[In my ears: In The End, Black Veil Brides]

Today… I think I’m coming down. Because I feel kinda blank and deflated and I don’t appear to be a human thesaurus + word processor anymore. Which I mourn in a less potent  way how  I used to mourn having smoked my last crumb of pot.

I never did decided what I preferred to call it. And I smoked all day long every single day. Weed? Mary Jane? Grass? MJ? Green? Bud? Chronic? Ganja? All fail to capture.

I don’t know why this didn’t occur to me sooner but I’ve been all over schools database and downloading anything the seems interesting pertaining to bipolar. I’m dying for research that says I can be brilliant with no consequences. Oooh – today tho, I’m all dressed to the nines and feeling damn stylish if I do say so for myself. Absolutely no reason to masterfully coordinate except I generally have no life that  warrants any real fashion. Or I’ve still got some residue from that time I wore the same two yoga pants for two years. And never showered. And ate nothing but fast food. Putting on a nice looking dress is a celebration of the ability to put on a nice looking dress (I have no patience for hair and makeup. Curly hair = shower + goo + sleep on it + gothy black eyes in the AM – Bam).

So yeah, two soul-sucking years of apt misery and despair. Somehow I’ve only rarely been suicidal (How rarely, I do not know. but I’m very grateful) but that doesn’t preclude my visceral dismay upon waking up each morning and resenting being alive to my very core. And the anxiety.  I like words but I never feel I can adequately explain how awful the anxiety was. I’m kind of an asshole inside my head – people complain about heartburn and I’m all – you people are a bunch of pansies. Then I get heartburn and it’s HORRIBLE. People talk about anxiety and while a big chunk of me is sympathetic there’s a horrible version of me in the background that looks down at them and says – WEAK. I’m certainly the most non-empathetic non-sympathetic empathetic/sympathetic person I’ve ever encountered.

Depression has been my constant companion for a couple decades, if not more. It attacks your mind, body and soul and everything goes grey and so fucking heavy. All joy has been leeched away and if I happen across a tiny piece of joy that I could actually  feel for amoment it felt like I was betraying my own misery. This is me – permeated with emptiness – without it I do not exist and then you laugh?! Well shit, if you can laugh you should be able to put clothes on and go to work. You lazy, worthless fraud. When depressed I feel trapped in a world where obviously all I deserve is stale toast and tap water. I felt so much shame and self loathing around my inability to interface with life as seamlessly as everyone around me. I choked on it.


The world was so murky I couldn’t see through the soupy fog to make out the shape of the human beings humming around much less look someone in the eye. I’m sure more than half of them were busy being consumed by their own plight but it was all surface, surface, surface. People ask, “How are you?” all the time but very few want to be answered with misery or sadness or rage or hopelessness. That shits messy. Complicated. Sticky. The proper answer is, “I’m great/fine/OK, how are you?” OK was as low as you could go. And it was a lie, a giant, giant lie.

Depression wounds deep and it’s ruined my life repeatedly but holy fucking shit, anxiety?!?! I was a thousand times closer to killing myself with anxiety that I ever was with my deepest, darkest depression. A relentless pulverizing dis-ease. Anxiety of that magnitude is unbearable. Not even half-awake and the panic sets it. Please God, I’m begging you, knock me down with depression, PLEASE. Oh my – and let me tell you – detoxing off of benzos while psychotic, yet lucid enough to be terrified because you realize you are losing your mind and also Go wants to kill you – that’s how my anxiety kicked off. I think the only reason i was able to make it through my first two years of sobriety was that I remain consumed by the terror I’m going to end up losing my mind again. I honestly don’t know if I can through that again. When I go I go hard and the last time I needed to be hospitalized it took two damn years to get back to basic functioning.

*image not my own