Saturday, May 30, 2015

The Tyranny of the Mind

Depression and anxiety just do not give a fuck. That's the best way to describe it. 

That two-headed beast will hunt me down on a bluebird sunny day, in one of the most amazing places on earth, just to remind me who's really in charge here.
 

It doesn't matter if my family is around. It doesn't matter if there are a million things to do. All of that only makes it worse in a way, because it tells me that nothing external--including pills, including another person--can ever change this aspect of who I am.

Just like I will never be tall or blonde, I will probably never feel uncomplicated happiness or true peace and quiet in my mind. It's not bad or good. It just is.
 

But sometimes it means I'm lying in bed and crying when everyone else seems to be outside having fun. I won't have anything good to report about my day. I won't get to say I went out on a boat, because I was curled up in a ball. I won't get to talk about what I saw from a mountain ridge over beers with friends, because I was under the covers instead of on a mountain.
 

If I was sick with the flu, I wouldn't feel like I was supposed to "snap out of it." But because I'm sick in a different, more stigmatized, and less-understood way, I feel like I should, even though I can't.

The operative word though is "sometimes," and that's a good thing. I try to be grateful that "sometimes" isn't "always," or really even "often." And I try not to be angry or disappointed that I don't get to pick and choose when "sometimes" is.

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