. Hope for self-acceptance. Hope for understanding and hope for compassion.
I’m sorry you piss me off. Imagine how pissed I am at myself!