Lately, I've just been very very very overwhelmed about 'making it' in this world. 'Making it' meaning owning a car with relative ease, an apartment, food, and a little bit left over for entertainment and clothes. I think that I need to quit it with the unchecked idealism and get on disability, already. I'm already completely dependent upon my dad and his monthly checks, but eventually this will come to an end and I just stress endlessly about how to have a secure future.
It's strange to read the harsh criticisms for people who are on welfare or other public assistance, and I will soon be one of them. Yes, passionate Republican family and extended family, I will soon drain the system. I've gotten excellent grades, had awards come to the palms of my hands with strange frequency, gotten onto the Dean's list in college, participated in this and that club, plenty of praise and promise....and now I get to enjoy the scorn of being a lazy fuck. Thanks, compassionate and caring family. It's like you've totally bypassed the fact that I'm an actual, complex person and not a potential disability statistic. I can feel the love. I'm only as good as the amount of dollars I can contribute to our consumerist utopia. That's cool. When the truth is we all know that you can bust your ass and still struggle. But hey, maybe you should try harder at walking to work in freezing temperatures so that I don't have to watch you from my new car. You. Are. Killing. My. Vibe.
If you can't tell, I'm kind of completely done and over people being hateful to those who struggle. I feel as if the racism, the hatred, the prejudice, it's all just covering up the fear that they could end up like that person at any second. That their empathy is so undeveloped that it would be easier to shove people away from your point of view than to recognize them as your equal, and at minimum offer pity, at most, offer physical help in the form of dollars or basic necessities.
Collectively, we just shove the sadness away from our own hearts, and even in our environments. Just get over it, dear depressed friend. Just work harder, dearest working poor employee. Stop crying. Don't whine. Don't point out my hypocrisy! Of course, I'm being a little hypocritical, because even the hater deserves love and respect. To recognize that each time they lash out and undermine a group of people that they don't regularly have contact with, this is a sign that they are hurting....deeply.
It's an awful catch-22 to choose to let down the effort of needed to cover up our sadness and pain. We are then forced to feel our sadness and pain, which frankly, is awful. I've always considered myself a champion feeler, willing to forego alcohol, weed, most vice-y things, in order to feel my pain and get the hell over it. It's awful that feeling pain can be so problematic. I try and remind myself that if I'm willing to feel it, at least I will be more able to find a genuine solution to it. Instead of just slapping a huge generic band aid on all wounds, I can now identify what the hell kind of wound is going on and then apply the proper salve. And If I have zero fucking clue about what the nature of my wound is, to at least brainstorm and experiment with solutions. And salves. To make the metaphor.
I just took 3 caps of California Poppy tincture, two Kava root capsules, two GABAs....and I'm finally coming down from a bout of dermatillomania. Thankfully, I don't have to tear apart my face anymore, but the ingrown hairs on my legs are shown no mercy. It's disgusting and shameful and I hate the scars but this is the reality of what feeling feelings looks like. That despite my best efforts to just chill throughout this damn thing, my body and mind still feel the need to numb out. Because the emotional pain feels worse than the actual flesh wounds of a terrible nature. Do you consume yourself or let the emotion consume you? How do you even let an emotion consume you? Do I consume something to expel the pain or consume to cover it up?
Modern television bothers me to no end. I don't need to watch a Zombie get disemboweled because I've quite literally and figuratively lived the experience. I am both the zombie, and zombie huntress. I am both the numb, dead creature who is attacking the lively, desiring to live fighter. I am both characters. My mental illness provides me with both viewpoints. I can't quite figure out a metaphor that ties in the Zombie's desire to supp on brains. Maybe I desire a healthy, living brain, and I see the only means to do that is to consume myself, attack myself. Again, I am both. I can pass as mentally competent and fiercely struggle in the matter of hours, or sometimes, moments.
But I'm pretty confident that I've had to develop the two sides necessary to any good late night TV drama because I couldn't express my pain, my ugliness. I had to develop several different modes of processing: a shut down switch(trigger, normal processing hiccough), a numbing default (self harm), with the vital personality hiding behind it all.
I'll never know if severe mental illness will ever make it to the on-demand digital TV screen, but I do know that this is my drama for one. When I'm able to describe it others can understand but my psyche somehow makes sure that I am able to be at my worst when I am most alone. A survival mechanism, sure, but a shitty one.
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