I wanted to be able to write what I wanted without fear of judgement or reprisals, I wanted to have a space that was mine to be as I needed to be.
Never has that been more necessary than now.
You see, Mrs X, I, am a sufferer. I try my darnedest not to be, but life throws shit your way and it sticks, and you just have to deal with it the best you can.
I suffer from depression, anxiety, crippling social anxiety and PCOS.
All of them are connected, all of them make the other worse. No one really gets it. No one really gives a shit, so it is down to me to deal with it the best I can.
It is really, really, really hard. Every single day is a struggle and it is absolutely exhausting. I could sleep, all the time. It is an all consuming sleep, so deep and yet never refreshing. The anxiety that I suffer from causes a physical pain, it is a dull ache in the top of my stomach that gets stronger as I get more anxious. Sometimes my social anxiety causes complete paralysis. I physically cannot move, and the worst thing is that I don’t know what is causing me to be stuck. It is not a case of not wanting to miss anything, or being afraid people may talk about me when I am gone from the room, it is just what it is. And it is pretty scary. People probably assume that I am lazy. Others have to make drinks or snacks or grab something for me from another room. I am not lazy at all. I am incredibly motivated. In fact I believe that I am a “high functioning depressive”, either that or my OCD won’t let me stop. But that is the way that it looks to outsiders, which, guess what? Causes even more anxiety to occur.
So, for the most part, I can continue living my life in my own secret depressive/anxious prison without it causing too much fuss. And then something super shit happens and I feel the bastards creeping up on me with a vengeance.
This week my Grandmother passed away. She was 91 and had lived an awesome life. But it hit me like a tonne of bricks. My Mum passed over 10 years ago. I blocked it as any good psycho does, until it crippled me and I had to face the fact that I was going insane. Seeing my Grandmother, a strong independent woman, lying in bed resembling a concentration camp victim struggling for every breath brought all those feelings back.
But that’s not the worst part. On my last visit to the home, when I saw my Grandmother lying like that, with overly depressing music playing on the radio station outside, an awful thought crossed my mind. Through the tears that no one saw me shed because she was not conscious and I was there alone.
I wondered what it must feel like to be so close to being free.
Free from worries and pain and people and life.
And that is how I know that the madness is descending once again.
I don’t want to not be here, I want to live. But I want to live a life that is free. Everyone has stress, and worries and debts and pain, but right now mine seems to be amplified to the point of virtual insanity. I am living my days in a fog, there are no emotions, just motions. I am functioning.
I am “High Functioning”.
It fucking sucks.
Mrs X xoxo