With depression it is sometimes… Most the time… All the time… hard to see the beauty when it is right in front of you… In your living room… Blooming bright colors that scream ” IT’S WINTER OUTSIDE AND SPRING INSIDE…WOMAN LOOK AT HOW BEAUTIFUL I AM”. Today I see the colors and beauty. Yesterday I didn’t. Who knows what tomorrow might bring…What triggers I might face. I’m not alone in my struggle… What I’ve been through is minimal compared to what others have gone through or continue to go through.
So a man decided it would be fun to force his sinful ways on me when I was young… Why can’t I move past it? Probably because of his lack of control paved the way for many years of bad choices. I “dated” a 27-year-old when I was 15…I became pregnant at 17 and don’t even get me started on not having a voice as to whether my baby should be aborted. These series of unfortunate events lead me down the Borderline road and believe me it isn’t a yellow brick road… It’s more like a one lane Rocky mountain road.
There are only a handful of people who know the extent of my mental illness. Yes I have shared with many people that I have depression because it is better understood than Borderline Personality Disorder. The responses to me having depression are as such “you?… No I would have never guessed… You are always so happy and bubbly”. That’s an act people. I don’t want the mom’s at my children’s school to know I cut myself to feel alive… Or I cut myself to control my emotions. My children would never be invited for playdates. Instead I put on my apron and my smile and help bake cookies for the bake sale.
It is such a catch 22. On one hand I want the world to know. I want to help others and not be ashamed. On the other hand it’s scary… My scars are scary… My mental illness is scary. I do not want my children seeing their mom this way. I don’t want them to feel shunned by their community.
Oh lovely Borderline Personality Disorder, why me… Depression why me…PTSD why me… dissociations…BTW can you pick a different time to give me the out-of-body experience? In the middle of a conversation is really poor planning on your part.
Yes, I speak to my mental illness like it is its own person. Because she’s a real bitch and I am not. I don’t want to be my mental illness. I just want to be free. Free from the nightmares. Free from the guilt. Free from the shame. Free from the cutting. Free from the crazy.
Nope not free yet. Maybe someday.