Demoralized

I don’t know how best to describe how I am feeling right now. Other than to say, like a fake. Here I am pasting on these smiles and sleepwalking through social exchanges and people think I am perfectly fine because I have been bullied and programmed to show nothing else. To show the soft underbelly, to expose the ugly reality of mental illness, is unsavory and taxing on others. So I must put on a good show and tell them, as well as myself, that all is well. I WANT people stopping by for surprise visits. Nope, doesn’t bother me at all.

Except, I don’t and it does. I don’t want it to bother me but it does, damn it.

What bothers me more is being in this position of feeling fraudulent by feigning that I am okay. I’m doing it for the comfort of others, sure as hell isn’t for myself. I’ve come to grips with feeling depressed, worthless, anxious, hopeless. Some days with mental illness simply ARE like that and it’s not fatal to admit it, accept it, and just hope it gets better the next day. But nooo. “For my own good” I am expected to deny, deny, deny, suck it up, snap out of it, deal with it.

What the fuck am I doing but dealing with it? Every time I paste on that happy functional face and venture out into the place that triggers me most…I am dealing. When I interact with others, especially those who catch me off guard, and don’t throttle them…I am dealing. With each handful of pills I shovel “for my own good” I AM FUCKING DEALING. So if I’m doing all this ‘faking it’ shit that is supposed to bolster me and make me all better…WHY AM I NOT BETTER? And okay, I’m running on 3-4 cylinders which IS an improvement over the last few months. But I’m an EIGHT cylinder motor so half functionality isn’t impressive or acceptable.

Tomorrow I get to go meet this nice elderly lady and jump through hoops to impress upon her how awesome I am, how functional I am, how my super human strength of character can help her fraility with her chore. Because big ass baby morgue can’t handle a trip to Wal-Mart without losing her mind so she needs a buddy and yet…I can barely count on myself and I’m gonna go tell this lady what a great person I am? Seriously? What the fuck is that?

“Tell the truth, lying is wrong.”

“No, you’re fine, just say it enough, it will be true…Oh, wait, you screwed me over,you lied when you said you were functional!”

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

I want fall and winter and I fucking want it now. Depression I can deal with but depression, anxiety, and hypomanic racing thoughts that confuse and frustrate and anger my daily…This is circuitry overload. And in this particular case, if I offend my “buddy” it will get back to my dad, who set this thing up, and he will launch into a tirade for my every misdeed or failure about how it reflects badly on him.

Here’s a thought. EVERYBODY GET OFF MY FUCKING DICK!

Crude, but it makes an adequate point. I am feeling the strain and the pressure which brings out my even fouler than normal language because damn it, I am being crushed under it all and no matter how I try or give or do…It’s never enough.

Why aren’t you getting well, Niki?

BECAUSE PEOPLE WON’T GET OFF MY DICK!

Seriously…If I had a broken bone, what would be expected of my while I healed? Some mild p.t. and exercises but mostly…rest, and heal. With mental shit, it just keeps coming at you. There is NO rest short of signing yourself into a psych ward. Which is a fucking joke because few people who go there actually get better. Most lie and claim to be okay to escape. So, no, there is no healing period for mental illness. Which is why I just keep running through this neverending loop of “get better, get worse, succeed, fail.”  I can’t focus on getting well when I am so busy transferring everyone else’s expectations and their pressure onto myself. I need to rest, to heal, to mend, to let the meds work without being hammered 24-7 with the very triggers that make me worse instead of better.

Now that I have vented my venom…I think it is crypt time. I need to drop out awhile, not think of this shit. It can be very cathartic to encase yourself in a dim room with a glitter lite and your favorite shows as a soundtrack while you just zone out and let your mind wander and your body un-knot.

FTWWABWD.

That means, fuck the world with a barb wire dildo, by the way. Maybe I’ll spew some unicorn dust tomorrow. Magic Hate ball hasn’t let me know yet. About as reliable a way of determining my moods as bipolar is.

 

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13 Responses to “Demoralized”

  1. I hope you can get some sleep. Dealing sucks and it’s exhausting

  2. Okay eminemorgue, I’ve just hopped off your dick.and ja, that whole putting on a brave face for others is exhausting when you’re fragile and Shattering on the inside. You’re not a baby for not being able to handle Walmart and surprise guests freak me right the fuck out too. In fact I know quote a few muggles who feel the same way. You’re a very cool woman, o violent femme.

  3. Let’s all the Femmes and Butch just take a fucking vacation to fuckitallville and just be! Yes I agree-GET OFF YOUR DICK! Not you, oh you know what I mean. Random outings are getting to me-but if I have baby in tow, I have someone to focus on that I can’t get violently belligerent at. I have to admit, I admire your strength to persevere through all the fake when your shattering inside. Kudos

  4. Can I getta AMEN!?! Yes, I need to blow town!! UGH!

  5. Man I hear you. Being depressed is one thing, but throwing depression with anxiety and hypomania and all that shit is just fucking impossible. I mean shit, life doesn’t stop fucking pitching balls at you when you don’t even have a fucking bat to hit them with.

    After my disastrous afternoon with the pdoc, guess where I went? Walmart. Because we are short on cash and we must make all trips count, so we did shopping. 20 people stopped to ask me if I was okay because I kept rubbing my chest. It’s soothing, it helps me breathe.

    Why do they ask if they don’t want to hear the truth and obviously I’m not okay? So they can call 911?

    “I’m okay, I’m just… Having a panic attack.”

    O.o

    EFF THIS.

  6. Love you Morgue, Camelraffe/liquor rescue needed!! ;-*

  7. Ugh, good luck with the old lady x

  8. Two things today
    One: Conversation with someone I know outside a shop… Pretend to happy, say right things, got to work with this person remember
    Inner voice: I DON’T FUCKING CARE, WANT TO DO SHIT BUT HAVE TO PUSH MYSELF TO FUNCTION TODAY
    Thought that might go down badly!
    Two: Message from ex, she’s on holiday, with new boyfriend no doubt, the one she found in the same places I was\am\have for years looking and we’re both as messed up as each other… Kind if buried myself in something to avoid the main part of the emotional shit storm
    Now I’ll have to pretend I’m all happy and shit

    So feel free to be yourself, you’re in the 1% of humanity I’ve come across that I don’t mind so you could try and kill me, I’ll the like “OK… You want sugar in your tea?”

    • Soo polite. Are you British or Canadian? Ha ha ha. I want arsenic in my tea. So I can offer all my lovely “friends” here a sip. Family, too. I will spare only cats and other cute critters. Internet friends need not worry. Last time I tried to put liquid in my hard drive, it didn’t work out well. Apparently, liquids don’t travel by wifi. Bummer that.

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