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Aren’t we all one break away from getting better or worse?

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What to do when all you want to do is forget. To take a break. You take a break. That’s what you do. You take a break. I haven’t written a post in awhile. I’ve been taking a break from. Everything. I’ve faced again the fun part of being mentally ill – you don’t know when it’ll hit you or how, but it might, it might hit you. It hit me. It. Hit. Me. 

I thought I was doing fine. I was not. I was drinking more and more, excluding my friends more and more, crying. More. And More. I was hoping I was on my journey of becoming better, healthier. And I still am, I hope. But for the moment I was not. I checked into a mental hospital, spent a few days there. I hated it. I hated being in a place where I had to admit I can’t cope. Hated being “lowered” to the ranks of people who need help with their lives. Where they need nurses and doctors to bring them meds throughout the day and have chats about “how to cope with reality”. I hated it. But I needed it. I was not dealing with reality. I was indeed one of those people. I am one of those people. I was crying hysterically for about an hour or two a day. And if you’re into stats, go through the DSM-V manual. Won that bingo. Easily. While you’re at it. Googling. Google “smiling depression” or “high functioning depression”. Got all that nailed down.

I was lying to others and myself. And I hate lying. But I’m really good at it. I try to pride myself in speaking the truth. I will voice my opinion. I will stand for what’s right. I don’t bow down to anyone. I’m proud of telling my truth. I will protect whoever needs protecting. I will fight for them. I will be true. Except for one thing. When people ask me “How are you?”. I will lie. 99% of the time I will lie. I will say “I’m fine” or “Doing great” or “Not too bad” or “Kind of ok for a Monday” or “Happy it’s Friday”. I say I’m fine so people won’t ask follow up questions. I say I’m fine. I lie.

I was “fine” – all the “fine”. I needed a break. A reset. A time in a place where things don’t move a hundred miles an hour in my head. A place in a time where I don’t have to pretend. I place where the rest of the world doesn’t exist. A place where I can make a decision. A place where you’re shown options for next steps. A place where you, and you alone, can and need to choose your path; better or worse, start or end, heal or consume, fight or flight. You choose.

I fight. I choose to fight. I am mentally ill. I am not well. But I am functioning. I am now getting help. I am fighting. I will have my stops, my breaks. I will allow myself the breaks; of drinking and/or crying. I will take my breaks to fall down and gather up. I will take my breaks to gain strength to keep fighting. I will take my breaks to choose. I will be better, I will keep fighting.

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