As a way of trying to reason with myself, I decided to utilize writing as my tool of courage to say what is really on my mind. You see, as of late, I have been feeling really down and out. I should probably seek help but by doing so it will make me feel weak, or worst feel like a crybaby crying over spilled milk. For some reason, it’s not easy for me to sit down and talk to someone, a family member, a friend or even a psychiatrist. My problem with talking about what ails me to someone comes from the fear that I will be looked at differently. For everyone seems to think that I am a very strong individual, and yes I am, however, that does not mean I am made of steel.
Another reason why I don’t confide my feelings to anyone is because I don’t want to burden anyone with my problems, for I know that everyone has problems of their own and they really don’t need to hear about mine. I know what you’re thinking, “Then why not talk to a psychiatrist?” Well, I’ve tried that before and in my experience, it was a waste of time. You see, each and each time , I find the courage to go to a psychiatrist, he or she either leaves to work somewhere else or they expect me to be brave or even trusting enough to spill what’s on my mind without proper coaching. You see, I am not very forthcoming when it comes to talking about myself. I once had a psychiatrist, who kept looking at her watch, like she had someplace better to be or maybe what we were discussing was not interesting enough for her.
Family? Well, when it comes to family members, I am the oldest so, in my mind, I am the one whom they are supposed to come to for guidance., not the other way around How would it look if their eldest sister leaned on her younger siblings for help or advice?
Quite honestly, I’ve never been the type of individual who dwelled on things, good or bad. It is in my opinion, that things have a way of working themselves out. And so I keep a stiff upper lip, grin and bear it all. I strongly believe that “What does not kill you makes you stronger,” hence my reason for not belly aching. Besides that, I feel that although my situation may be bad, that there is someone in the world whose situation is even worst.
Most of the time I reason with myself thinking, “Girl, you know you have been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, perhaps you’re overreacting just a tad bit.” Which causes me to re-examine my situation, my anger or sadness and say, “Drop a nickel in the bucket and say Fuck it!” Well, as you can imagine that damn bucket is almost full and it’s time I invest in a new one, or maybe I should get a case of empty jars, in which to scream into when things become a little too hectic and I want to tear a patch of my skin off and sit quietly while I examine it, or when I feel so very low, that I wished a lived near a highway where I could just walk into busy traffic and end it all.
The funny thing about it all is that it is a normal feeling, it is a feeling I’ve had all my life and I’ve always been able to settle down control that feeling of self-destruction by way of utilization of devices or shall I say, “distractions.” But now that I’m older and those old devices that I used at one time to deal or numb the pain, just do not do it anymore nor are they part of my life.
Even as I am writing to you now I feel myself already stalling and not coming clean with what really bothers me. I suppose I will find the courage to do so in my next installment