I am excited to start a couple of groups this fall. My kind of groups are therapy groups. Ha, most people join book clubs or photo clubs, sports clubs and walking clubs. Me, I hang out with other people who struggle with Mental health and/or Addiction. For a long time I hated that all I ever did was talk about emotions and being crazy and exchange ideas about how to get out of bed.
"But oh how I loved everybody else when I finally got to talk so much about myself" - Dar Williams
But the fact of the matter is that I am deeply ingrained into this lifestyle, This is my norm. Every day is a battle of some sorts. Be it good or bad, Those people in those groups keep me in check, they put up with my quirky behaviours,(with out an ounce of judgment I will add) And remind me that there are safe people and places for in this world.
I find I tell truths in there that no one knows. truths that might offend loved ones, truths that would scare some people, truths that scare me.
I have a new friend here and this person often says "it's fine, you don't scare me". I want to scream back----WELL YOU SHOULD BE!! I want to yell out Too many people have left for me to believe you wouldn't also. I want to stamp my feet and outrage everything that has ever been taken from me is because of this disease, and friends are the least of those losses. People say that I am a survivor, ya sure honey, I survive. And at times that's all I do, I survive. I get by. I barely hang on by the tips of my fingers. I impatiently wait until I can go back to sleep where I wont hurt myself or fuck something up. I have stopped making plans for a future where dreams are stolen by madness. Ya, I survive." One day at a time" Ya, I survive, one paycheck at a time. Ya, I survive, at the expense of others who need to take care of me. I know your heart is in the right place but please don't tell me that I am a survivor, I don't want to hear that I am a fighter, and NO I am not strong. I exist! and that's it.
This is what is normal to me, I don't know any other way to be. I don't know what normal, average, or common feels like. I agree that all humans are special in their own right, but I am different. I am sensitive, alone in my head, fearful, wacko, loony, crazy, fked up, sick, sorry, angry, and in constant pain that no one but I can see. I carry around an invisible devil, a beast that rear's its head and beats me down all day and all night. Sometimes I have it in check, other times the devil rules my every breath. And there not many ways to escape.
I have begun to take pleasure in activities like walking, photography, decorating, writing. But the monster is quietly waiting for that day that I get over tired, or the moment I get frustrated. It waits. I will not fool myself into thinking that, just because i am doing better than in the past, the slimy demon isn't patiently sitting by.
People in my groups never say "you should", they listen and relate and never tell me how to feel. They nod their heads in silent agreement and never interrupt.
2 comments:
I was once given a choice: Keep taking meds that kept me alive but made me insane or risk death. I chose the latter. I chose the risk that I might not survive over living with what you call your "slimy demon." I don't know how you've done it for so long.
I would never advise anyone about what to do about their medication. Everybody has a way to deal with illness and only a doctor or medical health professional can discuss weather Meds are the best plan or not. I will say, however, that my "slimy demon" is absolutely not the medication. The choice I was given was to try the meds and potentially stay alive or risk suicide. Medication saved my life. For me, it worked. For me, I needed the medication to get clear enough to get into talk therapy.
I know that there are dozens of ways to treat mental illness and I have tried a good number of them. I choose a life with meds over a life where I could give up on everything and leave my friends and family Duskless.
My slimy demon has been around a whole lot longer than I even knew I was sick.
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