"Do you ever feel out of place?
Like somehow you just don’t belong,
And no one understands you.
Do you ever want to run away?
Do you lock yourself in your room?
With the radio on turned up so loud
That no one hears you screaming
No you don’t know what its like
When nothing feels alright
You don’t know what its like to be like me
To be hurt, to feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you’re down
To feel like you’ve been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one there to save you
No you don’t know what its like
Welcome to my life”
Just those words alone can impact in such a profound way. Simple Plan truly didn’t know just how much of an audience they would capture with the few simple opening chords, put here we are, with those words, the echo of the melody and a opening line for a complicated way of saying…
“This fucking blows.”
Right now, in the world, this fucking blows. And of course, no one, one day woke up and said, “You know what might be fun? Starting a global pandemic!”
But then again, there are sick bastards out there, so the chances of someone actually saying something of a similar effect, is quite possible. But none-the-less, for the rest of us, who wouldn’t say something along those lines, a global pandemic was never really on anyone’s to do list…and yet here we are, preparing for yet another toilet paper shortage and a very dark and sinister winter.
Let’s be frank for a minute, can I call you Frank?
Okay Frank, let’s get real here and break this down. I’m mentally and quite honestly mentally disruptive—meaning I suffer from not only depression, but I’m a manic obsessive, bipolar II mental disruptive disorder. But that’s not all Frank, add the final topping to this deliciously dangerous mental concoction and you have acute anxiety and PTSD disorder, which makes for a very interesting daily day here in my world, because honestly, despite always being well medicated, you never know when the cherry will be added on the top of the wicked mental dessert that clings to my sanity daily.
I like dessert. Can you tell with that analogy or rather, lack-there-of?
Frank, what I’m saying is that on a daily dime, I’m hanging on, tightly. But on a pandemic day, a day where I’m isolated and shut in, well…I’m a ticking time bomb of overeating dessert indigestion.
I know I’m not along in this. Millions around the world are facing the same ticking time dessert bomb and for some, this may be the first time they have actually ever felt such intensity and depression. For others, like me, we are drowning while holding our heads above the water.
What I’m saying Frank, is that sooner or later that bomb might just become toxic. And to loved ones that turn a blind eye, they will say they never saw it coming, or expected such a reaction—but the truth is, Frank, they did.
I was diagnosed bi-polar II with PTSD three years ago. But I had been living with bi-polar disorder my entire life and for the longest time, I was convinced by everyone around me that I was just over stimulated with anxiety (a worrier, some said). You can ask my family and they will be the first to tell you that they knew something was wrong, but just didn’t want to believe it. So it was easier to ignore and I got better at hiding it because I wanted to be normal. I wanted to feel normal, so what a good way to do that then not be myself?
But that can only last for so long, because under pretending you are fine is that lurking dessert monster that whispers to you to add more toppings because it’s better with more toppings. So, you do. You find a new way of coping…you find a new monster to join the destructive toppings. Mine was self harm. It was easier to cover, easier to pretend. And it gave control. It gives control.
There is always choice. There is always a little voice reminding you that you have a say in what the next ten seconds of your choices will be. We don’t always listen…most of the time we don’t listen. And in those ten seconds, you make a choice. I make a choice. Is it ever a good one? 97% of the time, sure. The other 3%, well…
In this time, we are all frightened. We are all stuck and worried. Some of us are better equipped to handle intense situations. To which I say, good for you. Others, like myself, lack the skills required to handle that intense situations.
Okay, not entirely true because YEARS of therapy has taught me that we don’t lack the skills or tools, we simply choose not to use them. Or in my case, push they as far away as possible and fall into receptive old patterns.
The fall and the winter are the roughest seasons for me. Twist in this new found reality of pandemic life and I’m holding it together with nothing but the goal to remain present for my daughter. To remain here, with her because she needs me. Because I’m selfish and want her to need me because if she needs me then I have something to fight for. I have something to hold on to and fight whatever I might be feeling, the good, the bad, the ugly.
Honestly, if it wasn’t for her, I don’t think I would actually be writing this today. I know I wouldn’t.
Shouldn’t that scare me?
Frank, you believe it should, but it simply doesn’t. Because that’s how my mind operates. It’s already decided. It knows me better then I know myself and even though I’ve made a choice, it fights me every day to choose a different one and it is simply for the fact that I don’t want my daughter to spend the holidays without me. I don’t want to give her a reason to not like Christmas. So, I hold on. Tight for her, because honestly, I’m not perfect and honestly, I’m tired as hell, but it’s easier for those around me to see me pretend. It’s easier for them to understand, because if I look fine, then I must be fine.
Frank, I’m not fine. And it doesn’t matter how many times I scream this out, it’s ignored. Because if its ignored, its easy to pretend and to pretend means nothing is wrong and when something disastrous happens, they can say to themselves and everyone around them that they aren’t to blame because they had no idea you were feeling the way that you did and why didn’t you come to them and how could you be so selfish. It’s easier to be angry at me than it is at yourself and so the blame will always fall on the one that needed the help but was overlooked for that help.
And Frank, before you tell me I can always get help—when you’re alone in a crowded room and you are begging for those in the few feet around you to help and it’s ignored, you assume no one wants to help you if your own loved ones don’t.
And so you fall helpless. You find old patterns. You lean into them because it’s the only thing keeping you standing, keeping you alive because all hope is lost on you and all help is lost on me. And so, I pretend. Because it’s easier for you. Because it’s easier for the world. It’s easier to explain then the disastrous mental dessert explanation in my head.
I shouldn’t have to pretend, Frank. You shouldn’t want me to pretend.
But you do.
And that’s more harm then I could ever do to my self.
Yorumlar