Mental Ilness Is A Neverending Flu

(Title inspired by my beloved lord and master of squirrel wrath.)

It’s true. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, it was horrible.”
Hmm…”Makes you too sick to enjoy anything but not sick enough to want to die.”
(Latter part debatable at times.)

YESSSS, That is, in my infinite evil wisdom, what I want for every single person who doubts the validity of mental illness. 365 days of the flu with fluids spewing out both ends, entire body aching, head throbbing, fever, no appetite…

Mental illness is exactly that. Some days are the “chained to the toilet how can I have not expelled any internal organs yet” kind. Others are the tired achy kind. And the comes the “I think I am on the mend” where you’re still low on energy but compared to the worst of it…it’s all good.
Unlike the flu, mental illness never truly goes away. It’s just a daily infection of the mind that varies in severity.
And unlike flu shots, we can’t inoculate ourselves.

So yeah, yesterday. I think it was the first time in weeks I haven’t posted a single thing. Maybe because I puked up 3 or 4 posts Tuesday, maybe things are just too grim…In every way.
I’m muddling through. But the sadness of those around me grieving the loss of Bruce isn’t enough to kick depression’s ass. If anything, it’s one more point in my column of “life is fucking futile.”
None of us get out alive.
Yet when someone dies so tragically, simply doing a kind deed, it makes you realize that YOU are still alive and you should be fucking grateful and relish every moment because someone always has it worse and HOW DARE YOU BE SO SELFISH AS TO BE DEPRESSED WHEN SUCH AWFUL THINGS ARE GOING ON IN REALITY?

And zero fucks are given by depression.

I’m on this ledge. I am being a mom. I am being a friend to R. I am trying to keep my shit together even as my allergies and sinus issues have me tied to a tissue box horking up, sneezing, dripping (you’re welcome for that visual.)The pressure from the sinuses is like a cage screwed around my skull ala something from Saw. The housework has once again gotten out of control.
I haven’t bathed since..Um…Sunday. Or was it Monday?
I’m doing the depressive zombie shuffle. Going through the motions. Not entirely numb to everything yet…It’s all wrapped in this gauze and my emotions are coated in novacaine…It’s not as bad as the Lithium “apathy in a pill” was. But similar.

Me, me, me. I. I. I. I, me, I, me, I, me.
It’s all about me.
Hey, if I could live a mind that has nothing to do with me, I’d consider it winning the lottery. But as this is what I am stuck with…

I keep doing the therapy mind hoodoo tricks. “It’s sad someone died. You should feel sad. But you don’t need to let it worsen your depression.”
Depression flips this thought off with both fingers.
My depression’s worsened all on its own. This is just…tragedy reminding me that there’s no balance in the universe. Worthless people who contribute nothing live on and on and a nice guy tries to help a neighbor cut up some firewood and he dies in a freak accident…
Then comes the socially infused low self esteem: “You don’t work, you don’t contribute, so where do you get off saying that about anyone else?”
And on this one, IF I can shut out all the rude insensitive people who think mental illness is a scam, I remind myself…Okay, I am not stable enough for employment. BUT I am taking care of my child, keeping a roof over our head, making sure she gets fed and educated. I am contributing to her life by being a present parent. That’s more than some (including her sperm donor) do.

Fuck you, depression. I respect your almighty powers to distort and convince me that I should just go walk in front of a bus…But…yeah, fuckest thou.

(And yet that ball of depressive pus and misery remains, sticking his tongue out at me like a five year old on a playground.)

Why is it depression is viewed as some kind of ingratitude?
It’s not that I am ungrateful for what I do have. It’s not that I think my pain is any worse than others’.
I have an illness.
The flu, only in virulent mental form.

I am supposed to go hold R’s hand at the shop. Yet I need to bathe. My stomach is in a pretzel. I see all the nasty housework I need to do. And tonight is my kid’s spring carnival which has me petrified (not of having a panic attack, but of ya know, the bad panic attacks that result in me throwing up on people and things. Explain to me how I can
“think” my way out of vomiting? And it’s not even my own humiliation I care about, because geesh, once you’ve puked over the side of a boat on a first date…You’ve experienced the worst in humiliation.
I worry about making my kid a pariah amongst her school friends. Or worse, the narrow minded parents deciding their kid can’t play with mine because I am obviously a nutcase.
And no amount of cognitive positive bullshit spewage is going to make it better. It’s a valid fear. I’ve already got a couple of kids in the trailer park whose parents won’t let them play with my kid because they think since I had a female friend stay with me a few months, I am a lesbian thus unfit for their kids to be around.
The ignorance makes me not want them around my kid. Not to mention those are the devil girls and I don’t miss their destruction and demands at all. But seeing them run loose and my kid tries to talk to them and wants to play and they say, “Our parents won’t let us play here anymore…”
I get it. People are ignorant fucks. With that kind of mentality, I want to move a man and a woman in with me, and maybe a donkey. Let them talk about that. Cos it’s none of your fucking business.
But worse…taking it out on my five year old?
My misanthropy is based on hard evidence. It’s not pessimism or being anti social. It’s just a lifetime of encountering utterly shitty people.
And while you can be homophobic (stupid) if you want and make whatever assumptions about me you want but…when it comes down on my kid, I get stabby.
I’ve gotten off point.
Still…School carnival. Gym full of loud kids and preppy parents (Or worse, the “wrong side of town” brawlers who are training the next gen of bullies.) It’s not going to be easy for me. And frankly, every fiber of my being wants to say fuck it. BUT I have robbed my kid of so much childhood normality with my anxieties and depressions and even my sparse manic bouts…
I can fall apart afterwards. It’s ninety minutes out of the day. I will just need a LOT of Xanax.
But then guess what…
I get to turn around and do it again Tuesday, because she got this end of year party for her reading throughout the year.
And it’s all about me.
Fuck you, scumbag brain.
It knows I am unraveling and every single thing I have to force myself to do just pushes me one step closer to that edge…

I’m alive. I should be dancing a jig and sniffing flowers and using the ends of a rainbow to jump rope.

The eternal flu that is depression gives zero fucks.

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4 Responses to “Mental Ilness Is A Neverending Flu”

  1. brightonbipolar Says:

    I can relate to so much of this post…thank you for sharing ☺️

  2. Reblogged this on The Professional Introvert and commented:
    Check this out

  3. Once again you nailed it with a friggin masterclass in bluntness, reading this stuff makes the machine pumping poison through my veins almost beat (its been running silent and deep since love last lured me into a bear trap!)
    And got to say I agree with everything you say, although I’m a mere beginner in the depression stakes compared to you, not sure if that sounds very complimentary but bluntness dictates I be factual and well… Blunt…. So hay happy hay
    As I unleash the my own personal hell on what’s left of my sanity\whatever is filling in for my sanity, I will no doubt be reminded of your words as a motivational aid, if you can be super mum and a decent human still, I can get a third job and keep my little studio flat
    Survive, go home and relax…. A great way of dragging ones self through unwanted social events!

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