I'm Not Insane, It's Just My Mundane
My battle with mental illness has been an ongoing, never-ending, self-crippling struggle I find myself fighting with every single day. From the moment I click "stop" on my iPhone in the moring telling me it's time to wake up, to the moment I pop my "happy pills" in my mouth and go to bed, I am constantly fighting my own brain. I have always felt this way, which is so cliche of me to say, but from the time I was in elementary school until this present moment my brain has been my biggest enemy. When I was a little sprout, it was so much easier to deal with my thoughts. I was able to differentiate between what I knew were lies in my head to what was true in my present. Let me tell you though, the lies and the truths have since blended together to create, what I can only call, my personal living hell.
A few months back, while I was at work, I had my first anxiety attack. Except I didn't quite understand what an anxiety attack felt like, but I was almost certain I was dying in the moment. My vision tunneled and I started to sweat. My stomach tried to eat itself from the inside out and my heart about jumped out of my body. The tears flowed from my face like water to a steady stream. Rational thoughts never came to brain and I wanted to hurt myself in order to bring myself back into the now. I pulled my phone out and called my mom, I tried to explain to her what was going on in my head, but I do not think she understood what I was saying. She blamed sleep and school, which I get. My sleep is more inconsistant than Taylor Swift's relational issues and nursing school is basically as bad as it sounds. I knew in my head though, that school and sleep was not my main issues.
After several weeks of walking through the motions, not taking in any information or making memories, I reached my low. I was sitting on my couch, in the dark, alone. Alone physically, alone emotionally, alone spiritually. I stared into the black emptiness of my living room and felt so out of control of my own body. My body was there on the couch but my spirit was hiding from the big bad wolf that was trying to huff and puff and tear down what I had left of myself. I reach for the shiny pocket knife my brother left behind from his visit the day before, and hacked away at my porcelain thigh. While I watched the dark red blood drip down my now tainted leg, I still felt nothing. I did it again. Then I did it again. Still I felt nothing. No pain, not remorse, no grief, no guilt. In that moment, what I did know, was my soul returned from the place it was hiding.
The days that followed were possibly a few of the worst days my brain has ever had. I cried incessantly. I did not talk to anyone. I deleted social media from my phone. I ignored all my friends. I refused to be a member in society. In those days, I wanted to die. I knew if I didn't tell someone about what was happening in my head, I was going to act on the scariest thoughts I ever had (stayed tuned for another post to follow in which I will tell stories from my paranoid states). But all in all, I sought treatment.
So here I stand: a 21 year old girl, trying out medications to help me heal, seeing a therapist, dropping out of school, and learning how to re-love myself everyday. I'm not insane, its just my mundane, its my everyday.
A few months back, while I was at work, I had my first anxiety attack. Except I didn't quite understand what an anxiety attack felt like, but I was almost certain I was dying in the moment. My vision tunneled and I started to sweat. My stomach tried to eat itself from the inside out and my heart about jumped out of my body. The tears flowed from my face like water to a steady stream. Rational thoughts never came to brain and I wanted to hurt myself in order to bring myself back into the now. I pulled my phone out and called my mom, I tried to explain to her what was going on in my head, but I do not think she understood what I was saying. She blamed sleep and school, which I get. My sleep is more inconsistant than Taylor Swift's relational issues and nursing school is basically as bad as it sounds. I knew in my head though, that school and sleep was not my main issues.
After several weeks of walking through the motions, not taking in any information or making memories, I reached my low. I was sitting on my couch, in the dark, alone. Alone physically, alone emotionally, alone spiritually. I stared into the black emptiness of my living room and felt so out of control of my own body. My body was there on the couch but my spirit was hiding from the big bad wolf that was trying to huff and puff and tear down what I had left of myself. I reach for the shiny pocket knife my brother left behind from his visit the day before, and hacked away at my porcelain thigh. While I watched the dark red blood drip down my now tainted leg, I still felt nothing. I did it again. Then I did it again. Still I felt nothing. No pain, not remorse, no grief, no guilt. In that moment, what I did know, was my soul returned from the place it was hiding.
The days that followed were possibly a few of the worst days my brain has ever had. I cried incessantly. I did not talk to anyone. I deleted social media from my phone. I ignored all my friends. I refused to be a member in society. In those days, I wanted to die. I knew if I didn't tell someone about what was happening in my head, I was going to act on the scariest thoughts I ever had (stayed tuned for another post to follow in which I will tell stories from my paranoid states). But all in all, I sought treatment.
So here I stand: a 21 year old girl, trying out medications to help me heal, seeing a therapist, dropping out of school, and learning how to re-love myself everyday. I'm not insane, its just my mundane, its my everyday.
Comments
Post a Comment