The daily struggle

Hey there, how’s it going today?  Good I hope.  I know some days are going to be better than others.  Congratulations on making it here, sometimes it’s the hardest thing just to get out of bed, so thanks for showing up, I know it couldn’t have been easy.  I too am sick, and it’s hard not let it define me.  I have multiple degrees, I teach, I coach, and I know my personality and accomplishments leave me to be a role model for others to look up to, which is really hard when you feel incredibly unworthy of the recognition and adulation.

I have Bipolar II disorder, which means that more often than not I am depressed, suffer from major depressive episodes, and have more frequent suicidal thoughts.  But you could have read all that on the Wiki.  What is it like for me? TERRIFYING.

I have a limited allotment of good days.

Somewhere in my mind I have convinced myself, likely from adolescence, that I have a limited allotment of good days.  I have become accustomed to the pain of everyday existence, that good days are the scariest thing I know.  It’s like the worst roller coaster ever.  You get high up, knowing the whole way that the deep valley is coming next.

Yesterday was a good day.  I had a productive day, I made an impact, I could feel my energy come up and I could feel my smile.  I didn’t feel at all like I deserved to have a good day, it was surprising, and I knew, I just knew that today couldn’t be a good day.  I’d used my good day.  It’s impossible for me to just sit back and enjoy it.  When I finally settle down to try and sleep my mind keeps me awake with all the things that will change tomorrow.  I will go back to being in pain, I will not be worthy of the love and affection people show me.  I will go back to being the unlovable creature I am accustomed to being.

So this morning I woke up, anxious and terrified of today.  I debated calling in sick and staying in bed, but I, like you, forced myself out of bed (made the bed), and set about bearing the pain.  It is what I do, it is what I have done since about ninth grade.

I wonder if I drag everyone around me down.

I wonder if I would be better off putting a bullet in my head.  I haven’t, clearly.  I wonder if maybe one in the chest would be better because then my brain could still be used for research and hopefully help others after I’m gone. I wonder if I drag everyone around me down, keep them from accomplishing everything they possibly could because they are concerned about me.  That maybe, just maybe they would be better off without me. I wonder if overdosing would damage my brain and thus invalidate my leaving it to science.

I dodge my family because it is easier than facing the conflict between people that I KNOW unconditionally love me and the idea that I don’t deserve that love, attention and affection, that I haven’t done anything to earn it.

I cut out my friends because I don’t need to hear platitudes like, “Be patient with yourself,” “It’s ok to cry sometimes,” “Everyone feels sad,” or some other bull.  What I feel that I really need is a hug, and permission to quit.  Someone to say, “You’ve done enough, it’s okay to let go now, pass the torch.”  No one ever says that.

Some part of me knows I’m not done yet.  

Death to me seems like a release from the pain.  In fact I’ve tried to crawl in that hole a few times.  Apparently I’m not always successful at things I attempt.  Or maybe I’m putting forth my best effort.  That’s more likely the case.  Some part of me knows I’m not done yet.  I just don’t want to hurt anymore.  I don’t want the voice in my head to keep telling me how worthless, damaged, and unlovable I am.  That’s what needs to die.

Although, that voice is mine, and is as much a part of me as my right hand.  Knowing that means that sometimes, I concede to the voice and acknowledge that I have to die and that I am done hurting and suffering.

Despite this inclination and conclusion I am still here.  Working, going about daily business, and hiding it from everyone because I have concluded that being and showing who I really am makes me less than human and ultimately unworthy and unlovable.  Despite my mind convincing me of all these things, and turning against me in the most infectious and insidious ways, I am still here.  And so are you.  If all you do today is read this and hang out with me, that’s okay.  Just make sure you’re here tomorrow with me.  We won’t quit, together.