End of an era... Or a world...

Well, tomorrow the world ends.  That has never really been a problem for me.  I say, “Finally!  Bring it on!”  Because as I have discussed, suicide is not the answer for me, but I’ve always thought a timely, truly accidental death would suit me just fine.  It would get me out of here.  So if tomorrow is the end of the world, I’m ok with that.  But as I was thinking about that tonight, I realized that I’m also ok if tomorrow isn’t the end of the world.  And that is unusual thinking for me.  After the year (year and a few months, really)I’ve had –the year from hell-, my hope is finally starting to trail back in.  I’m more somber.  I might even go so far as to say I’m a little less fun.  But I’m a better me.  A more grounded, hopeful me.  A me who isn’t completely terrified of the future.  And so I say, “Bring it on, Mayans.  Either way is fine by me.”

Hiding

I've been thinking a lot about love lately.  The romantic kind.  I think it's something I want in my life.  But I'm terrified.  So I wrote a poem about it.  It's called "Hiding."

I'm hiding.
I've always been the best at hide and seek.
Always better at hiding than seeking.
I'm good at it.
But I think I want to be found now.
I think I'm done playing.
But I'm scared.
I might not know what to do with found.
I might even hide again.
Deep in here in my darkest corners.
Hiding where I shouldn't be.
Hiding when I shouldn't be.
Hiding in plain sight.
Staying hidden long after everyone gives up the seek.
Can you come find me?
Please?

We all deserve a medal.

I'm depressed and anxious this week, so I'm kind of phoning it in.

I've been reading a lot of Carrie Fisher lately.  She's insane.  And I love it.  Today I finished the book "Wishful Drinking" and found this gem at the end in the author's note:

 "One of the things that baffles me (and there are quite a few) is how there can be so much lingering stigma with regards to mental illness, specifically bipolar disorder. In my opinion, living with manic depression takes a tremendous amount of balls. Not unlike a tour of duty in Afghanistan (though the bombs and bullets, in this case, come from the inside). At times, being bipolar can be an all-consuming challenge, requiring a lot of stamina and even more courage, so if you're living with this illness and functioning at all, it's something to be proud of, not ashamed of. They should issue medals along with the steady stream of medications one has to ingest."

There.  There's your medal.  Wear it Proudly.

And so I posted that on facebook.  I hope mental illness doesn't start to dominate my li...  Hahahahahahahaha!  It's already taken over in here, I'm just letting it spill out now.  I wonder how many will unfriend me as I get more and more obnoxious...  Because of course that's where my brain goes.  I will lose all my friends and be alone.  Forever.  I'm breaking a little this week...

One of those days.

          Do you ever have one of those days where you've been doing so well for so long and then you crack a little and try to hold it in and keep pretending everything's Lifesavers and M&M's but the crack keeps getting bigger until you finally have to admit you're not invincible?  Me neither.

"Coming Out" with Mental Illness

                Yesterday I decided that it was time to put my money where my mouth was and tell people about my mental illness.  On facebook.  For the whole world to see.  This is what I wrote:

My Dear Friends,

There's something I'd like to tell you. It's been a little over a year since I checked myself into the local psych ward for a three day stay. Not a lot of you knew about that. I suffer from depression and anxiety and have since I was 12 or 13. It's a big part of my life and a big part of who I am and where I am today. And I've decided it's time to be frank about it. It's not a result of sin. It's not a result of lack of will power or laziness. I can't just snap out of it. It is a result of my brain chemistry, and I am no longer ashamed of my brain chemistry. I am not ashamed of my trials. If you think less of me now that you know this about me, that's your loss. But I want you to know about it so you can ask questions, so we can get rid of the stigma associated with mental illness, and so maybe I can even help some of you with similar struggles. Talk to me about it. Ask me questions. I've probably heard them before. This is me making lemonade with the most bitter lemon I've ever been handed. A wise woman once said, “If you can claim something, it has far less power over you.” Well I am claiming this. I am claiming my mental illness. I hope you understand.

With Love,

Ashleigh

And it’s absolutely true- “If you can claim something, it has far less power over you!”  I’m a little stunned by the outpouring of love and support.  At the last count, I had 59 “likes”, 28 comments, five private messages, and a text message.  People care.  And I’m so grateful I gave them the opportunity to do so.  And I’m going to keep owning depression!  You hear that, depression?!  YOU DON’T OWN ME!  I’M FREE!!!

Nerd Cred Challenged

*Tonight I'm working on another post in my random series about the light at the end and unicorns because I've been intensely depressed all day.  But it's not ready yet, so instead I'm posting a rant from a couple of weeks ago.

                Last night I took a big step.  I decided that it was time for me to start playing Magic the Gathering.  Just casually, mind you.  Just for fun.  I don’t intend to play competitively.  But I AM a nerd (nerd… geek… whatever), and it sounded like a fun game.  So a friend of mine came by and was teaching me how to play.  We were battling and dueling and…  See, I don’t even know the terminology yet.  But I was learning, and we were having fun.  And then my roommate and her friend came into the living room.  And they started laughing.  A mean laugh.  And so I said, “I think you guys should just leave.”  And they said, “Why?”  And I said, “Because you’re being judgy and mean.”  And then they tried to backpedal and pretend they were laughing at something else.  But there was something about the tone of their laughter that hurt. 

                I am not one to hold a grudge.  “Whatever” is kind of my motto in that department.  But today I am still hurt.  I am still angry.  Now you see, I am lucky.  As a nerd, I have never come up against that kind of judgment.  I’ve always loved Star Wars.  To a fairly ridiculous degree.  And nobody has ever given me crap about it.  I mean sure, there have been eye-rolls, but they have primarily been loving eye-rolls.  But now I’m starting to understand why nerds hide.  Why they don’t flaunt their passions.  Why they go to Comicon to spend time with like-minded people.  It’s because people are MEAN. 

                If I wanted to, I could blast that roommate.  Her interests boggle my mind.  Her friendships boggle my mind.  Her hobbies boggle my mind.  I don’t understand what makes her tick.  She’s fairly immature.  But that’s ok.  She is who she is, and it doesn’t bother me!  As long as she doesn’t try to force me to like the same things and do the same things, I couldn’t care less what her interests are.  And I think that’s how it should be.  And because she is immature, I will eventually let it roll off my back.  But for now, I am still hurt.

Owning My Depression like Carrie Fisher

                So, sometimes I get obsessed.  It’s a geek thing.  I go through phases.  This summer it was Stargate.  Earlier this school year, it was Farscape.  Now it’s Star Wars.  Now, at any given time, I still love all of these things.  It’s just that I can’t be actively obsessed with all of them at once.  So I have taken to pinning things on my Star Wars Pintrest Board and watching Carrie Fisher videos on YouTube.  Carrie Fisher was diagnosed as bipolar at the age of 24.  And that was back in the day when they couldn’t even really help you with crap like that.  But now, she owns it.  She talks about it openly.  And I think it will help people.  She says of her mental illness, “If you can claim something, it has far less power over you.”  Someday I hope I can own my mental illness like she owns hers.  She says, "If my life wasn't funny, it would just be true. And that's unacceptable."  And you know what?  I think I might be able to get to that point someday.  I might be able to look at it as funny.  A little.  Someday.  In closing, here’s an apt description of living with mental illness:  “Imagine having a mood system that functions essentially like weather- independently of whatever’s going on in your life. So the facts of your life remain the same, just the emotional fiction that you’re responding to differs.”  My emotional fiction is depressed tonight.  But the fact that I have a great life will remain the same.

Depressed? Inevitably.

Inevitability from: Inevitable-  unable to be avoided, evaded, or escaped; certain; necessary: an inevitable conclusion.

That’s how depression is.  It doesn’t go away.  You don’t “get better.”  You don’t “get over it.”  At least not if you’re me.  So when I feel good for a while- when I’m not continually weighed down by depression- it feels completely normal to return to this state- to depression.  Luckily lately it only lasts for a few hours at a time.  But man, it hurts.  It’s a painful place to be.  It is all I can do to drag myself across campus to my next class.  And then, *poof* it’s gone again.  But it inevitably comes back.