I’ve Been Here Before
By A.J. Johnson
The desire to be understood; the angst
when you’re not
I'm sitting at my
desk, bawling my eyes out over everything and anything going on in my
life. I'm hyperventilating at all of the possible outcomes of my
situation, thinking the worst. My mind is racing from here to there
to everywhere and back again, trying to figure things out, and it's
not getting anywhere. I've been here before.
I’d like to
think I’m different. Certainly, many people I meet think I’m
unique, or even special. They can’t quite put a finger on it. But I
can. And so can many others around the world who live with the same
issues I live with. People treat us differently, sometimes with
empathy. Most of the time, it’s with contempt, hostility, anger and
fear. They don’t understand what it’s like to live with a mental
illness, and they probably never will. It’s difficult to get people
to understand something you can barely understand or control
yourself. I’ve been here before.
I ache all over
from the sheer loneliness I feel, even after I've reached out to
friends and family, telling them I need to talk, and no one responds.
I'm usually so open and verbal about myself, that when I need a
lifeline from time to time to talk privately about things, and no one
responds, I feel like a shit heel because I'm bugging people too
much. And no one wants to hear about my problems anymore. There's
always something wrong with A.J. I've been here before.
I'm bargaining
and arguing with my loved ones, bawling, weeping, sniffling, begging
and pleading with them to just listen to me. They tell me to "get
over it," "quit the crying," and to "go get a
job." When I tell them I can't because my doctors highly
recommend that I don't and I actually agree with the decision. It
isn't because I want to be lazy, it's because I don't want to go to
jail for killing someone. I don't want to end up on the news as my
kid finds me after school one day once I’ve taken a handful of
pills. They end the conversation because they don't want to hear what
I have to say, because they’ve heard it before and they’ve got
their own ideas about my situation. I've been here before.
I struggle with
my daily grind, trying to put my best foot forward. But it's
difficult at best, excruciatingly painful at the worst. I try to do
things that will help me feel better about myself so I can change my
mental state and attitude. Sometimes it works. For the times it
doesn't work, I'm left feeling flat, hollow and cold. I've been here
before.
I try to do other
things to make myself feel better. Safe things. Things that I don't
have to pay money for, things I can do at home, because heaven forbid
I do something like get out of the house. That would be expensive and
I can't afford it right now. I've been there before too.
Point is: I've
been here before. I keep coming back and I don't like it here.
But it's one place I know better than I know anything else. It's not
a happy or fun or sunny place. But it's more familiar to me than
the lines on my own face. I want to change it in the most desperate
ways possible and most of the ways I can think of are morbid, sad and
heartbreaking.
It makes me seem
selfish, inconsiderate, conceited even. But I'm not. I honestly
wonder whether or not my life in any way possible means anything to
anyone other than my immediate family. Why should I care? Because I'm
one of those types
of people; I care about others and I do care what others think of me,
to a point. I think about those people whose lives I've touched, if
at all, when I try to bring myself out of these doldrums. It brings
me to a place where I think I can handle this mess of mental illness
swirling through my brain. It helps me calm myself and think that I
can move forward, even though I know, deep down inside, I'm really
not.
I've been here
before.
No comments:
Post a Comment