Three months between posts is absolutely unacceptable. However, I have a good reason. I think. Maybe. You decide. I can't make decisions right now.
No, really, I swear it's a good reason. Here's the thing. In the past three months, that little demon that lives inside me came out to play. He's an evil little bastard, fucking with my head just because he can. He's mean. He's vindictive. He makes me believe a thousand and one things I know aren't true and makes me feel things I work hard to not feel. Ever. Ever. Ever. EVER.
I know I've attempted to describe this before, but I'm going to try again. I figure the more I try to explain it, the more I might understand what the hell is going on inside my head. Fifteen years...it'll start making sense soon, right? Maybe? Please? Shit.
I'm tired of telling people I'm "fine." But at the same time I have no idea how the hell to actually describe this thing, or these feelings inside me to give any more detailed of an answer than just "fine." In other words, "fine" is pretty much straight bullshit and can almost always be translated to: "There are a thousand and one things going on inside my head and a thousand and one feelings, none of which make any fucking sense, and for whatever reasons, the connectors in my brain don't want to connect long enough for me to even say this out loud, so I'm just going to lie to you and smile like my life is peachy keen." Also, trying to go into any more detail than just "fine" is damn exhausting. Complicated enough? Oh it gets better, trust me. Or worse. Half empty/half full.
Let's take a second here for me to try to describe for you the directions the neurons are firing in my brain. Sometimes, I know exactly what's going on up there. Sometimes. And by sometimes, we're talking, very very rarely. On the off-chance that this happens, I often don't want to tell anyone, because the shit going on up there scares even me. I had a therapist quit on me when I was 100% honest. True story. It's too awful to make up. Then there's the other times when I think I know what's going on up there, but when I try to talk to someone, it's word vomit or just doesn't make sense. This shit in my brain isn't lining up with the words coming out of my mouth. Then there's still other times when I want to describe what's going on up there, but there's nothing. Literally, nothing. I know I'm feeling something but I can't describe it. Or other times I'm feeling like a whole lot of nothingness and blah and miserable and people love hearing about that. "No, really, I just feel like suck and I can't explain why." Yup. That's fun.
This winter has been absolutely brutal for me. That whole seasonal affect thing is kicking my ass and just isn't letting up. That and my little demon friend are refusing to let me do anything. Sleeping is nice...in theory. And I don't remember the last time I felt rested. I also have absolutely no energy to do anything. Nothing. When I get asked to go anywhere, I feel like I can't. I panic. I can't find the energy to get off the couch and put on real people clothes. To get up and shower or brush my hair. I hate feeling like I'm letting people down, but it takes a lot of mental will-power to just get myself moving to do what I have to do, like go to work, grocery shopping, etc....forget any social life. I miss my friends. A lot. But I get panicky when thinking about spending anything more than an hour or so out of my home. And when I do actually spend a decent length of time out, I start to have that little social anxiety thing kick in, and then I get REALLY panicky. Like "can't-breathe-feel-like-I'm-going-to-puke-everywhere-and-maybe-pee-myself-in-public" panicky. Sounds like fun, don't it?
I feel everything and nothing all at once. I feel dead inside and then immediately feel like I am feeling every emotion I've ever been capable of having and even ones I haven't and am in danger of it flooding out my ears, nose, eyes, and pores. I'm in constant danger of crying without any sort of warning and it can be triggered by the dumbest, nonsensical things. Example: funny cat/dog/baby videos. It's really annoying actually. I don't do weepy well. I hate it actually. Bodily fluids, running out of my face. Am I the only one who's bothered by this concept? Stop. Just no.
What really sucks, is that there's nothing else to do but push through, even when I don't feel like anything is worth it or I don't have the energy. In her book Prozac Nation (which, next to Girl Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen, could be the handbook for attempting to figure out me and my brain and my life), Elizabeth Wurtzel writes, "If you are chronically down, it is a lifelong fight to keep from sinking." That is quite possibly the best way you can describe how I've been feeling since my pre-teen years. I constantly feel like I'm drowning, suffocating through this thing we call life. I mean, it's always in varying degrees, but there's always that feeling there. That feeling deep in my brain that I'm not good enough, that I'll never be good enough, and that I should just give the hell up. Drowning. I'm drowning in my own convoluted thoughts and feelings. Add some yummy anti-depressants and therapy here and there and sometimes I can tread water long enough to keep myself afloat until the tide goes out and I can reach the ground again. But the tide always comes back in eventually. And sometimes it washes over me completely.
Over the years, I've figured out who my real friends and family are. I don't sugar coat this or pretend it doesn't exist, but as you see, it can be hard to explain what is going on all the time. It's hard to explain the little evil demon bastard living in my brain. People want a "good" reason why I can't meet at the bar for a drink or why I can't go to a party (hellooooooo anxiety central...party of me?). And you know what? Sometimes, there isn't a good reason. Hell, sometimes there isn't a damn reason at all. There just isn't. Please stop fishing for one. You won't find anything. It'll only make me feel worse for not having the answers for you when I don't even have the answers for myself, and will only perpetuate this entire cycle. The people I keep close are the ones who know, understand, and accept, that I'm not intentionally shutting them out, but that I'm shutting myself in, because it hurts too much to come out and play. Because it's exhausting. These people know I care and love them, but I can't always physically, mentally, emotionally, or psychologically be there on the days that the demon is winning the battle. The people I keep close are the ones who sit there and say, I'm here to listen, if you can find the words, and I have a hug waiting or a shoulder to cry on whenever you want, or are ready, to be touched.
Sometimes, there are no answers. Sometimes, there isn't a "good" reason. Sometimes, all I need is a hug. No, a hug won't make it all better. I know that. But it also lets me know that I'm not alone with the little demon. Sometimes, that alone is the difference between sinking or swimming.
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