Tag: depression
The memories are flames that lick the edges of my life, always anxious to burn me once again. They are always there and always exhausting. I want to cry. I’m angry. I’m tired. Some days, nothing makes them go away. A touch, a smell, anything that triggers the memories can ruin my day.
I often tell people that just being me is an overwhelming experience on the best of days. Most people have an idea of what I’m going through, but they never truly know.
I write the words I do here because I’m not ashamed of my diagnosis. I am one small cog in a giant wheel talking about mental illness to help remove the stigma associated with it. I am here for that one person who reads what I write and says, “yeah, me too. I get that.”
When the world comes crashing down, everyone hopes there will helping hands to share the load. The reality is, you’re always going to be fighting that battle alone.
The phone calls will be there. The offers of assistance will be presented, but the truth remains – no one can fathom the depths you have to climb to make it out alive.
They may try to carry you, to hold your hand, to help you on your way. In the end, however, it is always you who must carry the burden alone.
It was day nine or ten living on the basement couch. Hours had been spent staring at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. I knew every flaw in everything in the room. I saw the cracks in the ceiling. I saw the holes in the wall. I traced the outline of missing parts of floor tile with my eyes. I didn’t care about any of it at all.
The book is done. It’s out of my hands for the next three weeks. Then, the editing comes. It should be time to relax, get back into the swing of things at work, but there’s something not quite right.
The world in 2017 spiraled away from what was normal and it touched me so deep inside that something broke.
Everyone spoke, but no one listened.