Monday, October 20, 2014

Fake Control and Contradictions

I'm afraid of myself.

When I say that, I'm pretty sure most people think that means because I tried to kill myself, or because I became someone else for all intents and purposes for 3 weeks several years ago. The thing is, not so much. Those are big things, but big things are easier to control and categorize in my head. What I'm afraid of is so much more, so much deeper, than those things. What I'm afraid of is truly me.

I'm a bag of contradiction. I'm afraid of my feelings and thankful for medication that helps me to control them, but I'm afraid of the fact that they are still there. They sit beneath the surface, waiting for the moment to emerge when my medication is weakest in my system or I'm just not trying as hard as I should. Then they rear up like a monster in a creature feature, taking over the silver screen that is my head, and I have no control.

It's then I remember how hard I had to work to keep those emotions in check. Keep them hidden inside where people didn't see them. I was screaming so loud in my head begging people to see the truth, but still afraid of what they would then think of me, how weak I am, how unable to just be human.

Then I realize that I'm losing that control, and I'm afraid of not taking my meds. I'm afraid of the me that is lurking beneath the surface of calm that is medically induced, because the exterior calm, the facade of control is slipping from my grasp, my actual control. If I don't take them I will lose the respect of those around me, because everyone who was surprised by my recent diagnosis of bipolar just never saw the me beneath the smile, and I'm not sure I will ever be that person again.

That's when I realize I'm afraid of continuing to take my meds. Two reasons for this. One is....because I am losing my control and meds should be a stopgap, not an end all be all to the issues I have in my head. Two is because, sometimes it physically hurts to have the feelings echoing beneath the surface and not feel them. I miss the highs. I miss the feeling of the smiles being real because they came from that place deep in my soul that knew I was invincible and nothing could really hurt me. I even miss the lows that were so all consuming that everything was dark around me. There was no hope and the smiles had to come from an even deeper place because they had to be physically pulled out for the sake of the world around me. I just don't feel things that way on my medication. Just the echo of what was.

So, I don't want to feel, but I do want to feel.

I don't want to lose control, but I do want to lose control.

I don't want to lose MY control, but I'm glad to have something that makes it okay to lose.

My logical side and my emotional side are having a daily argument, and I'm still waiting to see who will win out. Of course, since they are both full of contradictory arguments themselves, I don't really know what one winning over the other will mean.

Meds Are Hard

Have you ever worn headphones just for the sake of wearing headphones? No music. No sound ringing through them into your head. Just to muffle the world. Make it seem far away, less real, less overwhelming. I have.

Have you ever put on a blindfold to block out the light? Not because your trying to sleep or have a headache, but just because the world is too much to see.  Too much to take in a process. Too stimulating to feel okay. I have.

Have you ever taken a hot bath for the purpose of shutting off the stimuli of the air around you? Just to envelope your body in warm nothingness and stop thinking. Using it not as a chance to breath and relax, but as a chance to slough off the sensation of feeling everything just that too much. I have.

Sometimes, the world is overwhelming. I remember everything just a little too brightly. I remember taste, touch, sight, scent, and sound to the point where I want to scream and laugh and cry, but my wonderful mood stabilizers won't let me do that any more. Not that I did it before, but at least I did it on the inside. Now the feeling is there, but buried so deep in my soul that I get only the echo. That echo is more overwhelming than the feelings ever were. So I have to shut it all out. I can't make my memories go away, but they are far less overwhelming when I don't have brand new outside stimuli breaking me into a million more pieces than the past.

Sometimes it's harder to take the meds and be normal, than to leave off them and feel again. Be normal for me rather than normal for the world.

I will do the right thing, rather than the "right thing for me", but urgle gurgle is it a hard decision to make when it's time to take my medicine and I know I can make me feel like "me" again.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

To Honesty

On my drive home last night, I was considering honesty. Recently I was lied to about something that majorly influences my job and, consequently, my life. This really upset me, and I ended up in a royal snit the last couple of nights. Sometimes life just affects people that way, I suppose. Especially if you let other people's honesty be that important to you.

Then I started thinking about all the times I lied. Lies of omission, lies of "kindness", lies of the most malicious and purposeful intent, unintentional lies, broken promises......the list goes on and on.

I find myself now wondering, when is it necessary to lie and how much honesty is too much honesty. Do I over share here on my blog, where it is easiest for me to be honest, and I hope it will help others? Do I not share enough to really make a difference or allow people a peek into my crazy mind? I know there are a lot of things I have yet to share, if I ever choose to. I assume you are all aware of that also. Does this bother those that follow me and read my blog? How much or little of myself do I need to provide to others for it to be enough, or too much?

Do I really care?

A large part of me writes this blog for me. I don't like talking about my feelings and deep thoughts, but they are there and this gives me a way to share. Whether or not anyone ever reads this again, it's a public journal of sorts. It makes me feel better that I put things I keep mostly bottled up out in the open where someone could stumble across it, and maybe understand a piece of me just a little bit.

But, am I putting too much out there? Am I opening myself up to being hurt beyond what I can handle, or can I truly not care, keep sharing, and assume the help outweighs the hurt?

I suppose I won't get any answers. All I can do is try to keep sharing bits of me with the knowledge that consequences of being honest will be forthcoming, because we live in a world where lies are acceptable and truth is punishable by hateful words, hurtful actions, ridicule and scorn.

GROUP HUG!!!! Friends make everything better.

GROUP HUG!!!! Friends make everything better.