Some of you long-term followers and readers may remember that I made an announcement in April about something I’ve been struggling with personally for a long time. It was a freeing experience to talk it, and while some may think it’s not something appropriate for a public forum, I received nothing but support. If you’re new and wondering what I’m talking about, I’m speaking of my post for Crime Victims’ Rights Awareness Week.
It’s something I still struggle with on a regular basis, but it’s certainly not the only thing I struggle with. Last year, when I first started going to my psychologist–for what I thought were some pretty minor issues–I was diagnosed with severe depression and severe anxiety disorder and given a preliminary diagnosis of PTSD. That’s a lot of news for what was supposed to be a simple chat. I could have denied it all, called the psychologist a fraud who was only after my money or reaching for an extreme diagnosis, but since I barely paid more than $10 a session and had no insurance, I doubt it was really a financial interest to create a long time patient out of me. Plus, for the first time a lot of things I’d been experiences began to make sense–in a pretty f*#@ed up way, but still . . .
I’ve suffered with many of the symptoms most of my life, and depression is pretty common in my family. I used to cut myself, and sometimes still feel the need. Luckily, I haven’t done it in more than 7 years, but I can still become destructive.
Why do I admit all of this? Are they things that should be kept personal? Locked away in a closet somewhere to keep them from prying or judging eyes?
Maybe, but what does that help? Who feels better knowing that they have something to hide? A blemish they’d rather the world never see. . .
I’m talking about it now, because I’m having a relapse. Writing and blogging are what I do, and what I love. It’s my outlet and while sometimes the work certainly gets overwhelming, I can handle that. Second we have school–studying Library and Information Sciences because what can I really do with a MA in History besides get a PhD? Well, the program makes me feel like a freshman–it’s “busy work” and it makes me a little crazy. I’m beginning to rethink that whole venture. And, then there’s my day job, which lately has been my day, night, and weekend job. I love what we do, but it’s what’s putting me over the edge.
One major rule for someone with sustainability to a chemical imbalance in the brain-stay on a regular sleep schedule–hard to do when I’m in a different time zone, working 10+ hours a day for a 3 day retreat. And, this is the kind of thing my job will require on a regular basis. So, what’s there to do? I haven’t figured out the answers, nor am I sure that I will. I do feel like I’m being a whiny child–there are others also running this retreat and they’re not falling apart. But, I am. I’m falling apart in more ways than I can describe to someone who has never experienced it.
So, sometimes I feel like I should come with a disclaimer–WARNING: This person could fall apart at the drop of a hat!
What am I supposed to do? When am I supposed to disclose my condition? Is it a condition I should be ashamed of? Because, honestly I am, and yet I’m disclosing it to the world–or nearly. Because, I doubt I’m alone. I doubt I’m the only one who has experienced it. And, because hiding it is more than I have the energy for right now.