I had another post ready to publish today, (in case you noticed I missed post # 009.) but since I am in such a shit mood, I figured I need to blow off some steam.
Stress has a funny way of taking control, doesn’t it? First it’s quite innocent – mild headaches, sporadic loss of appetite, even short temperaments. Then, slowly, the momentum of the “symptoms” begin to worsen, and increasingly more frequent. Before you know it, you wake up one day angry at the world, anxious about every little situation, spewing hatred at all that cross your path. You look up from your tear stained pillow and notice that everything is normal; the world didn’t stop turning.
You look outside and kids are playing. You call your mom only to hear how great of a day she has had. You text your sister to see how her care free soul is doing and find she is at peace. Yet some how, when you bring yourself back to that pillow, the world seems still. Nothing progress, nothing regresses. Stand still sadness. I’m there.
It’s a surreal feeling. On the outside, things are seemingly great; I have a beautiful fiance (it’s a secret, but I’ll post about that later!), 2 cats I treat as my children, a large family, a great job. When you begin to peel back the layers, you begin to see the torment, the resentment, the pain I feel.
And maybe these emotions that I feel are not directly associated with stress, perhaps it’s a deeper underlying issue. I can’t even bring my self to say it most days.
Could I be depressed? I have no idea. Do I want to know? I’m note sure. I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that maybe I should be seeking diagnosis for the poor emotions I feel on the daily. That being said, I don’t want to have to use it as a way to explain myself. I see my sister and my brother do this and I want no part of it. I don’t want their misinterpretation of a very serious illness to be the stigma that plagues our family.
I can’t be like them.
I guess I should give a little PSA ; in NO way am i insisting that depression or any other mental illness is something to be ashamed of. It isn’t. I am simply saying that my siblings have read up on mental illness, pick one from the list and convinced everyone that they are silently suffering, while in reality they are not. Yet here I am, silently suffering and have no outlet.
I used to be able to speak to my mom about anything. She was my confidant. The thing to know about my mother is that she is a mental health nurse. She knows when people are faking it, and when people are sincere. The problem seems to be that because it is my siblings seemingly dealing with these issues, I believe her to have clouded judgment. This makes it hard for me to approach her as she wants to believe they are lying, but they have her so wrapped around their fingers she can’t put two and two together. I can’t afford to be swept aside by my mother on top of all the medical professionals I’ve seen.
At this point, my words are jumbling. My thoughts are jumbled.