I struggle with Major Depressive
Disorder along with Anxiety and Borderline Personality Disorder.
Both have been a despicable force to be reckoned with over the
years, but they have been particularly brutal these past couple of
months...especially now. I do see a team of Psychological
Professionals, ones who are capable of treating a Chronic Illness
Patient of my magnitude. What lies beneath this writing stems from
one of the countless nights in which I have found myself at odds
with my own mind. If you are experiencing feelings of Depression
and/or Anxiety or Distress, reach out to someone you feel
comfortable expressing yourself to. Keeping these thoughts isolated
in your own mind will only cause more harm. If you are someone who
struggles with mental illness and a chronic illness, than you know
that life can be seemingly impossible at times. Yet, we must
encourage each other to continue on with our Plight to live... I wrote the
text below as a way of helping others (who do not face the hurdles of mental illness or Chronic Illness) to understand what goes on
within my own mind at times... I hope it can give people a better
idea of how draining and utterly manipulative mental and chronic
illness can be.
Here goes my story, tritely entitled
“The Wrath of Life”. As you will see, there are obvious fictional components to this story. The feelings depicted in it, however, are anything but false.
_______________________________________________________________
My own ineptitude in terms of writing
is annoying me on a grand scale right now.
How is it possible for one body to be
inundated with such a vast supply of emotion and yet unable to emit
it in a manner considered psychologically healthy?
I will give this a try...
Despair is my state of mind. My past
haunts my already taunted, fragile soul. Life is stepping on me,
watching as I lay helplessly on the hard floor, bleeding profusely.
If there is one thing I am good at, however, it is putting on a good
show and fooling even those closest to me. I have to, after all, as I
have to keep up with the races of everyday life. Perhaps more details
go into this “effort” than one would assume...I have to exert all
of my energy into it. It requires being insanely alert at all the
right times and around the right people. There are, after all, no
rooms unoccupied for those who dare commit a mishap. Manipulating
those around me has become common practice. It's not that I'm on an
ego-trip, however, for manipulation invokes a deep sense of shame
within me. However, when I have allowed myself to fall into a million
little miniscule fragments to my closest confidantes, Life only
shrinks for a short while. So, I continue to manipulate those around me in that I make them believe I can swim and more importantly that I want to keep swimming despite Life. More on “Life” and his heinous ways to
follow within this post.
The majority of these days, I find, it
is easier for me to stand out from the crowd than it is to
camouflage, subconsciously speaking...and when trying to put on a facade of being okay, one
must always blend. Blend, my darling, as you would your favorite
blush onto the hollow of your cheek... You are in control of the
brush, so if any pigment does not blend seamlessly, you are the only
one to blame. Shame on you if you so much as commit the slightest
error, for Life is always watching. In Life's eyes, there is nothing
even remotely adequate about my efforts, ever. Yet, I keep trying,
waiting from him to lessen his wretched grip on me (more on that Odious man and his slimy tactics later).
Some time has now elapsed.
“Life, I do not believe myself to be
worthy of having yet another shot at you. You've given me numerous
second-chances, ones that other children of chronic-illness did not
get... Yet I still do not feel any damn closer to the light. And,
because I am now so resentful of the light (out of my innate spite
for not having found it yet), I may repel myself from it if it ever
dare ventures toward me again.”
“Silly child”, Life responds, “pick
yourself up from off the floor.”
“I cannot, as you are crushing me
with your superiority. My veins, they bleed ineptitude... You're
crushing me...do not you see that? Maybe if you would give me an
incentive, a tangible one. I'm tired of singing Over the Rainbow.
Where is the freakin' Rainbow? Ask Judy Garland if she ever found
it...ask her how that worked out for her and her precious little pup.
I start humming Over the Rainbow, as there is merely nothing else to
do... It is not atypical of Life to do this to me, and I have learned
that if I insist on surviving, I must deal with his invasive, spirit
crushing episodes. Wanting to end this horrid affair of attempting to
live without Life's weight crushing me (as I am told by a slew of
professionals) means I am ill, mentally speaking. Maybe if Life did
this to them continuously, they would understand.
In truth, Life always bears some of
his weight on me, and it makes it harder to breathe. Sometimes I feel
as though I am gasping for air while Life digs his jagged feat into
the curve of my spine. And then, Oxygen finds him and joins in on the
effort. Now I am combating two vile, wicked forces as opposed to the
already malignant one I was prior. “Please,” I plead to them,
tears spilling down my glum, fatigued face. “You are killing me in
every way in which one can be killed! Physically the pain is
unbearable and my spirit has already been terminated... What more do
you Monsters possibly want from me?" “St...sto.....STOP,” I scream
with all the fight I seem to have left within me. "MY SPINE...THE PRESSURE...PL..PLEEAASEEE...STOOOOOP."
My vision is blurred from the hefty
supply of my own teardrops. I go to wipe some away with my right hand
in an attempt to comfort myself. Only now, Oxygen has seized my right
hand, and I can do no more with the physical state of my body.
Life now bears its force upon me even
heavier, as a cruel reminder that I will not win this battle based on
outlook or my mentality alone. His bare-feet continue to cut through the skin of my back like those of gargantuan needles. I feel hollow as a corpse, and yet I
know I am still alive, for I can still hear the tedious, monotonous
sound of air exiting my right nostril. I do not plead with Life nor
Oxygen, for those Two are relentless. I lay there, just lay there,
feeling dead for what feels like an eternity. At some point, I know
my body will succumb to a state of slumber, if only that of a short
one. I lay there, helplessly, as Life and Oxygen dig into me.
***
At some point, I awake on the floor in
a room inundating with daylight. Life is lying right next to me,
staring me right in the eyes. He has adjusted his position, his
right-hand fingernails now dig, harshly, into my lower right arm. My
gaze immediately shifts to remnants of my blood that He and Oxygen
left last night. How mighty generous of them.... I am so accustomed
to the pain that I am no longer horrified by it but rather nonchalant
about it. I close my eyes, telling myself that this is indeed my
reality, not a nightmare nor a one time love affair with an unhealthy
habit. The new blood interlocks with that of last night's, and I
watch them merge into one dried-up pile of despair... In a few
minute's time the new blood will have submerged itself with the dry blood
and the two will be practically identical. The memory of the blood
haunts me...where is that permanent remedy for memory at, anyway?
“It was awfully nice of you to stop
crushing my spine last night,Life, but can you please go elsewhere
right now?” Just then, the memory of Oxygen enters my mind, but I
do not dear instigate Life by bringing him up... After all, I already
just asked him for a pretty grand favor. This is Life, after all, and
He will not be spited nor belittled under my influence.
There's that sonically induced
interference again...one of my nostril's continues to emit air. Life,
His demonic eyes staring intently into mine, replies after a few
moments of unsettling silence. “Silly Child,” he laughs wickedly,
“it's time to get up.” Now, his nails are digging into my skin
even harder. “Okay,” I retort. “Okay,” I say again, as though
I am trying to convince myself that it all actually will be just
that, okay. I get up, all the while Life keeps his grip into
my arm hard and steady, and his body mimics mine. For in order to
stay connected to me, he must stay on top of my every move. I am a
prisoner of Life, only the vast majority of people do not see that. I
can conceal Life's very wrath and presence by orchestrating every
meticulous detail of everday...from every smile, to what I wear, and
don't forget that coquettish laugh of mine...
Life has literally implanted himself
into my veins, and there is no way to untangle him from me. Where I
go, he leads, for I'm his Jazz Singer and he is my Cult Leader.
