I have always found humour to be the only way that I am able to not only understand other people, but also to understand myself. However, from the disgusted tone of my mother’s voice last night. Telling her, jokingly that I no longer care about anything was a mistake. In fact, a direct quote from her would be “you’re being ridiculous. Don’t say that again.”
But I really don’t think I care about anything anymore. And I guess to the outside world that’s scary, it’s dehumanising. And whilst I may be ok with hearing it come out of my mouth. Others aren’t.
The issue is ever since about December I have just felt that every attempt I make to get better is futile and maybe that’s my fault. If I can’t be an advocate for my own mental health how can I expect someone else to be?
I have been taking my medication sporadically for three weeks now. And besides the withdrawal panic attacks, which are the terrible, and the seething uncontrollable anger. I don’t feel anymore numb or pointless then I did on my pills.
And I was fine in my world of denial. pretending I was better off without the medication that was clearly not helping me. Until I made the unconscious decision to blurt out that I was no longer taking my pills, automatically hurtling myself back to proverbial hell.
I don’t scare myself, I’m content in pretending that its ok. But I know deep down that what is happening to me isn’t ok, it isn’t healthy and most of all its not normal. and I keep making excuses for my behaviour, and whilst I know I can no longer let my illness be the scapegoat for the decisions I make. Unfortunately, I can’t stop because its the only thing I know how to do.