I called in ‘sick’ to work and wondered, is this my life?
I stepped up to the pharmacy window. I’d gotten a message my medication was ready. I was irrationally angry and annoyed and furious because I’d left the house later than I planned. I silently fumed waiting for my prescription, the woman helping me doing everything right and being quick about it. I tried to smile as I left the counter. Is this my life?
I sat in the doctors office, tears calmly rolling down my face, and I answered all the questions she asked. My answers revealed the medication they had me on didn’t seem to be working. He told me we would find something. Is this my life?
Trying to wash the dishes, I worked to get enough out of the sink to actually accomplish the task. I ended up in a ball on the floor, hyperventilating. Is this my life?
I stepped out of my office to use the restroom. Shutting the door behind me, I was bombarded with negative thoughts, telling me everything would be better if I didn’t exist. And that I should make that happen. I washed my hands and went to my next meeting. Is this my life?
I laid in bed, trying to sleep. It was three in the morning and everyone I knew was sleeping. I needed to be in the presence of another person. My bed was uncomfortable. I thought about going to an all night clinic to just sit with someone else around. I thought about calling an anxiety hotline. Do they have those? Is this my life?
Sitting in front of my therapist, she shook her head. She told me, of all the people she’s seen, I have the most irrational guilt. The biggest guilt complex. She told me she didn’t want to force me to come every week, but I needed to. I still don’t think I fully understand or can grasp the severity of my depression and anxiety. Is this my life?
I texted a friend, who happens to be my boss, as I sobbed uncontrollably. It was a little after 10pm. I asked if she was still awake. The next morning when we saw each other, she asked if I was okay. I said, “It was nothing. I figured it out.” Is this my life?
My chest was tight and my shoulders were aching as I hunched over my to-do list. It was long and nothing on it was particularly hard. I buried my face in my hands and said, “It’s too much.” Is this my life?
It was 2pm and I realized I’d only drank about a half cup of water and hadn’t eaten anything yet. I leaned my head back against the wall and sighed. Is this my life?
It’s hard for me to believe this is the life I’m living. Knowing all I’m capable of and not being able to do almost anything. Every task, life itself, feels debilitating. It’s so tiring.
I’m told there’s another side. The people around me have hope. But, as I sit in the passengers seat of my friend’s truck, watching the scenery pass by, I see someone leaving a grocery store. I watch at them, walking to their car, and I wonder, “But isn’t everyone sad all of the time? Isn’t this normal? Doesn’t everyone carry this?” I don’t say any of that out loud. Logically, I know the answer. But I can’t wrap my mind around it.