Well-being check-in. in Like No One Is Reading

I have raging PMS and everything makes me cry. I have a bit of a sore throat, too, but no fever. Swollen glands, not sore on the inside, and no more than my usual (ex-cigarette-smoking, current-marijuana-smoking) cough. Hurts a little to swallow. Nothing else feels unusual, physically.

Mentally…

Yeah, PMS. Raging. So much PMS. It exacerbates everything else almost to the point of frenzy. I was already feeling a bit manic and then BAM! Have some emo, too! Manic crying over cute kittens and everything else under the sun. And now I wonder how much my hormones affect my bipolar disorder. I mean, sure, I could Google it. I’ll probably Google it.

It’s just such a fucking cycle and I’m so sick of it, honestly. Just so fucking sick of it. I just want to look forward to good things, happy things, productive things. I don’t want to feel paralyzed with mania and depression and anxiety and ADHD. I feel all tense, like I’m just waiting for something to happen, or like I’m just about to get out of my chair to do something that needs to be done. Except I feel like I don’t have any energy to do the things, any of the things. So, I sit. Paralyzed. Anxious. Mind racing. Muscles twitching. The thought of actually getting up and doing something, anything, is even more paralyzing.

I’m having a hard time not being terrified of the massive life changes that are swiftly approaching. I’m terrified of failure. I feel like I’m on a high wire and there is no safety net and the slightest breeze could tip me right over into the void.

I feel like this is the price I must pay for my independence. Because this is essentially what I’ve always wanted. No safety net. Dependent on no one but myself. Utterly and completely independent. My parents are dead and gone and most of the rest of my family might as well be. I’m alone but I’m not lonely. Just scared.

I have been applying for jobs and searching for apartments and contacting management companies and landlords and sending emails and making calls. All of the things I should be doing, right? I’m going through the motions, is all. I know what needs to be done and so I do it. That’s how it’s always been. However, I’m realizing now how incredibly detrimental this has been to my mental and emotional well-being. Turning yourself into a robot in able to pretend to be a functioning member of society isn’t healthy. And that’s what I’ve done my whole life.

And lately there have been so many things I’ve been capable of that I never imagined I’d be able to do. Like quitting smoking, as just one example. I’ve long held on to this idea that I’ve “always” done this or I’ve “never” done that. “I’ve never been able to quit smoking.” Yeah, until I did. So I’ve been trying to approach all of life this way. I’ve never moved to a big city by myself. Just because I’ve never done it doesn’t mean I can’t do it now. I’ve never made more than $14 an hour. Just because I have never been paid properly doesn’t mean I will never be paid properly.

Just because I have always turned myself into a robot to do the things that need doing doesn’t mean I always have to do that. Just because I’ve spent my entire life masking and hiding my true self from the world doesn’t mean I have to continue to do so. Just because I’ve always forced myself to be in situations and environments that are horrifically bad for my mental health doesn’t mean I have to keep doing that to myself.

I applied for SSDI today. Because I am disabled. My disabilities are largely mental and that doesn’t make them any less valid.

I require accommodations. None of the places I’ve worked have provided them and each gradually become more and more toxic and damaging to my mental health to the point that I quit or was fired because I had a meltdown due to lack of accommodations. I was told in my last job, by my head chef, that it’s all in my head and that I needed to “toughen up” if I wanted to be in this industry. I heard something similar in just about every kitchen I’ve ever worked in. I was told it was all in my head my entire life. Yes, thank you, that’s exactly right. The chemicals in my head don’t work the way the chemicals in your head do. Mental disability is only different from physical disability in the sense that you can’t always see it. It doesn’t require a wheelchair or seeing-eye dog. It doesn’t look like a missing limb or use sign language. It’s not always something you can see.

As a matter of fact, it’s not only something you can’t always see, but something I actively attempt to hide. Because stigma. Shame. I’m working on that. I know I don’t have anything to be ashamed of, but the feelings of shame still occur. Embarrassment. Why should I be embarrassed about medical conditions that I have literally no control over? Still feel embarrassment, though. For the longest time, I was hyper-aware of myself. The position of my limbs, my facial expression, my tone of voice, is my hair just right? Hands clenched so I don’t fidget, feet planted firmly on the floor, don’t bounce your leg, don’t bounce your leg. That got harder and harder to maintain the older I got. It has only been very recently that I recognize all of the things I’ve attempted to keep hidden for so long as what they really are: stimming. This is one of the reasons I value alone time so much, my privacy, the sanctity of my bedroom and the peace in solitude. I am only ever fully myself when I’m alone. And, even then, I often feel uncomfortable in my own skin and attempt to mask certain behaviors, but it’s a much more manageable feeling when I’m alone.

I think I’m learning (slowly, so slowly) that nothing is impossible and nothing is inevitable and also that I really, really don’t have anything to be ashamed of. I have been strong for so long and I’m tired. I shouldn’t have to feel embarrassed to say that I am disabled, that I have disorders that limit my ability to function in the world in the same ways that other people function in the world. I shouldn’t have to be ashamed when I say that I need help.

I almost started a fire last night. I put the kettle on to boil. It’s one of those old-fashioned whistling kinds, loud as fuck, because I’m mostly deaf. Except I didn’t hear it and I completely forgot about it, to the point that all the water boiled off, the kettle started to melt to the burner, and the smoke alarm started going off. I have no idea how much time passed. My sons were over at their dad’s, so I was alone in the apartment. And… it shook me, ya’ll. The knowledge that I cannot even boil water without being a danger to myself and others because I’m so distracted that I literally forget doing something immediately after doing it. It was not the first time this, or something similar, has happened. It was just the first time that it hit me like it did. I felt scared and confused and wanted to call out for someone but there was no one to call out for. I felt like a child who needed an adult except I’m the adult and… It was a frightening moment. It’s one thing to be a little weird and a little quirky and a little forgetful, haha, isn’t that funny and cute. It’s another thing to almost set your house on fire.

So, I applied for SSDI. I’ve been thinking about it a lot for several months now, as we get closer and closer to a more “normal” world. I’ve been masking it all, hiding all of my fear (my terror) at the idea of rejoining “normal” society through employment. I’m afraid of the meltdowns to come while chastising myself for assuming there will be meltdowns. Maybe there won’t be, right? The important question is, why should I put myself through the wringer to find out? Why should I risk it? Why should I do further damage to myself with unrealistic demands and expectations? Why should I continue the self-abuse that is masking? Why should I have to be afraid of seeking accommodations from an employer?

Maybe today was a high-emotion day and not the best possible day to make major decisions, but when it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time and I’m starting to feel more and more out of control on the inside, well…

It’s better to finally reach out for help when you’re at the edge of what feels like a dangerous precipice than to never reach out at all.