Mental illness is rampant in my family. We have a long history, some diagnosed and some not, of people going off the deep end. When I was younger, and largely when my son was born, I was terrified of losing my mind. My (ex) husband's and my finances were separate. His choice because he didn't want me to know how much he spent, and a huge source of contention for me, though it ultimately saved me when I got out. The burden of caring for my son was primarily on me, not much family help, and I was terrified that my mind would ultimately break and I wouldn't be able to be there for him.
Many decades of therapy, every self-help book I could get my hands on, page after page of journals saying the same things over and over yet never getting to the other side. My mother once said, "if you keep stuffing down the tears, one day you'll start crying and won't be able to stop".
I can't stop. Beyond not being able to stop the tears, I used to at least be able to control when they happened, but now the sobs come like a cough or sneeze where I have no control and everyone can see. I feel exposed and it's sucking the breath out of me.
I know friends are exasperated and annoyed that I'm not doing what is expected of me now in seeing yet another therapist, trying some new drug that "might" not give me debilitating side effects, and "let out your feelings". I'm letting out my feelings and I'm not sure I'll survive. I really should have had that nervous breakdown years ago, and now it feels like if this goes on then it will end me.
In my experience when you tell people how you're doing, as this is what "they" say to do, it always runs the same course. You share, they make sad faces at you, you get a hug and then the clock starts ticking on you acting fucking happy again (even if it was always a lie). Stay sad too long and then the shaming begins "everyone has had bad things happen to them" "you aren't the only one" "you just have to...". There are so many people on this earth that have experienced horrors worse than my mind could even conceive. They deserve to cry more than me. I'm privileged beyond words in comparison to them. Yet looking that their suffering doesn't make me feel better. The switch from caring for you to blaming you always comes quickly. The tears continue.
The immobility may be worse than the incessant crying. Watching hours go by as you try to do one minor thing and still fail. I was told by someone who claimed to love me, and didn't, that "depression isn't real...you just need to go do something". I'm always doing something. Nothing worked. Constantly exhausted yet not sleeping. The dreams are nightmares again. I am worn out to the core in every area of my being.
Too old to run away. Too many responsibilities to check out. I've fought my whole life with resilience and tenacity and those are gone now. I somehow need to figure out how to take my next breath.
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