texts from thursday

Psychosis is the ugly cousin down in the basement no one likes to talk about when it comes to discussing mental health issues, at least I know it’s not one I’m dying to discuss. Depression and Anxiety? Come right this way, we have a VIP table waiting for you with your millions of sufferers, and feel free to talk about it openly for the most part now because it has (thankfully) become a lot more acceptable to struggle with either or both. Though the second someone suffering with either of these does something even remotely unseemly, be prepared for the backlash and dismissive attitude that follows. “Well what can you expect, she has mental health issues” they whisper to each other. Or even worse in my opinion, it has gotten to the point where certain personality types use a diagnosis as a crutch, a shield to ward off personal responsibility for themselves and their behavior. “You expect me to get a job and contribute to the household Mom? How dare you, I have mental health issues that I wont discuss with anyone or seek treatment for, but will absolutely use to get out of doing my fair share.” Neither of these scenarios are good, and unfortunately the stereotypes surrounding them harm the ones who really are struggling the most. But as far as stigma goes I feel like we have come such a long way. With people I am getting to know and testing the waters with so to speak, I will absolutely say I have depression and anxiety (which is technically correct) rather than be fully open and say that I have bipolar disorder. Call me a coward if you like, you would also be technically correct.

Segueing back to the ugly cousin down in the basement though, Psychosis. That’s a frightening word no one wants to talk about. At least I know I don’t. To discuss it means admitting that I have at times touch with reality, and it feels like something to be ashamed of. I have during the course of one manic episode and subsequent hospitalization regressed to a childlike mentality and legitimately thought I was Alice lost in Wonderland. I had a nasty temper and threw tantrums when I didn’t get my way (tried to take the entire box of crayons back to my room when they were meant to be shared amongst the other patients) that rivaled the Red Queen herself. When I calmed down and was more myself I was mortified! I would never act like even when I was a child, I’ve always been told tantrums were rare when I was young.

More recently my episode and hospitalization took a darker turn, but also an extremely interesting one. I definitely did not regress, I was 100% a grown woman, but that brought other baggage. I thought that I was Katniss Everdeen, Juliette Ferrars, and Queen Elizabeth I all rolled into one. I thought I was, not exactly Mother Earth, but definitely one of her goddesses walking the earth and appreciating the beauty in life. I saw the geometry and the numbers in creation, the angles and brushstrokes of even just weeds and dandelions. Instead of just ugly browns I saw shades of plum and mauve in the dried up leaves on the ground. I tried to embrace the chaos that is life by rolling random objects in my hands, throwing them like they were dice and then looking for patterns and shapes. Basically....I turned in Tia Dalma from Pirates of the Caribbean but with much better teeth and without the sweet accent.

I’ll admit at this point that I have forgotten what my point to all that was, other than to get it off my chest. It feels good, even though in doing so I feel the uncomfortable tingle of being overly exposed trickling down my spine and the cold shoulder of stigma breathing down my neck. I’m only 32 years old, and my current living situation is one that by most standards would seem fairly unencumbered. I have so much I want to do, and you would think that as a married, childless, currently unemployed woman I should be able to achieve them right? Yet I often feel unfairly weighed down both by the challenges my disorder brings just trying to go about my day, and the often heavier weight of the stigma of the diagnosis itself.

I guess to return to what I said about NaNoWriMo, I’m trying to take some agency back for myself. Yeah I recently had an episode, the first in a fairly stable three years. Yes, along with the mania I also experienced psychosis, meaning I lost pieces of who I was and what was real, but that doesn’t have to define me forever as its already run its course and I’m back in good ol’ reality. And yes, I absolutely can take some power back by turning what I experienced into something beautiful, rather than something ugly and shameful. So stay tuned for snippets of stories and little nuggets of ideas, as I try to bring some order to the chaos once again. I’m not sure yet if I’ll be writing a novel based on my experiences or a completely fictional story plucked from one of many that I found myself experiencing on some level during my brief hospitalization. But either way, its about to get weird so grab some popcorn and buckle in, my little coffee cakes. I’ll try not to shock your delicious crumble topping right off your heads.

By the way, in case you hadn’t read between the lines, this is my first time posting about my disorder. And while it feels as thrilling as it is somewhat dangerous, I don’t want it to define me. I just want to stop pretending to be normal every day, because it is unbelievably exhausting. I would rather just be myself, Thursday, someone who likes to write, loves her family and her dog, and when she’s not chilling playing her favorite video games, likes to create art. That’s me, and that’s what you’ll get if you stick around.

We-ell....the Sabrina theme doesn’t pop up for me when I search for it so enjoy some Lindsey Stirling I accidentally added, the pathos of which really doesn’t match the tone of my post lol. (Unless you listen to it while reading about my hospital stays, in which case it is almost too on the nose.)