The Week I Felt Normal

Clearly I suck at 31 day challenges. But to be fair I started a real full-blown blog with goals and everything after my last post, so there.

In my previous post I detailed what happened with my victory from depression and my instant descent back into it, how I slipped back into this coffin I call my life.

I want to talk about people's expectations of those of us with mental illness. I don't work. Not steadily, anyway. I work from home when my mind allows me and I have the clients who need me. I don't make more than $100 in any given month, and when I do it's an extreme rarity. So I mooch off my parents. I live in a place I can't stand because I have nowhere else to go. I don't get the life other people have. They get to work their jobs without agonizing each and every day over how difficult going back will be. And I mean agonizing.

Depression is a bitch. I'm not even sorry for swearing because there's no polite way to say it. Add anxiety to it and I'm just a shit-storm of unreliability and chaos.

My moods are erratic sometimes. Not so much to be bipolar, but just in the way that some days I don't have it in me to even speak directly to other people, much less leave the house. Someone may message me on Facebook and I'll ignore it until I feel better because I feel so ridiculous saying, "Hey I feel crappy today and can't even talk to you through a text message, I'll get back to you one day." So the last part is exaggerated, but you get the idea.

I'm really tired of people judging those of us who don't hold jobs and support ourselves. Yeah you're better than me and it makes me cry all the time because I can't be like you. You don't have the slightest clue what I would give to be normal. I experienced it for a week a few months ago and it was the most amazing feeling in the entire world. No sense of relief or joy could possibly compare.

I kept dates with friends, I didn't hesitate when they asked if I wanted to hang out, I was all for it. I wasn't concerned with how I'd feel that day because I felt great. I felt like my depression and anxiety disappeared suddenly when nothing at all had changed in my life. I mean not the smallest thing. Nada. You got it? So I was surprised but didn't even want to question my good fortune. I just accepted it.

I was seeing new friends every day of the week and was ENJOYING my job at McDonald's. I loved seeing people and interacting. I smiled big constantly. I didn't get crippling anxiety when I had an appointment or "date" coming up in a few hours, worried about what I'd feel like right before I had to leave and if I would chicken out and cancel. I felt so uninhibited that week. I felt like I would actually be at my job a year from then because I didn't feel like every day was a tentative battle about whether or not I'd be depressed.

I didn't question my every action, I didn't worry if I was making a mistake. I didn't think about how far behind in life I am compared to my peers. I knew I was getting better, Finally!, and I was proud of myself.

I realized what it was like to feel like everyone else. My mind felt clean and untroubled. I can't tell you enough how phenomenal it felt. I hadn't felt like that in so long I forgot I ever felt normal in the first place. That was back in high school and I sure missed it. Now I miss it again.

You know what I'd love to do? Be an elementary art teacher. It would be such a wonderful career. But I'm settling for a combination of graphic design, blogging, and in the future interpreting documents in Japanese from the safety of my home. I'd almost kill for a steady income like all of you. I'd almost kill to not watch my parents suffer trying to help me pay my student loans. I'd almost kill to be able to convince the state that my disability is real and isn't getting better. And I'd almost die just to be like you.

Please don't judge what you don't know. Unless you ask, you'll never know the full story. Assess, don't assume. God, I want to be like all of you.

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Six Dragging Days Ago

I am participating in the 31 Day Blog Challenge I found on Pinterest. I am horrible about keeping up with blogs. Writing seems like such a rare muse for me. I think I worry too much about it being entertaining for someone else instead of just writing for my own sake. My new therapist asked me if I kept a journal and I told her how terrible I am about actually writing in it. It really is something I need to work on because I'm sure getting my thoughts out would help me process them.

I haven't decided if I will make the first three posts on this particular blog private or not. They are so negative and make me seem so petty. Trust me, I can be petty, yes! However, that's not exactly the image I'd like to portray. Wait, is this blog even public anymore? And why do I care about my image so much? I have depression and anxiety and everybody knows it. I have my bad days. I have my bad weeks. I've had about 5 bad years, actually. I finally felt like I was coming out of it a few weeks ago. I'm not sure what changed.

I felt outgoing. I felt like what I imagine everybody else who's brains function properly feels like. It was phenomenal. I want that feeling back. It's like the heavy blanket over my head that was making it so hard for me to see where I was going and not trip every other step was lifted. I don't understand what happened. How do I claw out from under this stifling material again? How did I escape it in the first place? And why, oh why on earth, did I allow it to cover me again?

It was 6 days ago. I had gone to lunch and to see Poltergeist with Kevin and Whitney from MIC. I came home and found out Granny was coming to visit. I sat and talked with her and mom for about 2 hours. I was really tired. I ate a little dinner, which wasn't very tasty, and asked mom to wake me up at 7:35. I curled up on the couch and fell asleep quickly. When mom woke me up, I was on autopilot. I changed into my work clothes and walked out the door. I arrived at work not feeling much of anything.

When I didn't see anyone I recognized I felt it – a pronounced dread to be there. It wasn't that I just wanted to go home and be by myself. No, it was worry and an eerily calm panic brewing inside that told me, "This is going to be a formidable and profoundly long night." That was an emotion I hadn't experienced in quite some time. Pure anxiety that hadn't finished growing. Have you ever seen a movie where some unknowingly powerful character is in a big tube filled with water and they appear to be sleeping like a fetus in the womb? It may show this character more than once just stewing, eyes closed, in that water. Then suddenly their eyes open, usually forcefully in time with a crescendo in the music that had been building. Pardon the lengthy analogy there, but that's what it was like. This foreboding distress just sleeping, becoming more powerful inside me waiting to open its eyes.

The thoughts in my mind were confusing. I wasn't sure why I was in such a bad mood or what exactly was troubling me. It became clear, and impossible to ignore, that I was genuinely disturbed about something for some unknown reason when I remembered that I needed to smile at customers and welcome them to the restaurant. I had been cleaning the lobby so I was responsible for making a positive first impression for each customer that stepped in. When I saw a figure open the glass door at the main entrance in my peripheral vision I raised my head, quite unwillingly, and forced a smile and said sheepishly, "Hi, guys." I should have additionally welcomed them verbally but those two words and that uncomfortable smile were all that I could muster. That was when there was no ignoring something was undeniably "off" about my state of mind.

During my previous shifts I was overjoyed to smile at everyone. Those happy grins were genuine, and after all my honest smile helped me get the job so I needed to make sure I displayed it often. Shortly after my half-baked welcome to the newest customers I finished my work in the lobby. As I tossed a dirty rag into the designated bucket of bleach water I washed my hands and then hurried to the manager on duty. I little more than muttered, "Hey, I need a minute, is it okay if I go to the [break room]?" The manager obliged and nodded.

As I practically ran towards solitude, the uneasy building pressure in my stomach leaked into my chest and simultaneously exploded. It set off a chain reaction that led first to shallow, erratic breathing. It felt like hyperventilation was imminent. I dug my phone out of my purse and with my hands shaking I impatiently unlocked it, hit the wrong button on the screen, exited out of the screen I accidentally ended up at, hit the right icon and scrolled trying to find a recent call to or from my mom. It wasn't there so I hastily punched my Favorites icon with my index finger and initiated the call. It rang several times and inside I was thinking, "Oh please pick up; come on, mom, do you never have your phone near you at home when I need you?" She answered and I told her I was having a panic attack.

She sighed, as if she knew this was overdue, and instructed me to take a deep breath. I had already been doing that but I humored her and breathed in extra deeply. In silence I repeated it twice more and frustratingly reported to my mom, "It's not helping, I can still feel the anxiety in my stomach and chest; I don't know what to do." I can't recall her following advice, but shortly after we hung up I let the tears that I had been crying softly free with no holds barred. It felt fantastic. I spotted a roll of paper towels and tore off a short piece to hold to my eyes and prevent sporting tear-stained cheeks on the front line to customers. I sat at the table, facing away from the security camera, and nervously aware of it watching me not working while I was on the clock, sobbed. I may have rocked back and forth slightly, I honestly can't recall. I just know I felt terrible.

I kept telling myself to get it together. I managed to stop crying as I knew I needed to let my eyes dry and not look like they had just been full of tears. I checked my appearance in the mirror on the wall, left the break room, washed my hands, and walked up to my manager in the front. I nervously asked, "So, uh...what...um, what do you need me to do?" She replied inquisitively, "Is everything okay?" I answered that I had just had a panic attack and she told me I could go home for the evening if I needed to. I thought for a moment and told her that was probably a good idea. After I snatched my purse from the back I passed her on my way out and mentioned that she should adjust my time on the clock to account for the 10 minutes I was out of commission. Then I left. I got in my car and called my mom again to tell her I was on my way home. She understood and there was no frustration in her voice, which I wasn't expecting. I thought she'd be a little annoyed that I couldn't do it, that I wasn't able to hold a job. A simple, peon's job at McDonald's.

This post has clearly gone on quite a long time so I will save the rest of my story about falling back into pesky, debilitating depression and anxiety for the next entry. Stay tuned, I know you are on the edge of your seats!

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