Kevin works for Hai Street Kitchen now. Gone are the days of lemonades and red straws and here comes the days of sushi burritos and omg, ramen. So much awesome ramen. I am sitting here, eating said ramen, happy I voted and ready for bed time. Today everything feels okay. Yesterday, Sunday? It did not but today, ramen makes it okay.
The “my life got stolen from me” diet, has been a weird one. There are days where I eat nothing and other days where I can’t get the cheese crackers in my mouth fast enough. Some mornings, it’s 4 cups of coffee, black and others, one with sugar is hard to suck down. I’ve lost weight I needed to lose but at the expense of lots of normalcy. I’m out of control. Being out of control makes me feel horrible. I feel horrible most of the days. I can’t seem to figure out how to regain control. I paint; out of control. I cry; out of control. I go back to work; out of control. I write and say what I want; oh em gee, out of control. I stop writing, stop talking; so out of control.
I have no control except to sit here and enjoy my ramen.
So I will take that control. It’s all you can do when you have a daily battle with mental health combined with immense trauma.
This is mental health awareness month. I have a deep struggle with mental illness. One that no god or higher power can fix. It’s a chemical thing. One that makes me so sad and sometimes, unaware of what is actually happening instead of what the manipulations and manipulators are telling me. I am a high functioning mental health person. I can wake up each and every morning and plan out my suicide but still get the kids ready to go to school, sew a Halloween costume and make dinner, that actually tastes good. I’ve never been to “that place” when I would actually do it, but I know, very well, the feelings before it.
I see a therapist now. My March sent me into a very dark place and my April, well it dug the hole for my coffin. May has been somewhat better. I was able to apologize and to realize that my struggles aren’t something I am making up in my head. They’re happening, to me and not happening because I did something wrong. This is because I found a therapist that is so very much for me. I couldn’t have met her at a better time. She doesn’t make me feel bitter or angry. She is the first to tell me that when my actions are awful, that they are awful but there are reasons behind them and the reasons aren’t because I am crazy or mean; the reasons are because I am getting my ass kicked and sometimes, our feelings are out of our control. We just need to learn to reign them in, in a healthy way and not let the white rage come through. She and my army of friends have saved me from filling that May hole.
May is mental health awareness month. I am gonna find some control in educating people about the “sad”. Tell them about my brother; he lost to the sad. About myself, who can’t see her beauty because the demons are so big. I will use May to show people that have mental illness aren’t always the people on the street corners chanting obscenities. That sometimes it is the mother at the library with “bitchy resting face” or the funny lady who loved her family fiercely and was fine one day and gone the next. I want people to know the signs of scary mental illness. That often suicide isn’t the tweet that reads, “I am not okay” but it’s the giving away of oneself so that you have nothing to take to the afterlife. And that sometimes suicide comes out of the blue so you have to really look closely at the people you love.
I also want people to know that mental illness doesn’t make me crazy. Sure, it makes me sad but is also makes me who I am. Well, parts of who I am. And I am truly loving, truly giving. It’s in the parts of me that paint and draw and sew and would do just about anything for anyone. And while the sad will keep me from your party, it will not keep me from holding you in your darkest hours. I think anyone who really knows me, knows that is me.
So please, educate yourself. Know that praying doesn’t cure true mental health issues anymore then dancing naked in the woods does. Learn the signs of the suicidal person. It could be your daughter or your son, someday, scary as it is to say outloud, it might be me. And the “not sick” me, wants you to save me, because I have so much to live for.