Never the Twain Shall Meet...Uh...Not!

I think some people would think that I should leave my mental illnesses out of the blogosphere, and my Facebook because it could hurt my credibility as an author. To those people, I say, nope. I am who I am, I've struggled with these challenges all of my life, they have, for better or worse, shaped me as an individual, so I will freely talk about them. Like it or lump it.

I am a firm believer that for those of us with mental illness, if we don't talk about it, we are helping to keep the stigma alive. Yes, I have profound depression, OCD, anxiety, social phobia, agoraphobia, and I suffer from horrible panic attacks. I am seeing a therapist, and am on medications. These illnesses were something I have suffered with since childhood, so it will take a long time to take care of these issues. It may take years.

I also believe that Heavenly Father gives those of us with these types of challenges creative outlets. I love to write, it is a way to be creative and it's loads of fun for me. Others sculpt, paint, dance, draw, sing, play an instrument, cook, bake, are crafters, and the list goes on and on. Every single person in this world is endowed with talents and gifts, but I think Father knew that we needed to be able to get out of our own heads for a while, and gave us personal ways to do just that. For this I will be forever grateful.

You Don't Know Me

There are many people that think they have me all figured out, but you don't know me. Not the real me. Some people think that they understand everything about me, but you don't and you probably won't even care to try. Some people would group me with the misfits, the losers, the pathetic, the maladjusted, the attention starved. You have no idea what I am. Just like I may want to to call you an ignorant bastard for thinking those things about me, but I shouldn't because I don't know you.

You don't know that I can hardly get out of bed sometimes. You don't know that pajamas are my usual clothing choice because I can't think of a damn good reason to get dressed. You don't know that while you are laughing and having a great time being out, it's all I can do to hold myself together. You don't know the friendships I have lost because I am so anxious around other people I want to scream. You don't know how lonely I am. You don't know that my only comfort is my husband. You don't know that I can't feel comfortable anywhere but my home. You don't know that I am so afraid of the outside world, that I have built a cocoon around myself. You don't know that I have to change my clothes when I come home because I am so afraid of germs. You don't know the multitude of silent prayers I say to make it through each time I have to go out. You don't know how hard it is for me to open the mail because I am afraid of germs. You don't know how I can't even read library books comfortably because other people have touched them. You don't know how mentally and emotionally and physically tired I get. You don't know how humiliating it is to not be believed that I feel as badly as I do. You don't know how hard it is not to be able to eat without inspecting my food. You don't know how hard it is for me to talk to people, or to even to be around other people. You don't know how hard it is to want to be invisible when you are out. The list goes on and on. You may think you know me, but you don't.

My diagnosis is Depression, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Anxiety, and Panic Attacks. You don't know how hard it is to live a life like that. If I don't meet up to your expectations, or if you feel somewhat superior to me because you have managed to deal with a mild form of one of these illnesses well yippee for you. As I said you don't know me or what it's like to be in my head.

I need to heal, I need to understand what a kind and loving friend said to me, that this is an illness. I am sick. It may not be with cancer, diabetes, or even a cold, but it sure as hell makes you feel exhausted, consumed, and drained.

You Really Don't Know Me.