Those of us with a mental illness fight with it every day. If it’s not from people in our everyday life, it’s from people on social media. An innocent tweet about how bad we feel on a certain day can bring ignorant and just plain mean comments from the unwashed masses.
Fuck. I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.
I wanted to sit and write something worthwhile and intelligent, but all I get from my stupid brain is babbling and broken thoughts. Writing is my only outlet, my only form of therapy, and I can’t write anything that makes any sense. Most times I can push through and write something if it’s just depression and anxiety, even though it may end up being a rant on how bad I feel. But, lately, my brain is only giving me racing thoughts, paranoia and voices that won’t cease their conversations long enough to let me type anything on the page.
I try every trick I know to focus, for even just a few minutes, and I fail miserably. It’s very disheartening and it makes me want to quit altogether. I have so much burning inside me that wants to come out. I want to have an intelligent exchange of ideas with someone, even those who write disparaging comments about my opinions, but everything that comes out of my head sounds like it comes from a 1st-grader.
I envy those who can write their thoughts so eloquently. Dammit, I know somewhere in there is a good writer, dying to come out and say something. I use to be smart, but something, my illness or the medication I take to “make me feel better”, is dumbing me down. I know from experience that I can’t stop my medication: a firestorm of withdrawals, unchecked emotion and suicidal ideation are the result.
I’ve never been able to find a doctor who can even give me a little hope that things will change for me. My current doctor even took my wife aside and told her that there is little hope that I will be able to function in a semi-normal manner for any period of time, for the rest of my life.
Today, my dreams of becoming a published writer and having a business are deflated and dark.
Every day, I am ruining my life more and more. I see my marriage crumbling like the first, because my wife is getting tired of my illness and me complaining that I am always sick. She doesn’t understand those hopeless days where I can’t get out of bed, and why I can’t bring myself to force a smile. I know it’s only a matter of time before she washes her hands of me and moves on. I can see the signs.
I want to die in the worst way, but I can’t even bring myself to end my life. I care too much about the people I would leave behind.
I’m not asking for you to pity me; that’s the last thing I want.
I just want to write. That’s not too much to ask for, is it?