So...for quite a while I've had this nagging suspicion that people don't believe that I'm as unwell as I am. My therapist told me that I have an uncanny ability to disassociate. In order to function, I completely cut myself from my pain. So much so that I had a really horrible anxiety attack last week and I completely blocked it from my memory. I'll talk about it in a different post.
When I'm in social settings, you wouldn't know that anything was wrong. The only thing that indicates that something is amiss is the fact that I drink too much, but it's never embarrassing. The only one who sees the effects of that is me. I enjoy the fact that for a few hours I can pretend that I'm okay...that I'm happy. But when I do talk to people about my darkness, I fear that no one believes me.
However, now I'm thinking that I'm just projecting my own skepticism on to others. I was talking to my stepmom about me suffering from post traumatic stress disorder and I found myself laughing it off even though it makes a lot of sense to me.
Part of me feels like if I just tried harder, I would be okay. That going on disability is lazy. If I can be okay to hang with friends, then I should be okay doing everything else. I'm not going through the symptoms of depression I'm accustomed to, so I figure what I'm going through isn't that deep.
But today on the subway, I was reading through my paper journal and I found all these entries about me feeling like I'm losing control. For weeks before the medication, before the therapy, before work became daunting, I felt like I was losing my mind.
I don't know quite what to do with all this. I have to learn how to cut myself a little slack, to be caring to myself. This skepticism is only anger toward myself. If I don't let go and be patient with myself, I may never heal.