I know the experts say to make each post about your readers. They say not to get personal.
But here’s the rub. Mental illness is personal. To me. To you. To all who suffer with it in all its delightful forms. To all who love or live with someone with it.
Today is personal. I suffered. Did you? Maybe my personals today will resonate with someone. You are not alone.
Times are tough for me. Stress is high. The people I live with don’t get it. To them, I’m just being lazy and irresponsible.
My kin doesn’t get it. I was irresponsible 15 years ago, and didn’t pay back what I had used.
She’s right. I was irresponsible. My behavior, then as now, was not socially or financially acceptable. But when cancer hurts and there’s no painkiller, you scream and write a lot and spend what you have on release, not duty. You get desperate. You don’t connect now with later. ‘Wait’ is not a space of time; it’s just a ‘weight’ on the soul.
I don’t think she gets her own child either. Genetics played a nasty joke on her progeny.
Now I need a job. I look some, but focus is almost impossible and distractions abound. The emotions partly born of insecurity, fear, worry, and loneliness wring out the last dregs from my cup of possibilities. The first dregs got drained by my own duplicitous brain.
I pour forth detailed plans in monster waves. They crash and foam and never reach shore. I can’t carry them out. Dust bunnies get in my way. Dishes and grass clippings and expectations attack. Desire is legion, but priority is AWOL. I’m trapped; no car, no way to run, so few tools to help.
Insurance was nice. The county sucks. It’s not their fault. There’s just too many of us. Why? What did people used to do back when?
Today’s last straw was just a pin-sized twig, but it broke this ass’s back. It’s always that way. Little stuff is seen through a magnifying glass every time.
I truly didn’t want to live. I planned on it to help get me through, but it refused and now I’m limited to the struggle. I need another shot of safety; just for a week. I can’t stand the limits! Not again!
I scream, I cry, I question and storm and beg for release. I hate this pain that drills deep. I can’t filter out the pain of the past or the pain of the future or the pain of entwined others either. It won’t let me go. It’s always peaking around corners and saying ‘boo’ just when I’ve turned the corner. I’m always ready now to jump.
Oh if I could snuggle! Arms with skin on help so much if they are gentle. The arms of faith have disappeared today. I’m so guilty because I’ve seen them so big before.
So where is the glass half-full? I dropped it and it broke, long ago. The shards got stuck in my foot. The liquid evaporated. I should try I guess to levitate with my mental magic prowess the cup there in the cupboard over to the faucet pouring with water. But today, magic doesn’t exist. Does it ever?
There’s one boon today. Satan was winning. He loves to tell me that God won’t provide like He said. After all, look at the widows in India. They beg for their food. Their husbands have died and their sons disown them. Some starve and their bodies are thrown in the river. Why not them, God? Paul went hungry, cold, and naked. Why him? He was yours!
Maybe me. But God said. If the walls fall inward, thunder rolls, the mountains move into the sea, and fire rains down, God still said. I don’t want to live this. But God said. I don’t know how. But God said. I don’t feel able, but God said. I don’t get it, but God said. I’m blind and deaf and dumb and burning, but God said. So somewhere so deep even I can’t know it, I believe.