You know how, sometimes, things don’t go bad all at once? They go bad so slowly that you almost can’t even tell what’s happening?
Let’s turn this into a car analogy.
Say you’re on a road trip – a big, long, epic road trip – and things are going great. You have your music. You have your snacks. You have your drinks. You have a Spotify playlist AND some podcasts AND two audiobooks queued up and ready to go. Things are GOOD. You’re CRUISING.
And you’re driving, you’re driving, and suddenly your car’s speakers go a little fuzzy. That’s weird, but no big deal. You turn the volume up and keep driving.
Then the car starts to pull a tiny bit to the right. Nothing drastic, just a little drag. Whatever. You pull a little harder to the left on the steering wheel to correct, and you keep going.
Then one of your side mirrors breaks. You find some duct tape in your trunk and you patch things back together. It’s not perfect, but it works. You keep going.
And then the engine starts to smoke a little bit when you drive too fast. Whoops, ease off the gas a little. It’ll be fine.
Now one of the tires feels a little…funny. Is it going soft? The tire pressure gauge isn’t lit up, so you shrug it off and drive on.
But these little things keep happening; things keep going wrong. You don’t feel the need to stop at a repair shop – you’re on a road trip! Things are supposed to be so fun! You can handle this!
And then, all of a sudden, all the wheels fall off your car at once.
And the engine explodes.
The whole useless car is engulfed in flames.
You’re now stranded, in your burning car, wondering what the fuck has happened. Trying to get out of the wreckage. And you look back on all the little things that had been going wrong the whole trip, and a light goes off in your mind. Things add up now. The warning signs make sense.
That’s… me right now, with my mental health.
The last few months have been full of little things, tiny warning signs that I brushed off. I’ve struggled with mental health issues since I was a kid, but I’m still *really* bad at recognizing the signs until things implode. And things…. imploded this week.
I don’t particularly want to discuss the details, but let’s just say that the Binge Monster has come back with an ugly vengeance, I really just want to lay in bed and stare at the wall all day (very conducive to having a job, I assure you), and I feel like I’m on the side of the road, standing next to my burning life, wondering what the fuck has happened. Things were going so good! And then the minor bumps came. And they piled up. And they got harder and harder to deal with.
Here’s the thing with mental illness: you cannot necessarily force yourself through it. All the inspirational gym memes of never miss a Monday, put up or shut up, something something apply motivation daily blah blah blah… they don’t always work. Sometimes you need help. AND THAT’S OK. I’m in a place where I need help. I finally got that through my brain, and stopped trying to dig my heels in and force my way through this. I’m working with my doctors to get back to a good place.
Please don’t pry into my health history – revealing that I have mental health issues is not the same as wanting to discuss my exact diagnosis and what medication I’m on/have been on in the past and what my symptoms are and have I been in therapy and what I’ve been bingeing on and how much and when (yes, all questions I have been asked – no, not questions I will answer. I like my privacy, too).
I just… wanted to be honest with you guys. I’m struggling, and in a larger way than I originally thought. We’re all human. Some of us have different struggles than others; I’m one of the ones who has a messed-up brain that’s kind of a mega asshole to itself. That’s how the cards got dealt. I’m working on it, working through it, and I’m trying to figure out a way to go forward.
Because you’ve got me FUCKED UP if you think I’m just going to stop trying and gradually gain all the weight back. Hell no. This isn’t over by a long shot.