And that is the problem with pretending you don’t suffer from mental illness, you see, It’s just not sustainable.
At some point whatever it is you suffer with, be that voices in your head, an overwhelming urge to just randomly punch people in the groin, emotional and violent mood swings, foreboding and terrifying panic attacks that leave you feeling much like a used condom must feel, or even just your bog standard Pre menstrual turrets (sorry I called you a Poisonous bastard for finishing the bread Irish one – I’m due on.) At some point, whether you like it or not, well those symptoms are going to come bursting out of the closet with as much force as a cork off a champagne bottle, and there won’t be a damn thing you can do about it.
Pretending to be normal when you aren’t, just isn’t sustainable.
Sorry is that harsh?
Are you tutting at the screen and rolling your eyes while muttering ‘well what is normal these days anyway?’
I don’t know.
I have no idea what Normal is.
But I imagine ‘Normal’ to be Not hearing voices telling you to punch the vicar in the penis, when you are stood calmly chatting about your wedding service.
I imagine ‘Normal’ as Being able to get in to bed at night, Without fighting against the overwhelming need to stroke the dog exactly 197 times, or you will all be burned alive in your beds.
I imagine ‘Normal’ to be a quiet place, a place where worries come and go, where laughter is only a moment away and ice cream is what you look forward to at the end of a long day, not a concoction of anti-psychotic and depressive medications pressed in to your palm at 7pm to prevent your other half from having to endure another sleepless night, listening to the dulcet tones of you, once again pulling up the carpet with your bare fingers adamant that this is where the pirates have left their hidden treasure.
I am not admitting to all of these symptoms, only a couple of the above statements would be relevant in my circumstances.
But I guess what I am trying to say, is that hiding it, pretending you are absolutely fine, when you are plummeting in to a lonely hole filled with nothing but shadows, well it gets you absolutely nowhere, but MentalVille Arizona.
As I found out today, when my brain exploded in the middle of a very busy cafe and just about everybody there watched a meltdown of epic proportions, while pretending to look away and whispering to their friends ‘poor girl.’
I thought if I ignored it.
I thought if I smiled harder.
I thought if I over medicated.
I thought if I denied it to myself, if I just wished it away…
I could be normal.
If you want something bad enough…
Then maybe I could be easygoing.
What is your deepest darkest secret?
One you have never told a soul?
Did you betray a friends confidence or steal from the corner shop?
Or are you quietly being eaten by your brain?
I think it is about time I begin to possibly approach the subject of acceptance.
Accepting I have a mental illness, whether I like it or not.
Accepting that Denial really is a pointless and hopeless waste of energy.
Accepting the disappointment that yes, in some areas of my life, this mental illness will hold me back, but for good reason.
The new me.
The fully honest me, not just the half honest me.
Even to myself.
Accepting that some days, months, hours, moments; I can and will feel ‘Normal.’
Accepting that other days, I will be that ‘poor girl’ that is fighting, struggling against my brain while others are simply Living, and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.
(Except, Accept, care.)