Life With Depression Is Performance Art

It‘s true. We with mental imbalances are great thespians in this production called life. We fake our way through the customary interactions, sleepwalk through the grind of daily chores, we jump through flaming hoops trying to keep up with those around us when inside…We are drowning, dying, on the verge of going under and being okay with it. Game over, finally some peace.

Rather than view us as lesser or weak, I think we should be viewed as having the strength and courage of greek Gods for what we deal with daily is but a smidgeon of what others deal with their entire lives. Make no mistake…it is EXHAUSTING to have to constantly perform just to meet the status quo of what others require of us. To fall below said expectations is as toxic to our mental health as the imbalances themselves and so we try harder than others, we push ourselves further, we dance on broken glass barefoot while juggling flaming sticks with bare hands and a beach ball on our nose.

Having said all of that, I will now return to regularly scheduled programming where my depression and my oppressive surroundings try to convince me I am a waste of space.

So I mentioned Friday I served all those hours in the dish at R’s beck and call over this stupid car thing. Of course, that had to be the day people kept coming into the shop. I’m not talking dozens, but six people in one day and four of them all at once…My performance skills waned. I tried to paste on the smile, do the shallow interaction, but…I fled to the back for a smoke because yes, even three people in a room is a crowd to me and I panic. I don’t mean “Oops, I am uncomfortable.” I am talking the anxiety that makes you feel like you’re painted with a target and everyone is armed with an Uzi. Now if I can’t hang out with a friend and have lunch and such without an episode of such magnitude…My hope for future ventures is pretty iffy.

Yesterday wasn’t much better on the anxiety front. The depressive undertow is always there, but I can occasionally drown it out with binge watching TV shows. Anxiety on the other hand…I fetched my kid from my mom’s, her having a fit cos I picked her up “too soon” and ruined her life. Then we got home and bam instant recovery for she spotted two of her little school friends outside. These are the “devil girls” who for whatever rumor, er reason, have not been allowed to play with Spook for two years. When they came over and the three of them were all making happy noises…

Much as my noise sensitive ears cringed…I was happy that my kid had her friends back and they were having fun. Pissy that they insisted on playing inside even though it was 70 degrees out.

Then in an instant I was reminded why I dubbed them the devil girls. They weren’t here five minutes before they started asking for food and snacks and drinks. I’m not selfish but I can’t afford it. Besides, my mom taught me aside from water, you don’t ask for food at other people’s houses, you go home for food. They were here four hours. Aside from the noise and chaos, and of course, it causing me to break out in hives…it was ok. But they asked for food seven times, then invited themselves for supper. This was what started my issue with them in the first place. (And yes, I talked to the parents, it did no good.)  I hate being stingy. I hate being so stressed and depressed my kid tells me I am mean to her friends. (Of course, if I do my performance art and try to be funny and her friends like me, that is wrong too cos I am trying to steal them.)

It was a mixed thing. Glad Spook and her friends had fun. Irked with the asking for food. Always unnerved by the chaos and noise and of course, my stupid anxiety causing me to erupt with hives.  I am putting on a show here, earning a fucking Oscar, and…I am tired.

Tired of faking it. Tired of feeling like I am gonna break down on a daily basis. Tired of being told “You’re still doing it so obviously you aren’t gonna break down.”

Those famous words uttered to every person right before they had a breakdown and went into the hospital because damn it…we have limits. We are strong. We are not invincible. And when depression and anxiety and life itself just keep taking without ever giving in return….

Psychological bankruptcy becomes a very real possibility.

But I keep trying. I don’t know why. Dad stopped by last night and started in on me about when R was gonna have that damned red car towed. Then I had to call R and he got bitchy and it’s like….Calgon, take me away! (Too young to remember that one, embryos?)

Today I was gonna do house work. Instead of that…I am doing fuck all. As I said…I am tired. I’ve been on stage performing for weeks and I need a break.

This beach ball is really hard to balance now that it’s deflated.

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9 Responses to “Life With Depression Is Performance Art”

  1. Hear hear, we are gods indeed. And I have enormous respect for all mothers with bipolar, idk how you guys do it.

  2. I’m with Blah…I can’t even imagine doing all of this with a child.

    • I’m not claiming to be special, thousands of single moms do it every day and most work and have more than one kid.
      What gets me truly bent is when my mom points out that my sister had her son when she was only 19 so an adult my age should be able to handle it better.
      My sister didn’t work for 14 years while mom paid all the bills AND took care of her kid so my sis could stay up all night partying and sleep all day.
      Only person taking care of anything here is me so I am inclined to defend myself for being drained. It’s easier when you live with family and they help out and are supportive. Without that much and with mental illness…
      I may not be special but I think I’ve got a surplus of moxie.

  3. Boy your family is a special kind of stupid aren’t they? (Sorry I’ve lost my filter) Dad is throwing a hissy about R to you when he and R are the ones that orchestrated said purchase without your approval and knowledge.. DAD YOU FUCKING TALK TO R! As for mother, she’s quite a hypocrite isn’t she?! The Sass Army is taking no shit. I just am over all of the shit we have to deal with and I’m ready to start fucking ppl up in the name of Sporkdom and Pegacorns!

    And you are absolutely fucking right about being a thespian and acting for everyone. Idk about you, but I’m so tired of it that I’m gonna start snapping on ppl. Ppl are gonna get shanked and stabbed with Syphilis coated sporks and Reggie’s golden horn of Fuck You.
    Im just done with all the assfuckery. Pack your shit. You and Spook are coming with us to Florida.

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