High-Functioning Something Something . . . Iʻve Already Lost Interest

Iʻm not okay.

Iʻm struggling and Iʻve been struggling, and Iʻm not okay.

These past two days have been a giant shitbag. I feel sad and empty and everything is sad and empty. 

Why am I doing this? Why am I saying this? Why am I going there? Whatʻs the fucking point?

I woke up yesterday after a great 8 hour sleep and I felt good. I felt relaxed and maybe even content. "In this moment," I thought, "things are good."

Then I got up to pee, came back to bed, and started to cry.

Thatʻs how quick it happens, folks. Thatʻs how random.

Doing things when I feel like this is like it was when I was bleeding constantly. I have to plan or at least have an idea of what Iʻm going to do, how long Iʻm going to be out, do I trust the person Iʻll be with if I have a meltdown? I canʻt just go out and have a good time. It hasnʻt been working like that lately.

This coming weekend is camp, and I was looking forward to it. Itʻs going to be big. The kind of big where we plan menus and set up the 10x20 tarps. The kids are already packing and excitedly talking about what they want to do when they get there-- crabbing, surfing, sʻmores! Usually, Iʻm excited, too. Being surrounded by family and friends, nothing to do or worry about except staying hydrated and sufficiently covered in sunscreen. We kanikapila, have a talent show, play games. Dad and I work on crosswords together. Last time, Kiel taught me how to crochet while he made stuff for the kids

 
I woke up yesterday thinking I donʻt wanna go.

I joke about my high-functioning depression, but itʻs not a joke. Itʻs not pretty or funny or cool. Itʻs not something Iʻm proud of nor am I ashamed of it. I worry that it will scare my friends if they donʻt understand. Itʻs sometimes difficult to admit Iʻm not okay. I donʻt really know why I lie to those closest to me and say Iʻm alright when Iʻve been crying off and on all day. Often, itʻs cuz in that moment I feel fine. But itʻs my mental health, I think, getting in the way of my mental health. Because I wonder, "What good could possibly come of admitting to you that I feel like shit and hate myself?" Even if you want to help, how is your help going to help? That might not make sense to you, but it does to me.

How contradictory depression can make a person!

Todayʻs been better. I woke up, went to the gym and the market! Washed dishes, even. Musicʻs been a balm, and it isnʻt always. Iʻm trying to stay rooted to this moment, to enjoy this moment, to remember that itʻs fleeting and fickle. You know the title of my blog, right? Not this individual blog, but the collection of them. Be here now. Thatʻs always the goal.

I know Iʻll be okay again. One day, it wonʻt always be such a struggle. One day, the punch in the gut wonʻt be so close behind the laughter. Itʻs hard now, but thereʻs also so much love in my life-- maybe more today than ever before-- and, you know, I actually like myself most days. And thereʻs so much beauty in the world, so much light, so much to marvel and celebrate. I donʻt always see it or feel it or celebrate it, but at least I know itʻs there, waiting for me.

I Donʻt Want to Be an Island Anymore

I donʻt want to be an island anymore.

I thought thatʻs what I had to be because thatʻs what strength was: isolation, silence, beauty.

Wanna know a not-secret? That bites, it doesnʻt work, I donʻt want to be that kind of strong anymore.

For whatever reason, Iʻve been talking to a lot of different people lately, though mostly women around my age, and Iʻve discovered that *gasp* Iʻm not alone. *Gasp* Iʻm not the only one sucking. *Gasp* Theyʻre struggling, too. Theyʻre having trouble with their partners, their kids, their bodies, their brains, work, school, exes, whatever.

On the faces of these women, I see smiles, and I get it. I donʻt think youʻre being fake or putting on a show. I get it. Thatʻs me. Because so many of you are working hard to keep it together and keep it moving. It isnʻt fake, itʻs just what we know, right? There ainʻt nothing for it but to keep keeping on. And if I smile through it all, itʻs because I have hope, even if I donʻt feel it. Itʻs because I know it wonʻt always be like this, even if I donʻt feel it.

Itʻs also because maybe we donʻt know how to ask for help. Maybe we donʻt even know we need or want help. Maybe we think weʻre the only ones. Maybe weʻve gotten so much shit from others when weʻve tried to reach out that it isnʻt a fucking option anymore.

We have become islands.

I asked Jonah, I asked Liane, I asked Shelley, I asked Shani and Kehau: what do we do with this? Do we continue to be islands? It ainʻt working, yo, and it breaks my fucking heart to see so many of my friends, so many beautiful, smart, and kind women suffering alone. I canʻt just ignore this. It needs to change. Yes, my own pain sucks, but itʻs lightened whenever I connect with one of you. Itʻs a burden shared when we come together, so we need to come together.

But I donʻt know what to do with these islands. Iʻm not Maui with his hook. At least, I donʻt yet know what my hook is. Best I can figure is to continue to invite you all to join me on my daily walks. Thatʻs how Iʻve been able to connect one-on-one with some of you recently, but maybe if more of you join me, we can expand our community.

Because I see community as a way of dealing with my anxiety and depression. Community is my remedy for isolation and loneliness. Iʻm not being hyperbolic when I say that I have been shouldering my shit for as long as I can remember, only begrudgingly sharing the load when it was completely unavoidable. It is still incredibly difficult for me to trust people. And these same sentiments I hear over and over from the women around me who are dying for help but donʻt know how to ask for it or accept it or who have gone unheard.

All I can do is try and all I can do is reach out to my friends, my acquaintances, my coworkers, and family. Come throw a ball with me or join me for a walk. We can talk story, laugh, cry, all of the above. Together.

Microclimates

I spoke with a lot of people this weekend and reconnected with some old friends. The camaraderie, Iʻve missed this last little while. The knowing. When you see friends with whom you have all this history, itʻs like a warm hug, isnʻt it? I feel rooted again.

And the very next second, Iʻm not. Iʻm unsettled and anxious. I feel it in my chest and stomach, that tightness, but itʻs also an emptiness.

Who am I? Where do I fit in? Why donʻt I love myself?

These shifts happen all the time. I like to think of them as microclimates, you know? The shift is usually subtle, but they are all over the place and can escalate quickly.

A friend who I saw on Sunday tried to kill herself that night.

This might confuse a lot of people who are lucky enough to have little to no experience with depression-- how could this happen? She seemed fine. We talked and laughed and hugged that very day!

Because these things can change between breaths. Between one exhale to the next inhale, you can breathe out joy and suck in pain. It just happens. And though I canʻt speak to my friendʻs depression, I can relate to the quickness of that shift. It happened to me that very day, multiple times over.

Why donʻt I love myself? Why donʻt I love myself? Why donʻt I love myself?

Why canʻt I be happy?

It makes me crazy. It makes me cry. Every day is a struggle.

On the struggle scale with 10 being super hard and 1 being super easy, I tend to hover around a 3 on a daily. But make no mistake, itʻs a struggle. Every day requires some kind of effort, and itʻs worse if Iʻm tired or hungry (although, thanks a fucking lot, depression, for also suppressing my appetite. Ugh.). I can span the scale in a day, going from a 2 to a 9 then down to a 1.

But hereʻs the success: I know in my heart, my brain, and my guts that Iʻm making progress. I know Iʻm learning to love myself and to manage my anxiety and depression. Iʻm learning new moves, gaining new tools, changing bad habits. I need to trust myself, and in lieu of that trust, I can be patient with myself.

Hereʻs the thing, though. Until such a time when I can confidently proclaim that I love myself (or whatever the fuck that looks like), until I spend more time in a 2 than an 8, it sucks. It fucking sucks.

 

NOTE: Iʻve previously written in another post that "every day is not a struggle." This is not a lie or a contradiction. This really just illustrates how I learn and grow and how I manage. I donʻt always know what the fuck is going on or how to identify and describe my experiences. But I try.