I am writing this in what feels a stolen piece of time, a writing ‘on the sly’, like I am hiding from someone.
The truth is, I am hiding from my mental illness. I woke up today, and could not function. I had hit near-rock bottom. I could not shower, wash the dishes, or perform my usual tasks. Knitting plain stitch felt difficult. After dragging myself around the house for a few hours, I went back to bed. I napped.
Mercifully, I felt better. I cooked, showered, prepared the dishes to be washed tomorrow morning, and wrote (because that’s another part of my essential tasks, haha). Now, I feel like I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want this burst of feel-good to end. I’m afraid that my illness is creeping back, seizing my life in its grip, and taking over again. I’m afraid of having to go into the hospital, if I keep backwards sliding. I’m worried about the pressure of keeping it all up is placing on my already sick wife.
I know I’ve been through a lot lately. I’m grieving, my social worker says. It’s hard, and understandable. But the anxiety, the brain fog is returning. The strange non-pain in my head that means I can’t think has come back. The strange compulsions (eat the candy bar or you’ll DIE!) are making a comeback as well.
I never wanted this to happen. I’m worried I’m already at too high of a dosage of abilify to amp it up to combat my symptoms. I don’t know what my psychiatrist will say when I see her this coming week. I’m worried there’s nothing to do but rest.
I don’t like feeling like this. I don’t want to be here again.
But you know what? In all this, maybe as a compulsion, maybe as a window of hope, I actually have an idea on how to begin writing a non-fiction book I’ve been wanting to do for years now. Maybe, just maybe, something good will come from this.
Anyways, thoughts and prayers are appreciated. It’s rough right now.