Things fall apart. The centre cannot hold. That covers it pretty well.
I try to post about my brain hobby every now and then in the hope that it helps someone else. I don't do it for cathartic reasons. Talking about it doesn't help me. But it does help other people to speak openly about mental illness, and I think it helps combat the stigma attatched to mental illnesses, too. I don't give a fuck, because I live in a shed. A lot of people do, however, because they struggle with not only mental illness, but also with others perceptions of their mental illness.
Sometimes people say they wish they had my life. I sit in a shed, listen to music, write all day. Idylic, right?
Well, I don't watch TV because I hear voices and sometimes it's confusing. I nearly never leave the house because of anxiety and paranoia. I write all day because I'm intelligent and that intellect is sometimes an enemy which needs to be focused outside of myself.
I take care to even think nice thoughts just in case someone can read the bad ones. Keeps me nice, sure, but it's not the greatest, if I'm honest.
I was reaching what's called a crisis point, so I got my crisis pills. They're the ones I only take when it's all falling apart. I only take them then because they make me happy, and floaty, but also sleepy. If you're asleep all the time, you can't really function. I asked the doctor once how people with schizophrenia worse than mine cope - they don't, was his reply. It's largely an all or nothing deal. Schizoaffective is slightly lighter, I guess. Maybe. It's kind of a mix with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder, so there's a middle ground where I can function, on a limited basis. But to do that? I prioritise. My priority is my family, and then work. If I can manage those, then it's as good as it's going to get.
It's not a secret, and it's not 'brave' me telling you this stuff...it's not 'brave', because I'm putting nothing on the line by talking about it. But what is brave is those people who struggle daily to put food on the table when they want to curl into a ball. Those people who wear long sleeves and long dresses to hide the scars they cut and burn to feel something. Those people who get up and leave the house when they really want an errant bus to hit them so they might take a day or two off instead.
Anyone coping with mental illness - any illness, not just mental, because it's all the body really - is brave, and doing their best. It's not a free pass to be a dick, and you're an adult, right? So you still try. Sometimes you fail. Sometimes you succeed. You do your best, just like everyone else.
But if you're ill, if you're on the edge, or over it, or in the pit, or don't even know where you are...someone does love you. You are not alone. You might be able to carry on, to do better...you might not. But you're not alone.
xxx
Unless, of course, you want to be. Don't worry. There is literally zero chance of me knocking on your door unannounced. Or ever. Or calling. Or texting. Trust me, I will leave you alone, so you don't need to stress about me. ;)
Love you, and love you all. Be cool.
