For most of my life I have felt lost.
Lately, I have felt broken.
Two weeks ago, I took a leap of faith – I let myself have some faith that I could be helped and made better; unbroken. I sought out the help of a therapist and psychiatrist to treat what they’ve determined I have: severe depression and anxiety.
It’s taken me a long time to let go of the idea that I need to just suck it up and deal with my problems. It took me a long time to realize that some of the thoughts I have rushing through my head are not normal, and that nearly all of the relationships I have with people are deeply flawed, and that a person just isn’t supposed to cry like I do, which is secretly, and every. damn. day.
For most of my adult life I have been living a complete and utter lie.
You see me smiling and you see me laughing. You see me taking part in social situations, joking, conversing, living my life. But that is not my life. That’s just the part I play on my own world’s stage.
It just got to the point lately that I haven’t been able to act anymore.
I realized that no one knows me, and I don’t know myself.
So we’re working on it.
I’ve joined the ranks of millions on Prozac. Although it was recommended that I participate in the Intensive Outpatient Treatment program at the local hospital, which would require my presence on the psych ward from 9-Noon weekly, we’ve settled for twice weekly therapy sessions and weekly drug monitoring until, as my therapists says “I feel the way I want to feel.”
I haven’t told anyone this yet. Not my family, not my friends. Maybe they will find out now. I frankly don’t want to talk about it yet, but I’m just so tired of the lying and pretending.
This is a public service announcement: If I don’t know who I am, you won’t know what to expect of me. I’m looking at that as a good thing.