Wednesday, September 2, 2009

At least you can Be Happy...

Goal: 24 hours w/o the scale


I was talking to my mother about my dear friend who is both mentally ill and fighting for her life with a deadly physical disease. The world is blurred for me between my girls I see on the pages of the internet and the people I interact with on a daily basis. My readers usually concern me more.

Paula D. : "I would rather have your personality disorder than some sort of tumor or leukemia wouldn't you? I mean, you can still enjoy playing with your dog and not worry about dying. It's not hard for you to get up every day, like it is for people who have chemotherapy."

Me: "*Possibly being overdramatic* .... I guess you're right... *continues to pet dog*"

Paula D.: "Do you disagree with me?"

Me: "Yes. I just don't think you understand what it feels like to be me."

Paula D. "Well, I think you are very blessed to be where you are. You have been given opportunities and you are going abroad in a month."

Me: "I know."

Paula D.: "Can we go work on packing your dishes in boxes now?"

Me: "Yes..."


I am going to visit TR on Thursday in San Francisco. Recently, I've developed a fear of the subway. I'm afraid if I'm in the station unaccompanied, I might jump off the platform.

I wish I had cancer, because you can't tell people these things. Even if you try, you open your mouth and words don't come out. Believe me, it's happened before.

If you do manage them and you're in the wrong crowd, you'll get locked up. Believe me it's happened before.

It's too hard get out of bed every day. The cycle begins. I'm empty, philosophical, existentialist. Depression manifests itself as a deep ache in my chest. Anxiety attacks are like too many cups of coffee... almost convincing myself that I really might have the willpower to scuttle up the wall. Mania. I am beautiful, thin, better than everyone. Sharp and short, but with a smile or a wink. I will flirt a little too much.

And then I will crack. Over the edge. If I feel safe, I will throw the first thing I think might break. I will scream. I will scream. If I'm not safe, I will find my tools and lock myself away and torture myself until I feel in control again. Shaky.

I'm sitting in the car. My mind is thinking about a lot of things. I can't turn them off. I know I won't get any peace until my head finally hits the pillow later that night. My friend glances over at me, "Savory? Savory! What are you doing? Your eyes are glazed over."

Oh sorry. I was just zoning out.

A day in my life. Happiness is scattered in there too. Bits of confetti. Or shredded receipts.


I don't want to have cancer. I just want to escape.


Ana's Girl said...

I think you're right and your mom just doesn't understand how it feels to be going through what you're going through. I think to truly understand anything, you must experience it.

what if summer... said...

Your mother's comment is really glazing over a major part of psychological disorders. Sure since you don't have cancer or leukemia or whateverthefuck you have the physical capabilities to pet a dog or get out of bed. Physical capability to do something has little if nothing to do with enjoying them. If you have existential depression then getting out of bed feels so useless that it leads you to wish you HAD cancer.

Hell, you could be like Morrie in Tuesdays With Morrie and be chill and happy until your body stops functioning day by day. He isn't healthy, but he's still happy. Anxiety or depression is the opposite. You have your physical health (some more than others) but it is often accompanied by a bleak outlook on life and people.

I want to see her point, but there's really no reason to. It was an ignorant thing to say.

what if summer... said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
GTMS said...

your blog is very fun to read! Definitely some unique perspectives! I really enjoy it. :) and seeing your goal weights have been attained inspires me!

Anise said...

no one will ever really understand unless they've lived it. they will call it a diet and they will call you sad and they will shake their heads and talk behind your back and say they just can't understand or worse they'll say they can but they'll keep trying to feed you or give you puppies and presents, and if they really do care they'll count your ribs when they hug you and find excuses to wrap their fingers around your wrists to measure and they'll nearly cry while you go shopping and there is no median between this caring too much and caring not at all and it SUCKS. no one knows how to deal with it. i wish i had answers for you but i have none. :/

also i can't believe our city is still on fire! i hope you are not being evacuated, etc. lucky you escaping to London soon! i am getting annoyed because i can't tell the difference between i'm-lightheaded-because-i-need-to-eat and i'm-lightheaded-because-i've-been-breathing-smoke-and-ash-all-day, and i end up eating just to be safe. blech.

anyway i hope things start getting better for you soon because you are AWESOME. :D

PrettyWreck said...

She breathes in
She breathes out
She wakes up
and lays down
She can hardly speak
and so she screams

I won't give again
because she takes so often

Nothing I say will wash it away
I'm standing in the pouring rain
You say it won't happen again
You're manic, manic
There is a chemical in your brain
It's pouring sunshine and rage
You can never know what to expect
You're manic, manic

She loves you
and hates you
You break down
She feels good
She will bleed from insecurity

When will she heal from this
I love her still

Nothing I say will wash it away
I'm standing in the pouring rain
You say it won't happen again
You're manic, manic
There is a chemical in your brain
It's pouring sunshine and rage
You can never know what to expect
You're manic, manic

She's got everything you want
She's every little thing you're not, yeah

--Manic by Plumb

I used to wish I had a brain tumor.

My migraines...I'm not sure if I can explain them correctly to anyone who hasn't had one. The taste of them, the feel of them, the way they move through me. The depression, the pain, the sorrow, the elation, the numbness, the migraine that lasts for maybe a few hours will effect three days. They can come often times 4 times a month. Nothing stops the aura. Nothing makes it better.

They think birth control would. But birth control makes me depressed. I can handle physical pain. It's the emotional that's scary for me.

My point is, I wanted something to be wrong. I wanted them to be able to pinpoint the cause and cut it out. The cause of my mood swings, my depression, my sorrow, my rage. Anything but a chemical imbalance. I wanted something tangible that people could grasp. Where theyw ouldn't look at me oddly and peg it on some deep flaw in my personality - mock it behind my back. Where it wouldn't feel like an excuse.

Where I wouldn't feel like I was struggling to make people understand that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make it better. And god I tried.

I just always wanted to be able to say "this is what's wrong. I'm fixing it now, so I can leave it behind one day, and be normal, just like you."

But nobody is normal.

Look around you one day on the subway.
Look at the eyes of that girl who stands a few feet away from you. The one who you never really notice much, but see down there every couple of days. Watch how she stares at the tracks. How her hand clutches the strap of her purse or her backpack and her tongue touches her lips. The way her foot presses into the concrete platform like a horse nudging it's hoof on the ground in unsettled anticipation from being cooped up too long.

She's thinking about it. She's wondering how it would feel. How quick it would be. Dreaming of the way the people would scream.

So is the man a few steps over from her, staring at his phone, hating his boss, his job, his life. Wondering if he'd rather go out quick than do it all again tomorrow.

We all have our demons. We all have our pains. None of us know what it's like to be anyone else.
And the only reason you wind up locked up, is because we all have those thoughts, but most of us are too terrified to hear them spoken outloud, because by hearing those thoughts given voice, it makes them that much more real. Makes us confront something we don't want to see.

Feel better, Sweet. I worry about you.

Pasco said...

People are out there looking for a cure for cancer. Cancer is far more curable than a personality disorder. But a personality disorder isn't something people can see, or feel. Or that little children with big eyes and bald heads are dying of through the tv screen. So nobody cares. I think this is why I want to do psychiatry.


Hanz said...

People can empathise with cancer, much more so than they can empathise with mental illness.
A mental illness is all in your head, therefore you can change it whenever you like, right? People outside don't understand it, and so it is wrong and the sufferer is being an idiot. But it's also not something you can explain. Just keep going, you're strong and you can get through this depression.

Skinny Lady said...

Your mom sounds like she's lacking some empathy, and it's unfortunate that she deems it appropriate to compare your situation with someone else's because, in effect, what she has done is minimize your suffering. Fuck her. You have people in your life who know your pain is valid, who want to be supportive, and who want you to be good to yourself...

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