"Shhhh," I told him, "i'm pretending my brain isn't beating the shit out of itself." I may have yelled that last part. He just patted me on the butt and left me alone. Because nothing says empathy like copping a feel.
I've also taken three long hot baths, the third one I fell asleep for about 45 minutes. That's always a confusing way to wake up. Did I just piss myself...a lot? Oh no, i'm in the bath, whew.
I've had a few moments, mostly when my eyes want to go in different directions, where I have the desire to just take the old dose just to get rid of this awful feeling. But what lies behind me is not where I want to be. That Lindsay is over. This Lindsay is seven days in to detoxing.
This week i've had to face some really hard truth's about myself. The one where you have to become an adult for a moment, and that is never fun,
I've written many times about my depression and my anxiety, but this week i've realized how much of an impact it's made on me.
Biggest personal revelation this week: I'm not OK. And I don't mean in a blase way. I mean, my life is not ok. I am not in control of my life. I handed the reins over to D/A many years ago. And she is a petty, spiteful bitch. And in doing so i've handed the reins over to anyone who would take them so I didn't have to make choices. I've said yes when i've meant no for years. I have done things I haven't wanted to do because I had no fight in me. And I've always been afraid of people being angry or disappointed with me.
Then this morning, while I had my hands jammed in my eyes, all I could think was, "fuck this shit." I'm going through this on purpose. So I can find some kind of normal. And that normal includes telling people no, and not feeling bad about it. It means raising my kids and loving my husband and living with my mental illness. Yup. There are the words I have been trying to get out. Mental illness. Not "a case of the sads" or "you need more sunlight." I have a illness. And it makes me freaking mental.
And you know what? I don't need to apologize for it. I always feel the need to say i'm sorry for being the way I am. Why should I live with guilt over something I am attempting to control? I'm not doing anything wrong. So i'm having a hard day? So I don't feel like doing something for someone? You don't understand me? You don't "get it?" Get over it. I'm not enjoying myself. I don't want this. I didn't ask for it, and i'm trying to fix it. So I inconvenience my husband, or my kids, or my family for awhile? It's not about them, or you. It's about me and my wonky brain. It's about finding myself again, i've been gone a long time. Too long gone.
Mental illness can't be physically seen, so it's not real to some people. Or they get sad sometimes and then take a walk and are peppy little fuckers again. And that's great, that is nice and healthy. I am jealous of that. But it's not who I am, right now at this moment. Right now I am fighting the brain zaps to get these words out. And they hurt, and are disconcerting. They make me feel weird. My body aches, and I cry all the time, my mouth is dry and i'm swilling Dr. Pepper like i'm getting paid for it because I need caffeine. But, I have hope. Hope, Hope, Hope. Faith and hope. Faith in myself. Faith in my new doctor. Faith in my choice, and hope in my husband and my daughter. They are getting me through this, and taking care of me. Our roles have reversed. And their love and understanding makes me cry with gratitude.
I am in the middle of a huge pity party. But i'm not sorry for it. I'm done apologizing for the way I am.
And Annie Lennox totally came on Rhapsody Radio while I was writing this. And she inspired the blog title and some of the content, so now I have to share this song. Bask in my dweebiness.