While I was growing up, my mother would always proudly state how fearless her daughter was. Onlookers would observe me driving a four wheeled object and wonder how I hadn’t broken my neck. There were times I was found traipsing through a woods, with no clue as to where I was going or what was out there. Nothing I drove was fast enough, nothing I did was scary enough. The only thing that would make me stop like a paralyzed rabbit was my father’s raised voice and my mother’s quiet response.
In those days I had no concept of death or boundaries. I lived life as if I didn’t touch the ground, and then I cut my own strings and fell to earth. I just remember waking up no longer happy or fearless. I was full of anger and it consumed me. But anger burns out fast and leaves sadness behind. Then once the sadness dries away, you have nothing. Then to go along with all of it were moments of panic attacks that left me paralyzed.
I went through cycles of anger, sadness, and nothingness. My father grew distant and my mother learned what patience meant. My brother would just ask why I was like this, his voice full of hurt. Eventually, I learned to control my outsides when my insides were like a ship in a storm.
After all these years, even after no longer feeling such extremes, but I still live with this cycle. Now happiness has finally appeared again. A professional would say what I experience is a form of depression and I should seek help. A professional would be correct, but I still struggle alone.
So what’s my point? I’ve lived with this blackness on my heart for so long, but I lived. I’ve loved others when there were days I felt nothing for myself. I’ve crawled to the top of this hole and looked around to enjoy beauty outside myself. I recognized those with the same darkness and felt kinship.
I’m not easy to love when I get suck back the bottom, and I’m always sorry for that. I lash out at inappropriate times and I bottle up my hurt. To seek help and to change is scary. Anything new is scary. I guess I’ve known this feeling for so long, I’m scared to feel anything else. This is me and if I feel different am I no longer myself? It’s also very weird. I can go for long stretches now feeling happy upbeat and amazing. I look at myself and smile. I feel great! Then at least once a month I get pulled back down into hell. My temper is shortened and I cry so much. Sleep is impossible. Then after a week or two I’m back up again, where I assume a normal person is.
Just when I think I’m standing I get kicked back down.
I’m pretty positive it’s not bipolar, just your everyday depression. I’ve never cared about it affecting others because adults understand that sometimes someone needs space. Now I care because there is a small person in my life who looks up to me. She thinks I’m amazing, and I’m not, but I want to be for her. So, maybe I should get help. Something is clearly not right. I mean it’s not getting any worse, but it’s not good.