My sisters is suffering and I don’t know what to do. I thought becoming a mental health advocate would give me all the answers If I just kept pressing on, but I don’t. Being a person to have survived a suicide attempt, creating a blog, a podcast, and being vulnerable about my mental illness; Now I feel like it all amounted to nothing. The best educated guess I can come up is down to three – Paranoia, Schizophrenia or Bipolar Type 1. What specifically she might have I do not know. She won’t talk to me. She refuses to go the hospital; I can’t even relate to her struggle, or so she chooses to believe. My heart is broken, for not being there more, for keeping myself isolated. All this time, I’ve been so consumed with becoming the best me I can be, and defeating my own demons; It never occurred to me how much she was struggling. I wonder now, if my actions attributed to her mental breakdown.
Lord, if not for this why then did I go through what I went through. Why should I struggle every single day to get up out of bed? Why is it so hard to stop my mind from cycling into negative thoughts? Where do I get the strength to sit down and type this entire post. Right now, I want to be depressed, I want to hurt, my insides feel like there crying out, yet I see no tears. My mind wants to go blank, I don’t want to think about myself, anyone or anything. The comfort of a blanket, the softness of a bed, the darkness of the room.
Shut out light, cut out communication, let the depression take hold and fill me with numbness. That is what I feel, what my mind yearns for. The spirit wants to fight, the soul wants to wake, my inner self wants to shout against my bipolar persona. What terrifies me is what if this whole thing doesn’t amount to anything? Sometimes, even now, I just want to wreck something. There are parts about my thoughts, that I don’t share. Mostly cause I’m scared of what the reaction will be, I fear condemnation so I condemn myself.
People choose to see what they want to see. I rarely show my pain, hurt, guilt, insecurities. Everyone usually sees a smile, a smile that is most times true. Yet, deep down the pain is so much that smiling is the only way to numb it. I’m trying to get myself together, so I can be strong for people like my sister. So I can be a shining example in what can seem to be a dark and grim world. Obviously I’m not going too deep into detail with her struggles, because that is not my story to tell. Maybe if I show her that every day, every minute, every sentence I type in this post it is all based on choice. Choice to be better, stronger; Choice to overcome my mental illness.
Dear God, will that work? Please tell me it will. Please show me a way for me to help. Will my blog, my podcast ever help anyone? If I can’t even help my own sister, what good am I for doing what I’m doing? Oh, the warmth of a blanket, the peace in the emptiness, how it calls out to me. It’s so loud, so easy to follow, so easy to give me comfort. A perfect lie. I want to choose happiness, and I choose to work on my passion, so that’s what I will do.