I'm pretty sure this is what going crazy feels like.
My entire world has crumbled down around me, and I can't face it. With medication to assist me, I have shoved all my demons into a locked room. With my back to the door, I tell myself that everything's okay now. There's a door between me and them. And sometimes I can convince myself that I am safe.
But then one of them bashes against the door, shaking it on its hinges. And I back away in a panic, suddenly realizing that I am the one in the locked room. The demons have taken over my house and torn it to pieces, and I fled to this basement room and locked myself in to escape. But I was a fool. There are no other doors, no windows in this room. I am trapped, alone, with nothing but the sound of scratching and howling on the other side of the door.
* * *
Confession: I twitch violently or cry out sometimes, when something triggers the pain inside of me. It's like an electrical shock that completely surpasses my conscious mind. All I ever do is try to ignore it, push it down. I can't handle it.
Confession: I am losing the ability to speak. I want to be around people, but I can't think of anything to say. Even when the need to speak is boiling within me, I can't find the words to say anything. I am losing my voice from the inside out.
Confession: I am angry all the time. I am so full of frustration, bitterness, and aggression that 50% of my thoughts are violent lashings. So-and-so is such an idiot! Oh, you just got something you really wanted? Don't bet on keeping it. Stop putting useless inspirational quotes on Facebook! Do you think they mean anything to someone who's actually suffering? Stop smiling at me; you don't know me; GET AWAY FROM ME! And then my fury fades. And I am appalled at what I am becoming.
Confession: I don't want to admit how badly I'm doing - how terrible and mixed-up and awful and decimated I feel inside - because I feel like it's my fault.
I feel like it's my fault.
I hate feeling like it's my fault!
My fault.
My fault.
My fault . . . .
1 comment:
There's the line in Peace Like a River that has resonated with parts of our life experience: “It is one thing to be sick of your own infirmities and another to understand that the people you love most are sick of them also. You are very near then to being friendless in the world.” I am so glad to know that you aren't, even though it often feels that way, or some parallel way that is equally hard. I trust that you are still under the care of a therapist who is monitoring your meds and helping you walk through this valley of the shadow of death. And I know your mom and family will always be there.
I don't know whether it helps or is incredibly annoying to hear others' experience, but I'll venture hoping that it helps to not feel so alone. Elias went through stages in his recovery where one diagnosis or another better fit his experience. Now he is at the Diurnal Variation of Major Depressive Disorder, and almost entirely able to manage his mood through self-care appropriate to that and lithium orotate and healthy food. It hasn't been easy and has entailed a lot of rebuilding of his self. Not fun to tear the whole structure of who you are back to the foundation and rebuild. Did that myself. Hard work. I pray daily for you that as you steadily rebuild you are stronger and richer for the experience. Better days are ahead.
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