My life is a barrage of pills, moods, malaise, emptiness, haze, mania, depression that stagnates my spirit, anxiety ping-ponging against my brain fighting an illness I cannot see. The willful fighter, deep-thinking me and misfiring neurons I cannot comprehend. There is no recovery from a serious mental illness, there is only finding ways to cope, reasons to get-up to battle and exist one more day.
I can’t just ‘pull it together,’ no matter how deep the desire or the will.
It’s generational. The genetic jackpot I won, but did not enter.
I. was. born. this. way.
I. was. born. this. way.
I won’t win, there is no winning, no contests, no rules. There is only luck and time before I am gone away.
I am not misguided, I understand exactly what I am up against. Well, sorta. I understand each day gets a little harder, the thoughts a little louder, the light a little dimmer and the physical discomforts heavier.
My words, while I can still see them and get them out are not to be misunderstood or misconstrued. This life, my life has been beautiful in more ways than I can write.
The memories help me stay.
The spirit animal kissing away my tears, snuggling so close I feel her beating heart against my skin is never too far away. She keeps me present and accountable.
Smiling from the heart is the rarity, and this dog makes me smile. Multiple times a day. She understands my crazy, the sorrow and spectacular. She loves me anyway.
No matter the color or mood.
You express yourself so well and am so grateful to read about your thoughts and experiences on such a heavy and dark subject. I, of course, experience mental illness and am being treated for PTSD but expressing it doesn’t come to me as clearly, thanks and keep going.
Thank you, Louise. That means a lot coming from you. I’m sorry you are dealing with so much. I find reading your posts to be insightful, smart and brave. You keep going too.
I will, I feel like I have to, I feel compelled. I have some thoughts on mental illness and what is happening with my brain. Just speculation that is all and how trauma coupled with dyslexia affects my thinking and actions. If I can get it down in writing at some point I would like your opinion.
I would be honored to read your thoughts whenever you’re ready to write them. Not can be cathartic to scribble whatever comes. That is most often the interesting and honest work. 🙂