I’ve been tracking my thoughts lately. Each time I say or
think something negative, I move my bracelet from wrist to wrist. I am amazed
at how neutral and even positive I am. The gloomy girl I thought I was, laughs
and enjoys a lot. But when I finally do go down, it is not my thoughts but my
body that goes. My chest and throat feel constricted. Is the air getting more
dense? I need space.
I muster all my energy to join the bhajan blast but things go
downhill from there. Simple questions create fog and my eyes just want to cry. I
cry on my way home, at the lake, waking up, at meal times, during karma yoga, in
my room, throughout satsang. People come up to me to hug and support, and I
just cry some more. Negative judgements start flooding in as I keep on
breathing through urges of self harm and suicidal ideation. I am loved, I am
strong, I just have to wait this out. I wear my silence badge as a coat of
armor.
The little mouse didn’t have obvious signs of damage. I
don’t have obvious signs of damage. Physically there is nothing wrong with me,
but in my head of course there is. But aren’t neurotransmitters physical too?
Someone the other day was talking of bipolarity as “disease”, making large
gestures for the quotation marks. Later apologies were made. ‘I didn’t realise you
were next to me.’ At the time I said, ‘no offence taken’, and meant it. But it
lingered in my mind.
For here I am: able bodied, smart. I teach, I have a PhD. But
obviously I am not trying hard enough. Obviously I am willing myself down the
drain. And though I know that is not true I sometimes wish that mental illness
would be visible. So I could remind myself and others: I am doing the best I
can. I am just ill.
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