Please read my mind…

If you’ve ever wondered what anxiety and depression looks like it’s not hard to find it. Scrunched up tissues will be littering a path to its core.

Anxiety and depression are insidious purveyors of deceit. They preach a whispered gospel of self-loathing that blocks rational thought and makes a “normal” life almost impossible.

A big part of my life has been spent learning to control the outward expression of my illness. Muting the sound of my internal dissent so that I can function in a world of logic and measurement. I’ve mentioned before that I can appear detached and aloof to avoid stuff and that’s the muted me a lot of people know.

When I’m warring with anxiety and depression I rely on Mr Me to be my voice of reason. Without his wise counsel, I’m unarmed against an adversary that ensures I alienate anyone who might come to my aid. And just this week, along with everyone else, he took a direct hit during the conflict!

Unfortunately for Mr Me, he’d been caught unaware by the enemy’s stealth.

His carelessness, possibly prompted by modern medicine and my practiced ability to war in silence, earned him days of virtual silence and detachment as I fought clumsily for days to land gently after a major melt down.

Sadly for him, he’s well practiced at taking hits. But I’m sure he must get confused. I don’t like to tell him how I feel because I don’t want him to worry. I need him to be calm and take control. I want him to know that I need him without telling him. He should be able to read my mind; shouldn’t he?

I often write when I’m looking to land. I wait for Mr Me to snore and then, pen in hand, I frantically journal the stuff no-one will ever read. Sometimes it works to rid myself of excessive thoughts and calms me, but at other times it’s a wicked liturgy of self-loathing.

Maybe I should accept my illness. Maybe I should stop fighting against it. Maybe I should accept my diagnosis take my medicine and relax. But to what end. I’m still locked in a despairing uncertainty that not only makes small tasks virtually impossible, it makes the insurmountable errr… insurmountable.

I want to tell myself it’s okay. But my negativity neurons are buzzing like a beehive in honey season. Every time I disturb them they swarm and sting until my “logic anaphylaxis” has paralysed me. Again.

I’m trying to be gentle with myself this week. I’m attempting to take my own medicine and enjoy being who I am. But it’s harder than it seems…

From an unknown person today “One of the biggest forms of flattery is knowing that just by being your normal, wonderful self… you make someone fall in love with you.”