I sprained or twisted my ankle an hour ago. It is all swollen. It is no big deal yet immediately you can see the effect it had on my body. There is proof!
So different from the depression which isn’t even the right word for all the other stuff going on with my brain myself. Depression, what a stupid word.
The beauty and validation of an ugly, puffed up ankle. Even the pain it is causing feels good in a way, it is a pain understood, it is acknowledgment.
This week has been beyond awful in a year of worse and this ankle thing is the littlest deal in all of it, but it easier for people, myself included, to know what to do with, to accept, to say it deserves treatment.
My son brought me a stuffed animal and his monkey pillow. He wants to takes care of me, something I would never ask for, let him do with the brain stuff.
Something to think about.
What do I want him to know, and what is too much, what will help him understand and what is more than a child should bear?
Shocks to my brain gave me temporary relief and I am grateful and even though so many memories were taken from me, I don’t think that is what I’m pissed about. I think I am angry about what is left. ECT took wonderful memories and some bad memories too I’m sure, but it left the same shitty foundation.
Suicide’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem they say but who says this problem is temporary?
Cause honestly it feels that everything I’ve tried are temporary solutions to a permanent problem.
So I’m struggling, getting help that feels helpful, yet brings to the surface so much pain. I am here. I am staying. There are no quick fixes, easy solutions. I can’t write or talk this shit away, It has to be lived and deconstructed and I have to be alive for that. So I am.
Or as Garfield would say “Ugh, Mondays.”
