I know I say that every time anyone asks. But the truth is, I'm lying. And I've been lying for quite some time. Because if I ever told anyone how unbelievably NOT fine I really am, they would recoil in horror.
Or, they would remind me that so many other people have it so much worse than I do.......
Like my sweet friend with the brain tumor he calls Bob. He's fighting - literally - for his life and while I have issues that affect my life, they aren't necessarily going to kill me.
Or my other sweet friend who has the.....privilege?....of knowing all my ugly thoughts. He's dying. And I'm sobbing about the fact that I can't sleep. This is what I sent him in the middle of the night a couple nights ago......
I don't recognize the girl I see in the mirror anymore. She's helpless and hopeless and useless and I hate her. She can't take care of her kids or her house or herself. She spends all day every day hiding in her bedroom from the world crying her eyes out most the time. She's a mess. Her hair is snarly she's been wearing the same clothes for a week....or is it two?.....And she smells because she can't even make herself take a shower on a regular basis. It's good that there's no man in her life because there's only room for her in the bed and she'd be mortified if anyone saw how she was living. And she knows the mess is probably making her sicker than she has to be but she still can't pull herself together even long enough to take the damn garbage out............
If you want to know what clinical depression looks like, or what crippling anxiety feels like, or what the prison of PTSD can do to a person, or what happens when you live your life at about a 7 on the pain scale without adequate medication, come on by my house. It ain't pretty.
And it damn sure ain't "fine."
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