fake it ’till you make it (or not)

I am awake during the operation of living – the anaesthetic didn’t work, but no one knows.

It’s not obvious enough for most people to recognize, so that instead of being perceived as a person with a mental illness who may require some additional patience, compassion and effort, we are “off” only enough so that we ourselves suffer more than anyone else around us.

People haven’t been aware of my suffering because i have simply disappeared and stayed hidden until i feel better.

I’ve managed to hold it all together when I don’t think I should have, over and over again.The part of me that is good at pretending I’ve got all my shit together is sometimes automatic and always so good its grandiose. It keeps getting me into trouble and making me alone.

So whatever happens from now on, I don’t have my shit together.

After a week in the psych ward last month, I am trying to let it all hang out, find a new way of being that is a little more honest, even if it is a little unorthodox and rough around the edges.

It felt terrible, but I just needed a half hour of peace and quiet with my coffee. I got grumpy, feeling useless and helpless and scared and kind of stormed upstairs. Yargh.


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