“Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must live".-Charles Bukowski Yeah, I snagged a tweet again. Deal with it, it fits the topic.
Anyway, is everyone ready? Then let's begin.
If, for whatever reason, the FBI or CIA decided to set up surveillance of me, or if we all wound up in that voyeuristic society that Orwell wrote about, it's a sure bet that anyone watching me would either be bored to death, or to tears, in a matter of days, if not hours.
I don't do anything particularly exciting. I putter around the house, I read, I watch too much television.Sometimes, I go out with friends. Sure, someone might for two seconds be intrigued on the strange hours I keep, but I'm a textbook insomniac, move along, not much to see here. Let's be frank, I'm not that interesting.
Most days, anyway.
The last six months have been, for a lack of a better word, more dramatic than usual. I've talked about some of the reasons why in recent posts, but today, I'm going to talk about the rest of it.
I want to give people insight (at least I'll hope that's what this is) into what it's like to live with an as yet untreated mental illness. I describe myself to my closest friends, as "A box of Fucked Up". And I say that with great affection about myself. I don't have any shame about it, and it's taken me a long time to say that. I know I'm not my diagnosis(es)*yes, I have more than one*, and that in fact, I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't gone through all I've been through, even though it's left me with battle scars. So, in terms of what the DSMIV would tell you, I have--drum roll, please---
(Reading from top to bottom)
Major depression (recurrent)
Anxiety disorder
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
DID(formerly known as MPD)-- in English, I have multiple personalities, or alters if you will. Yes, the same thing Sybil had. Only I have twelve less than she had, I have four. (counting myself). Sometimes they drive the car, sometimes I do. Why/how do I have them? That's a long, brutal depressing story that I don't like to dwell on. The short answer is in my forty-eight years on the planet I've been repeatedly physically and emotionally abused, with some sexual crap in there just to keep things interesting.
And honestly, that's all I want to say about that. I am NOT my diagnosis, I am NOT my illness, although in the past few weeks, I've been thinking, acting and believing like I am.
That stops today. Acting as if I am damaged in some way helps no one. It makes me cranky. It makes me lash out at the people I love the most. I won't say it's stupid, but it's as close to stupid as it gets.
I want to be the best person I can, but after trying six different medications, and being in therapy for thirty of my forty-eight years on the planet, I just don't know. I know I'll never be 'normal'. I despise that word.
Mental illness has a stigma stronger than almost any other disease, including AIDS. Even AIDS, nowadays is accepted more than mental illness still is not. See, I look at that sentence and know it's going to get me into trouble, and I am torn between caring and not caring anymore.
I am lucky to have one dear friend who's stuck it out these past two years, when my alters started manifesting more, who has held my hand through all of this, through the late night phone calls, and the screaming and crying, who has saved my life twice, who has talked me down from the figurative ledge a million times. I will never understand why she stays, why she loves me why she's my best friend, but, as she says, she does, and that's all that should matter. If I mention her name she'll kill me, so I'll just say, "Thank you sis....for EVERYTHING.." and she'll understand.
I don't think my life will ever be normal. But I hope, that by blogging about my experiences here, by sharing my thoughts, I can at least make one person, maybe just maybe THINK before they use the words 'normal' or 'crazy'.
So much is NOT known about most mental illnesses, so much disservice is done to people with Mental Illness by the media. Right now I don't have the power to do much. But I do hope, and hope so hard, that people will at least read here sometimes, and think twice before they judge.
A girl can dream, can't she?
If, for whatever reason, the FBI or CIA decided to set up surveillance of me, or if we all wound up in that voyeuristic society that Orwell wrote about, it's a sure bet that anyone watching me would either be bored to death, or to tears, in a matter of days, if not hours.
I don't do anything particularly exciting. I putter around the house, I read, I watch too much television.Sometimes, I go out with friends. Sure, someone might for two seconds be intrigued on the strange hours I keep, but I'm a textbook insomniac, move along, not much to see here. Let's be frank, I'm not that interesting.
Most days, anyway.
The last six months have been, for a lack of a better word, more dramatic than usual. I've talked about some of the reasons why in recent posts, but today, I'm going to talk about the rest of it.
I want to give people insight (at least I'll hope that's what this is) into what it's like to live with an as yet untreated mental illness. I describe myself to my closest friends, as "A box of Fucked Up". And I say that with great affection about myself. I don't have any shame about it, and it's taken me a long time to say that. I know I'm not my diagnosis(es)*yes, I have more than one*, and that in fact, I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't gone through all I've been through, even though it's left me with battle scars. So, in terms of what the DSMIV would tell you, I have--drum roll, please---
(Reading from top to bottom)
Major depression (recurrent)
Anxiety disorder
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
DID(formerly known as MPD)-- in English, I have multiple personalities, or alters if you will. Yes, the same thing Sybil had. Only I have twelve less than she had, I have four. (counting myself). Sometimes they drive the car, sometimes I do. Why/how do I have them? That's a long, brutal depressing story that I don't like to dwell on. The short answer is in my forty-eight years on the planet I've been repeatedly physically and emotionally abused, with some sexual crap in there just to keep things interesting.
And honestly, that's all I want to say about that. I am NOT my diagnosis, I am NOT my illness, although in the past few weeks, I've been thinking, acting and believing like I am.
That stops today. Acting as if I am damaged in some way helps no one. It makes me cranky. It makes me lash out at the people I love the most. I won't say it's stupid, but it's as close to stupid as it gets.
I want to be the best person I can, but after trying six different medications, and being in therapy for thirty of my forty-eight years on the planet, I just don't know. I know I'll never be 'normal'. I despise that word.
Mental illness has a stigma stronger than almost any other disease, including AIDS. Even AIDS, nowadays is accepted more than mental illness still is not. See, I look at that sentence and know it's going to get me into trouble, and I am torn between caring and not caring anymore.
I am lucky to have one dear friend who's stuck it out these past two years, when my alters started manifesting more, who has held my hand through all of this, through the late night phone calls, and the screaming and crying, who has saved my life twice, who has talked me down from the figurative ledge a million times. I will never understand why she stays, why she loves me why she's my best friend, but, as she says, she does, and that's all that should matter. If I mention her name she'll kill me, so I'll just say, "Thank you sis....for EVERYTHING.." and she'll understand.
I don't think my life will ever be normal. But I hope, that by blogging about my experiences here, by sharing my thoughts, I can at least make one person, maybe just maybe THINK before they use the words 'normal' or 'crazy'.
So much is NOT known about most mental illnesses, so much disservice is done to people with Mental Illness by the media. Right now I don't have the power to do much. But I do hope, and hope so hard, that people will at least read here sometimes, and think twice before they judge.
A girl can dream, can't she?
Yes you will never be your diagnoses. You have a friend in me, too!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Ames.
ReplyDelete