I can’t breathe today.
For no reason other than my lungs seem to be hitting my ribs harder than normal, bruising them with every breath. And I can’t get the putrid nausea out of my mouth, burning my throat with every swallow. Depression is a real bastard. You start to see some light through the blackness and then suddenly from nowhere as you start to feel like you’ve got the hang of putting one foot in front of the other, depression sticks its foot out and trips you up, winding you on impact.
On the surface you’ll see my face perfectly poised and make up on point, my purple hue hair twisted and flicked with my clothing showing someone of confidence – I mean you must be to wear a cowboy covered shirt and dungarees right? Expertly discussing SEO, creating workflows and strategies, making conversations with acquaintances, and planning dates and activities. But this mask I expertly paint on and these clothes I wear to fool you are hiding the painful truth, that I continue to feel weak, alone and completely isolated in the black.
I’ll tell you I’m fine and you’d believe me. You’d see the smile and rosey cheeks and you’d believe it. And I don’t blame you, because I’m good at lying, good at pretending that having a chronic illness doesn’t suck and Bipolar isn’t really all that bad or debilitating, after all you wouldn’t know I had it unless I told you, so it can’t be all that, bad right?
Believe me I am trying to battle on with Yoga, meditation, arty projects and the like but they are tasks I perform alone. So it feels like I am suffocating with every failed attempt at curating a normal life; every failed date, ignored text, night spent at home alone, meal for one and completed box-set.
I need more than words to get me out of this black hole that is surrounding me. I need something more, something greater than I.