“Does it take your breath away and you feel yourself suffocating? Does the pain weigh out the pride? And you look for a place to hide?”
I go back to work tomorrow for the first time since getting sick. According to my ancient Mayan calendar of the eternally fucked it’s been seven weeks since I’ve last been in the office. Before leaving the office I thought how nice it would be to stop the daily grind for a while, catch my breath and have a break. This hasn’t been a break this has been a different kind of Hell that I haven’t experienced before. I’ll be honest I’m not in a good place right now.
I want to slip into an invisible cape and hide from the world. I don’t want to talk to anyone about how I’m doing right now or how I feel and listen to the inevitable dumbass comments people will make thinking they are being nice that will certainly make me want to throat punch them. And I'm dreading the repeated “how are you feeling?” question which don't get me wrong is nice of them to ask but how do I answer that? “Why yes physically I am, but mentally and emotionally I’m more fucked up than before so please step away from my cube before I stab you in the eye with a ball point pen, thanks for asking!”
I don’t have enough fight in me right now though to eye ball stab or to throat punch the halfassed well meaning morons. And trust me, people have and do say some really stupid shit to me so the thought of being encountered with an office of it in my face makes me weep. I know people don’t mean to, they just don’t get it. They can’t get it, they haven’t been there.
“When you’re at the end of the road and you lost all sense of control and your thoughts have taken their toll…”
Being at home for seven weeks sounds awesome in theory, like winning the free time lottery. I’ve had one friend stop by and visit in that time, the day I got home from the hospital. That means, other than a brief trip to moms house for Christmas, it’s been six weeks of me and these four walls and no real contact with the real outside world. I sent out lunch invites on Facebook, I had one taker. Everyone likes to sit back and watch the funny girl have a nervous breakdown on Facebook but doesn’t actually have time for them. I finally caught on to that and deleted my whole fucking account. I’ve been Facebook clean for almost two weeks now on my personal account and I don’t miss it. I don’t miss it because I don’t need Facebook to talk to my three real friends. They already call me. Everyone else is just watching the carnival that has become my life and my nervous breakdown. Crazy is funny to watch, I’ll give them that.
I’m glad to be rid of Facebook and the false impression that I have more real friends than I actually do. Facebook ruins real life face to face friendships, it makes people lazy friends and isolates the isolated even more.
I’m losing it. I’m sure that’s clear by now. I’m trying to fight off depression with everything I have in me. My rational brain tells me to snap the fuck out of it, business as usual, but then my heart aches and washes over my logic. Last week I went through the motions to try and get out of this mental pit. I went for a haircut, color, brow wax, facial and a manicure – pulling out all the stops to try and feel better, that usually works. It hasn’t worked. My house is cleaner than it’s ever been. I’ve cleaned out my closets, all of my laundry is done and folded and hung up and put away and this is something I’ve dreamed of for years. Normally the idea of this would have been euphoric. No go. I’ve thought that getting off my ass and getting things done would help. Not so much.
“When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul, your faith walks on broken glass and the hangover doesn’t pass…’
I just want to hide. I want to go back to work and hide in my work. I want to sleep, eat and breathe work so I can avoid having to think about the fact that I’m completely empty now. I’m just in a really bad place, and I know it.
I try not to be a whiner, I really do, but I recognize that right now I am – then I feel even worse because I’m annoying even myself. I’m being the type of person that I would normally want to punch in the face. I try to be strong and tough and snarky and funny but I’m out of steam. I’ve lost my funny. I’ve been able to hide for these seven weeks at home easily because nobody in my real life came looking for me but tomorrow morning I have to get back up and face the world again. My body is ready, my heart isn’t.
This is what crazy looks like. And no, I don’t want to talk about it… I’m hiding.
"Something inside this heart has died, you're in ruins."