Mental illness...

Let's discuss mental illness, shall we?

It seems to me that most people who hear that term... mental illness... immediately go to that "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" type of place.  People talking to walls, hearing voices... some poor sap in an open-backed hospital gown sitting in the corner, drooling all over himself.

The images those two little words bring up are ugly. Like it's a disease you can catch from someone else by accidentally brushing up against them on the street.  Untouchable. Pariahs.

A lot of people that are mentally ill are just like you.  Just like me.  Maybe exactly like me.

You see, in technical terms and actual definitions, I am mentally ill.  I have struggled with that idea for a long time.  I was diagnosed with severe depression... a severe anxiety disorder... post traumatic stress disorder... and obsessive-compulsive disorder.  That's a heck of a lot of disorder, isn't it?

There has been a lot of denial in my life over this.  I have tried to compensate and push it down deep so nobody would see, but it's there.  Sometimes, it rears its ugly head and reminds me that it's still there, lurking beneath the surface.  Just waiting to torment me some more.

It hurts when someone calls me crazy.  It bothers me when I am told to get over it.  As if that's a possibility.

Most of the time, I am able to handle it, with the help of a medication or two.  I function normally.  I have good days.  I laugh.  I laugh a lot.  I am a mother, wife, friend.  There is almost nothing I cannot do that everyone else does with ease.  I'm normal.  Normal-ish.

Sometimes, though...

Sometimes, the anxiety builds until I feel like my head will explode.  The depression crushes.  The obsessive-compulsive behaviors make me twitchy. I become withdrawn and damned near agoraphobic.

This week has been a huge example of it.  I have been feeling really stressed, to the point of being overwhelmed.  I feel as if I want to cry, but if I start, I'm afraid the tears won't stop.  It feels like a baby elephant has been sitting on my chest.  It feels like the rooms are a little smaller and still closing inward.  It is all just... too much this week.

Not to worry... I spoke with my shrink yesterday (she hates being called a shrink, but doesn't say so).  She gave me a few suggestions and I got a lot off of my chest talking to her.  It did help.  It will get better.  I just have to hang on and ride this out.  I will stop hiding behind this wall I have apparently built up and exhale slowly before getting back to my usual self.

Right now, though... I am in its grip.  This thing called mental illness.  Its claws are squeezing a little tightly, at the moment.  I know I will get through this dark patch and break free into the light again... or some other cliched attempt at being poetic about it.

It's just that... right now?  It's a little dark in here...