I don’t owe you my okay-ness.
My mental health is mine. I don’t owe you health that looks like anything you can imagine.
My mental health or mood disorder is not invalid because it doesn’t appear the way you think it should. I have depression. I have anxiety. I have complex post traumatic stress disorder. I have Cyclothymia (or Bipolar 3). These are illnesses. C-PTSD is a neurological brain injury. These do not ever leave me. My capacity to function with these tag-along, chronic, lifetime illnesses and injury varies greatly depending upon which one is at the helm.
I still laugh, I still find joy in the little moments, I still love hugely and unconditionally.
I’m still here, I’m still me. I still practice unconditional self-love. (I say practice because it’s never perfect.) I’m learning to navigate the often tumultuous process in my brain.
I lose my place within my thoughts, often. It sometimes takes me an hour to get one down because I will start and then remember I have a cup of tea and then stop to pet the cat and then lose my pen and then pause to start the dishes and forget everything I was trying to say or even that I was writing in the first place. I will lose my words halfway through a sentence in conversation and then forget what I was going to say by the time it’s my turn again. I will start a project or painting and stop to go to the bathroom and forget what I was doing and find my project an hour later, crusty.
Making decisions is difficult. I will have three ideas or more tumbling all at the same time and not be able to focus on one.
I will overthink and analyze to the point of exhaustion and then sleep for ten hours after making no decision at all, and then some switch will flip. And I’ll take on the world, fearlessly. And tomorrow, I’ll do it all over again. It’s maddening. And it’s nearly impossible to stop.
I’m learning to navigate through and around and with these symptoms. In my own way. And I don’t owe anyone else what that looks like.
KDW Apr.’18 (edit Jan.’19)