It isn’t the fear of Death that disables me, its the fear of life. Its the pressing fear to not become the person that harbors within me. I know that drinking only encourages me to act reckless as I have created my biggest regrets when I have been intoxicated but in some twisted way I feel that alcohol makes me better. It lifts my spirits and provides that mania I seek so much. It makes me fun doesn’t it? Im amazing and the euphoria prepares me for the day. All the triggers that I know I shouldn’t indulge in, I crave most when depression or normalcy sets in. I’m not fast enough, I’m not good enough and I’m certainly not working at my fullest potential. With a cursory glance I am obviously doing marvelous at work and at home. The perfect home maker and Accountant that ever lived. How could anyone possibly go on without me. I cant possibly slow down now. The stares and observations are replaced with a job well done and the satisfaction of knowing that I can do it all. The financial controller of a government company filled with the responsibilities of everyones lively hood and future tangled into my mind is stress that I can handle. Not to be given to the weak or average person but to me and me alone.
So the reports are created and numbers configured, the procurement is organized and set. The Managers are filled with the all the reports and numbers that are needed in order to function. I have sent the W4s to the employees and managed the hours, confirmed the benefits and have taken on more then I could have ever imagined. My boss looks at me and says “I’m here” “ I feel you have taken on too much” and to her I say “nonsense!” I have never felt better and how can I have possibly taken on too much when all my work has been perfect and beyond comendable. Im dreaming and scheming, preparing for the next responsibility or endeavor that I can handle. Why can’t I do more? Sleep is for the weak, I can sleep when I’m dead! I have the budgets accurately sent out to the accountants, I take over the procurement process and meet and schmoes the clients, work and communicate with all the vendors. I take on bids and proposals preparing the rates and control the hiring and managing of all employees. To some extent I even push myself onto others lack of motivation and take on tasks that belong to others as it’s obvious that I could do a way better job.
On the other end, I take my pills without a thought and think of new things that I could do as I am capable and more then willing to improve my way of life. When will enough be enough? Never …not now not ever, I can publish articles on Bipolar Disorder, I can write my first book and become a New York Times best seller by far. Not to mention the book keeping and webinar business that I will build from scratch and the business tax consulting firm that has been deemed mine from the start. I will do all of those things and be the best mother I can possibly be, I will keep track of my sons diabetic numbers, prepare his meals for the day, set up meals for the week and try something new from pinterest each week, a regular old betty crocker! And why not? Why cant I be amazing in my career with a multitude of incomes and jobs coming in and love and meals going out. The energy that surges through me is unstoppable.
Then it happens, I’m disabled and impaired, unable to do the smallest task. Frightened by it all, I hide in the nearest bathroom, under the covers or in the closest room. To not be seen is a relief since the overwhelming need to disappear has made me unbearable to myself. They are all looking at you, your weird, your unloveable, why are you even here. The words are so clearly spoken within your mind and the devil holds your mind and heart in its grasp as you beg for freedom. The realization that I have lost my mind scares the hell out of me but the awareness that no one can know is apparent. I hold onto to small moments and things that don’t scare me yet amuse and the ambivalent feeling that hold and contradict my every thought. I don’t say to my spouse that I’m scared but I know he knows. The steps around me are more observed, the looks are less harsher and the concern is apparent. The need to satisfy me upsets me and irritates me beyond belief since it only reconfirms my burdensome presence but I need it all just the same. Im irate some nights and I hold myself accountable for every fault that I know is mine even if it isn’t. I whip around and feverishly create lists of things that are needed to be done. They need to be done now and I know I will forget. I need to compulsively write them with my favorite pen on the perfect piece of paper and the handwriting needs to be just right. If all those requirements do not line up, the paper is tossed and rewritten no matter the cost in order to get the right list just the way I imagined. The obsession to control every moment in my life and the lives of everyone I love. I stagger to the couch ,the guest room, to the car, I march in anger and resilience. I am right and how could I be wrong. Everyone else is wrong, I am perfectly alright and should anyone ask if I’m ok or have I taken my pills I will spew all the hatred and anger that I can muster up. Of course I’m fine, I am not my illness. I am just overwhelmed, you all expect too much. No one appreciates all that I have done and be damned if you didn’t ask. Appreciate that you didn’t have to ask. It was openly given with love and now I’am filled with resentment, knowing deep down that I am slowly going mad and cannot pull on the breaks to stop this train of destruction. Praying somewhere deep within the madness for anyone to stop me.
I hold on for dear life as the life is sucked out of me and I beg in a smaller meaningless prayer to be saved. I pray for normalcy to return but instead I am faced with fear. I awaken to uncertainty and regret. I feel less then a person and the depression scorches my skin with emptiness and all the love and reassurance cannot lift the blanket that has been placed upon me. Im scared of the house, of my family, of my job. I look for ways to stay home, I allow the deadlines and work to pile. I create the stories that will bid me more time while crying in the bathroom knowing that today will be the day I lose it all. The reassurance that no one will be firing me and all is well isn’t enough to set aside the thoughts I have committed to. I hide from the windows and dread the things that I know must be done. Feed the kids, clean the dishes, wash the clothes. None of it gets done of course, instead I will get a bottle and drink and hide, some days I will eat everything and some days I will eat nothing. This aggressive go getter suddenly becomes the most frightened mouse and hidden behind the blinds chooses seclusion over anything else. Suddenly the bleak out look of life is a permanent fixture in your mind and the alternatives are even more bleak. The pulsating urge that you dare not share isn’t even evident to you.
The only thing thats apparent is the struggle and fear of life, my life to be exact.