What Happens Next: A Gallimaufry

melancholic romantic comic cynic. bi & genderqueer. fantasy writer. sysrae on ao3.

brainjunk

because I am repressive as hell and able to compartmentalise right up until I snap, it’s not often that I have a lucid insight into how fucked up my default mental existence is. for instance: it has taken a friend bravely and publicly discussing their current issues with suicidal ideation for me to consider that actually, my having offhand, many-times-daily thoughts about dying or killing myself, no matter how fleeting or seemingly unemotional, is not in fact healthy?? or a thing that everyone just deals with?? like I am, right now, unquestionably in a better place mentally and emotionally than I have been for, oh, let’s say the last three years at least, and by an order of magnitude, and what this means is that I’m not crying multiple times I week, I can get out of bed and even leave the house despite being exhausted, thoughts of self-harm are more background than intrusive, my dysphoria is less, and my anxiety about disappointing everyone around me is not currently so severe that I can’t sometimes ask for help. I mean, yes, there is a near-permanent knot in the musculature of my right shoulder, both generated and exacerbated by the bodily tension accompanying mental stress, that is visible to the naked eye, sore enough that breathing deeply is often painful, extensive enough that dispelling it causes sharp spasms in my wrist and hand, but regular massage helps. I can take painkillers for the stress migraine that routinely explodes over my right eye and down my neck, and in those rare moments where I get too catatonically fucked up to be able to even speak, I retain enough self-possession to communicate with gestures. it passes. it all passes. and I keep going.

and I just. some of these issues are new, and some are old, and some are an exciting cocktail of the two, but in every case, it’s taken months or years of reading about other people describing their symptoms and their diagnoses, all while being quietly baffled that that’s a thing, because isn’t it just like that for everyone?, until I’ve finally twigged that, uh, no, literally foz your brain is hella fucked up, and then I just want to laugh and laugh, because I can’t even really remember what it was like to feel any other way. and I’ve gone to the doctor about it before, but the thing is, my default in person with unknown professionals especially is just to downplay and minimise and because I compartmentalise so hard I am really fucking good at presenting as together when I have time to prepare, and my own brain works against me, I slip back into thinking that I’m doing it for attention and I really don’t want to waste anyone’s time, of COURSE I’m fine, and that’s what I end up saying, “I’m just tired, I just have trouble sleeping, it’s not that big a deal.”

so I just. you know. I guess I want a written, witnessed record here that I am in fact sometimes aware of my own bullshit, that I’m trying and getting better and making some kind of forward progress, even on the days when I think I’m not.

so, uh. yay?

  1. bdsemma-blog reblogged this from fozmeadows
  2. loquamani reblogged this from fozmeadows and added:
    I took my dog to the vet last week (repressed is a good description for him) and even though he is literally dying of...
  3. hot-elf said: I know it probably won’t help a lot, but I’m sending plenty of hugs your way (if you want them). *more hugs*
  4. just-a-lost-gurl reblogged this from fozmeadows
  5. porcupine-girl said: Print this out and take it next time you see a doctor about it? *hugs*
  6. andarthas-web said: Yes, yay. *hugs* It’s a process and it sounds like you made good step in the right direction. *hugs*
  7. fozmeadows posted this