I am 1986

I can't really tell you. I can't whisper in your ear and explain what's been running through my head. It's a combination of not knowing what to say, and you not wanting to hear it when I finally say it.

I'm not well. Not in the head. Not in the heart. Unlike "normal" people, I can't go to a doctor and figure out what's wrong. Their solutions are theoretical at best. How can anyone, even a professional, know for sure what the problem is? How can I go through the rest of my life taking some pill I'm not sure is working? It's not like an infection. Despite what was said, it's not going to spread if you read it or hear it. It's not life threatening unless I make it so, and it's not chronic in the traditional sense that it's here forever. Some mornings, I wake up and it's gone like the mist. But that doesn't really matter because everyone will still treat me like I'm sick.

And some days it comes back unexpectedly. But I deal with it. I really don't have the option not to.

I'm never going to vouch for my illness. I'm never going to try and "raise awareness." I figure enough awareness has been raised in the last 10 years that people should know by now. Or at least, know better. I am who I am, and that's a very strange and complex thing. I am also what I am, which second to who I am, and is also very complex. The two things are linked, but are also very independent. No amount of willpower can change DNA, and likewise, no amount of genetics can determine the quality of a character.

Mental illness is funny like that. It's a separate condition from the personality, but it affects it, so many just assume that it's a mental phenomenon, and therefore, must be at the whim of the person affected. Few are willing to openly say so these days, but it's common-thought. Many still believe that mental illness is just in a person's head, and could go away if someone tried hard enough.

It's not that simple, but thanks for the support anyway. There are many times when I'm anxious. When I'm depressed. When I'm angry. Many times it's a perfectly natural passing phase, but I've got a history*.
*To be read with an ominous tone, foretelling of doom and misery.

Sometimes it's not just a passing phase. I'm prepared for that. Sometimes the fallout of that coping process ends up on this blog. Sometimes it ends up in a sketchbook beside my desk. Sometimes nothing happens. I just sleep on it for a couple of nights and wake up eventually feeling a bit more normal. Sometimes I talk to people about it, but that's a rare thing now, since it seems that people are still idiots when it comes to dealing with someone who's having a mental moment. I'm not suicidal. I've never been, and never will be. I'm also not homicidal. Likewise, I never will be. I'm anxious, I'm depressed and sometimes, I'm angry.

I'm also relatively intelligent (I can figure out how to get my foot out of my mouth on occasion), gainfully employed, and somewhat ambitious. I enjoy laughter, friends, no small amount of alcohol, and also traveling. I worry about my future and I think about past loves. I write and play instruments, and just generally try to make life a little bit better for people.

Just reading that last part, it'd be easy to believe that I'm a normal person. I'm not, but nor would I ask to be. I didn't ask to be depressed either, but as a very wise person (and no stranger to her own particularly harrowing hardships) once told me (since I can't remember the whole quote): "Write On." And there was something about adversity in there as well, but I can't remember, and I can't find the original post.

But tangent aside, it's been sound advice for years, and so I'll keep heeding it. Even if what I write doesn't always turn out.