I have been in a low (I don't know what else to call them) since Sunday, July 18th when I came to the realization I have to be medicated. It hadn't really hit me until I was talking it through with my girlfriend (I'll call her Ming to protect her identity). I openly sobbed when it hit me. I have been very open with Ming about my mental health struggles and what it could mean for her. If I learned one thing from my failed marriage, it's that communication is critical. Even when that communication is uncomfortable, partners must have open and transparent discussions.
I have fought so hard to conceal who I really am and now I have to be medicated to actually function. These are polar opposites. I was cognizant of my brash personality and was able to keep it in check most of the time. Now, I have lost that filter and seemingly, the desire to filter. My brain tells me what to say and when to say it. It lacks tact or forethought. It lacks compassion, sympathy or empathy. It doesn't care about the bridges it may burn or the destruction it may cause. I am no longer in charge.
Ming asks a lot of questions about what I am experiencing. She asks out of love and in an effort to understand. I look at it as navigating my seemingly unpredictable personality, but she doesn't see it that way. She could walk away at any time and I am glad she hasn't. It helps me tremendously to verbalize what I am experiencing. She blames herself for my realization. It's not her fault at all. My brain just hadn't processed the information yet. It hadn't put me in that box yet. It doesn't tell me to think about it when I am in my home box. My brain doesn't wander like it did before I was medicated. It doesn't try to process multiple trains of thought. During the lows, my brain focuses on survival. If I can just survive the day, I will be okay. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow could be another low or I could get some reprieve.
Ming has been amazing throughout the entire process of the diagnosis and treatment. She is incredibly kind, loving, patient, and comforting. She reassures me that none of this is my fault. I want to believe her. I try to believe her. I tell her I do, but I just don't feel that way. I keep thinking there was somewhere along the way that I could have prevented this. The problem solving part of my brain keeps telling me that I just have to find enough of the unknowns and I will then be able to solve the equation. Life is not a series of equations though so the engineer part of my brain is useless to me here. Now that my brain is in charge and dictates the terms of engagement, my engineer brain compartmentalizes and puts me in the appropriate box for the situation.
I am coming out of the low as I write this on July 22nd. I am not completely out of the woods. I can still feel the anxiety of talking to people. In fact, I have been terrified the last couple days that I would have to actually speak with someone. I put my literal and figurative mask on at work and interact as little as possible. The people I work with can never see what is behind the figurative mask. I can't let them see behind the mask. It would possibly ruin or prematurely end my career. I can't be myself and that is extremely frustrating and painful. I have to keep up the façade for 9+ exhausting hours. Thankfully, my brain puts me in the work box while I am at work so I don't have time to wallow in my own pity. The work box simply won't allow such behavior. It has no time or space for emotions or feelings. This part of my brain is mean. This part of my brain is a real asshole.
I cried in the car yesterday on the way home from work. The thought of facing more people at the gym terrified me as it had for the last couple days. I didn't go to the gym Tuesday because of it. It was the first time the illness stopped me from doing something. I cried out of frustration, guilt, and anger. I was frustrated and angry that I have to fight so hard just to function on a daily basis. I was angry that I let the illness win, if only for a day. I felt guilty for letting it win. I cursed at myself. I berated myself for being weak. I berated myself for not fighting back. I felt like nothing. I felt like less than nothing. I was no longer capable of controlling my life because of the illness. None of this is true of course, but it's easy to get caught up in negative self talk when I am simply trying to get through one day at a time.
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