I’ve been a bit stressed out recently. No, at the moment, I don’t feel like saying why. Mostly because if I did, it would reopen a HUGE can of nonsense I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with right now. The main point is because of it, I had a “mood crash” recently. Normally, this would entail crying my guts out, possibly for hours, and likely being so paralyzed (possibly for days) with stress, fear and anxiety I could barely function. Or being sucked into a pit of despair where I just feel numb. Whichever it was, I’d have fantasies–strong and very persistent ones–of taking my own life.
I did have a suicide fantasy, but it was extremely fleeting. A “dust in the wind” sort of thing that might’ve come as an old habit. Also, I’ve yet to feel the overwhelming hopelessness and terror I’ve come to expect. I’ve been waiting patiently for it to happen, but… though I have had a bit of a low mood, I haven’t reached despair. And eventually, I felt okay. Moreover, it wasn’t the usual “HAPPYHAPPYHAPPY! HA HA, I’M FINE! REALLY!” thing I tend to do when I’m trying to convince myself and everyone else I’m happy. I simply feel okay, like I can deal with this, albeit still a bit panicky since I don’t know what’s going to happen.
I also feel out of my depth.
I don’t know who this person is who doesn’t have those awful feelings. I don’t know who this person is who doesn’t have that pain and really DOES seem to bounce back. I don’t know how she conducts herself or how she should react when the old familiar ways (self-defeating and destructive, yet reliable and safe because they were so familiar) no longer feel quite right.
Is this person still painfully shy? Or is it just deep-seeded habit?
Does this person maybe know how to function in the real world?
Is she capable of things that just look too scary? Things that look so scary that I’m scared “she” might succeed and drag “me” along with her, but it becomes too much to handle?
What if in spite of everything, it’s just too little, too late?
Really, all I’ve known is the depressed version of me. It–my depression–was protection in a way because in the fog of it, I never had to think too much about the world beyond it; in that state, I really wasn’t capable of such.
My world consisted of me and my cat. It was small and safe. It wasn’t exactly a happy world, but at least I knew how it worked.
I know how strange it sounds to freak out over a mental state I’m guessing most people call “normal.” Or to mourn a part of yourself that’s caused you so much grief. But when “normal” is a thing you’ve likely never known (or if you did, it was so long ago that you’ve since forgotten), it’s a massive adjustment.
I’m sure I’ll be fine eventually. For now, though, I’m trying to figure out who I am all over again.