I had a moment about a month ago. I lost myself, fell deep into my head and started drowning for a moment. And yet once again I did what I needed to do. I called the doctor, I moved therapy to weekly, I combated the bullshit my brain was telling me. By now it is muscle memory to fight this illness. It is almost mundane to fight back against thoughts of suicide and self harm. “It’s ok, it’s just a symptom. You’re just really stressed. Your brain is lying to you and that’s ok, just don’t believe it.”
Play that on repeat for hours and I find myself in a better spot. It will pass. And it always does. Even when the med changes make me feel as though I drank a glass of wine too quickly. Drowsy and fuzzy headed but at the same time my thinking is clouded by a haze of abilify and not the haze of depression. Sometimes I question which is worse.
I would rather be fuzzy.
Because fuzzy passes as your body adjusts to a new dosage of the same med. Because fuzzy is safer than dead. Because even though fuzzy makes your wife think you’re mad at her because you’re not doing. . . anything when asked. Fuzzy is alive and damnit I want to be alive. My will to survive is fucking strong and I will keep fighting and keep working every minute of every day. I will not let this illness define or control me. I will keep going. Even when it feels like the world is crashing around me. Even when I feel like a shitty parent or a shitty partner. Even when my mind is going in circles telling me what a lousy piece of shit I am.
Because the fact of the matter is the shocking fact that I am, in fact, still alive. Because I keep dodging the bullet that is myself and now here I am. I never thought I would live to see the ripe old age of 32 and yet I find myself facing the future I doubted and I am diving in full force. I have a story to tell and I’m going to tell it. I will not be silenced. I am not a suicidal 19 year old kid anymore.
I am powerful beyond my own imagination.
And so are you.