Mental illness is incredibly isolating. It makes you feel like you are the only one who is struggling, the only one who doesn’t have your shit together. It seems like everyone else is so on top of the world while you are drowning. In some ways it makes me feel like Ariel wishing I could be a part of that world.
Sure, I have whozits and whatzits galore, and don’t get me started about thingamabobs. Yet, depression isn’t about what you have, but rather about the lies whispered to you by your mental illness, convincing you that you have nothing. More importantly that you have no one.
One good days, I know that is a lie, I recognize it as my brain trying to isolate me. On bad days though I feel as if I am just as underwater as Ariel, wishing I could be with the people dancing, up where they walk, and run, and spend all day in the sun.
Even on days when my depression isn’t bad my social anxiety sometimes keeps me from enjoying the people dancing and walking and running. And though I’ve learned and am learning when I need to pull back and stay in the safe bubble of my home, I hate having to tell people no I can’t make it, not tonight. Of course the people in my life understand, they are supportive of me doing what I need to, what is good for me.
Yet with any luck, and a little work I will learn to better manage my anxiety so I can be where the people are more and more. I just have to be sure to avoid any eight legged sea witches.