My body is betraying me and I feel helpless. I am exhausted. My body hurts. I am physically uncomfortable. My brain feels to big for my head; like it will ooze out from my ears. I don’t usually feel like that and it worries me.
My mental health status has never been a secret. I struggle from chronic depression and anxiety on a moderate to severe level. I don’t think I will ever “heal” from it and testimonies from celebrities who “overcame” their mental illnesses deeply aggravates me. It invalidates my reality. It erases my experience. One that doesn’t have a happy ending. At best, a good enough for now; and I am okay with it. I have an chronic illness that requires treatments and management. It is also invisible. Some days are harder than others, but I know I am not alone with these illnesses.
Until recently, my mental illness stayed in my head, with typical physical symptoms of tiredness and medications side effects.
Lately, my body feels uncomfortable. No amount of sleep will find me rested. I keep waking up from nightmares, a bit lessen by a lot of nighttime medication. I spend most of my spare time sleeping. My body hurts, most likely from oversleeping. I feel hot; cold; groggy. I feel my body has left me down.
Canadian winters are extremely hard on mind and body. Harsher on sensitive people. I also have to remind myself that the past two months have been extremely challenging and stressful; between upcoming emergency relocating from water damages, relationships problems and obsessive thinking.
Perhaps I just need to give myself some time. But I don’t feel I have time to spare anymore. For the first time; I realize how physically challenging mental illnesses can be, having been mostly spare this far. I have never felt this uncomfortable, restless while lethargic at the same time.
I want to write, and see a lot of prolific writers around me, struggling with mental illnesses and I feel like I failed. Why can they do it and not me? Perhaps I am not trying hard enough. Perhaps I let my fears overwhelm me.
But this thick brain fog is leaving me walking in the dark. Struggling to find the words, the ideas, the outlines. Between working and daily life; I am an empty cup. I have nothing else to spill on the hungry paper.
I am lucky to be surrounded with kind, understanding people, who tell me to take care of myself, that it is okay, to take some time. But I feel I stuck at the same place for so long, it makes me sad. I feel so lonely.
I wish I could finish on a positive note but I’m not sure I will ever be a writer. I am uncertain this brain fog and fatigue will ever leave. As a social worker, it is easier to give those advices to others than to ourselves. But today, I don’t want people trying to find solutions, I just want to be heard.