Bitter Pill

  I was so desperate when autumn rolled in; it felt like my body was being filled with lead. I couldn't get up, I couldn't do anything. I really mean it when I say the fatigue was so debilitating that walking into the next room was like trudging through quicksand. The thought of getting up was an unfeasable task. I also started having anxiety again, waking up breathless and feeling like my heart could explode. I remember there was a period when I completely forgot what that felt like.

  When things failed to get better, I had to make an appointment. I was avoiding a visit and crossing my fingers that I'd somehow never run out of prescription refills. I've been reintroduced to antipsychotics. I used to loath the cocktail that I'm currently on when it was first attempted years ago. I despised it so much that I stopped taking medication entirely, resulting in my swift downfall. Nobody likes you off meds, trust what I'm telling you. No matter how high your confidence inflates, I can assure you that all your worst qualities will inflate too. 

  I do wish sometimes that I could really stop. I like to envision myself improving my mental wellness with the things everyone without a degree told me to do: go into nature, journal your feelings, repeat affirmations throughout the day, call a friend ... You know, the most innovative and groundbreaking suggestions. Cut to me dropping to my knees and exclaiming, "Is that all it took this whole time!?"

Unraveling

  "How many days this week were you unable to sleep or stay asleep? Most days, sometimes, or not at all?"

  Three years ago, I was in another city for work and it was my day off. I was pretty restless that day, buzzing around my hotel room and fighting the impulse to drive to the island that was an hour away. I couldn't tell you what I was thinking then, or at any point during that time of my life really. Sometimes it feels like I'm telling a story about someone else. I ended up leaving, and when I finally made it to the beach it felt like I stumbled into somewhere I wasn't meant to be -- like when you show up too early for a wedding and walk into a stranger's funeral. I turned towards the person behind me,"Can you take my picture?"

  "Four, maybe five days."

  I thanked my impromptu photographer and left. I was there no longer than 5-10 minutes before taking the hour journey back to the hotel, with that icky jittery electric feeling shooting throughout my body.

  "So most days?"

  I used to think that feeling meant I was doing good, like when I was working excessively. But I also felt that way when I spent hundreds of dollars on things I didn't need. When I called every one of my unsuspecting contacts 3AM, talking so rapidly and for so long. When I'd pace through the card section of a store in the middle of the night, imagining what it would feel like to receive one; Happy Birthday Granddaughter, It's Your 25th Anniversary!, Have a Spooky Halloween, Welcome Back! We Missed You, Congratulations On the New Home. I have so many blank cards stored in my closet. When I thought about driving into that passing train. And many, many other things that I still feel too ashamed to talk about. 

  Needless to say I was in fact not doing good.

Circular Insanity

  Coming to terms ...

  I'm coming to terms ...

  Right?

  There was a time I danced along the border between the world of the living and the land of the dead, when I discovered myself to be more than human. Now I am gripping my newfound flesh and ... coming to terms? Perhaps saying something enough times could force it to be true.

  If I get far enough, will the past recede so distant from my view that it will be like it never happened at all? As though I came alive only recently? How far can I go before it circles back around?

  If I peer over the barricade I can see that version of myself -- who was "more than human" -- blistering in the heat of the fire she caused, cauterizing anyone who came near. She thinks she made it, mistaking the glow of the flames for a light at the end of the tunnel. I can see her unbothered by the ignited stage curtains that face an empty audience. More than human? More like a gilded degenerate ...