I’m having a really bad day. When I say ‘really bad’, I mean it. There’s a lot that people don’t know about me, and I tend to keep things to myself. Lately, it’s getting more difficult to avoid certain subjects, as my life is trying to get larger, but my mind simply won’t allow it.
One thing that people don’t know about me is that I’m agoraphobic. Some days, I can’t leave my house. That means that, at times, I can’t even make myself touch the door. On other days, I can open the door, but I can’t step out of it. People see me in my car, which is parked exactly five big steps away from my front door, and they assume that I’m just out and about, running errands and what not. What they don’t know is that I can only ‘shop’ via a drive thru, so I go to the drive thru liquor store for my smokes and fast food places for my food when my son doesn’t have time to grocery shop for me. Everything I purchase is online…clothes…things for my home, etc.
I have severe PTSD, which is the root cause of the agoraphobia. I haven’t been to war, and am still indignant about the diagnosis, as I feel it is best ascribed to one who has been. But I’ve been through some bad shit. That much is true. Very, very bad shit…things I can’t say out loud; things I cannot believe could happen to me. Me. I’m a fucking badass. Well, I used to be. Until… I don’t feel sorry for myself. I know that many have been through worse, and I pray that God touches them and gives them peace. But, I can’t find peace, no matter how hard I seek it. Nobody knows but my shrink, immediate family, and me.
I’m also bipolar. I suspect that people would guess that after chatting with me for a few minutes. I take meds for it, but they don’t really work. When I find one that does, it only lasts for a short time, then my brain finds a way around it. When I’m manic, life is amazing, even when I can’t leave my house. I feel happy and free and expressive. I can feel my soul again. I don’t sleep…I eat whatever I want to without feeling guilty…I work on my book. I feel like…everything. Then, without warning, comes the crash and I’m plunged into total darkness, it seems. Everything good in my life is turned off, as though someone flipped a switch. What is left is a death-craving woman who cannot find the nerve to pull the trigger. I drink a lot during those times. Nobody knows about that. My son suspects, but I always make and excuse. I tell him my meds are making me loopy, etc. I don’t know…when you’re depressed, life is so bleak and there’s no way out. You can take all the pills you want to, but they aren’t going to fix the problem.
Since I’ve had most of these problems since childhood, I am very good at covering. I suppose the theme of my life is ‘Smile Pretty!’. And, I do. Dying on the inside, smiling on the outside. That’s me. Because I can’t bear for people to know how I truly am. The ones who do walk on eggshells around me because they think I’ll either break like a China doll, or go off like a bomb. My mother tries to make it all seem like mind over matter and that I’m failing miserably at the task. The truth is, had she not abandoned me, the bad shit would never have happened. I think she knows it and that’s why it’s so hard for her to deal with me.
Lastly, I deal with severe and chronic pain. That’s one reason I don’t post much. My fingers rarely do what they’re told and it takes me ages to write anything. So far, I’ve been an hour writing this. I’ve written more than I normally can in an hour because i’m having a fairly good pain day. Normally, my pain level is 7-10 throughout any given day. If you haven’t experienced severe pain, you probably can’t relate to that. But, if you have, imagine that you experience pain at that level every single day and nobody can figure out why. Fun! My life is a whirlwind of pain meds that take the edge off, and little more. They make me dull and incompetent and sleepy. I hate the way they affect me, so I take as few as possible. There are some things that are worse than physical pain. Emotional pain and intellectual numbness are two of those things. In any case…I think that sums it all up.
So…I have purged myself, for the most part. Now, all of you know more about me than anyone, for whatever that’s worth. What do I get out of that? Freedom to write the truth about my life without having to explain myself at every turn.
In closing, I’d like to thank everyone who reads this mess of a blog. It makes me feel connected to the world when, sometimes, I have no connection at all. I’m grateful to have an outlet like this. Truly.