By: JANA GREENE
What a time to be mentally ill, eh? Depression, anxiety, we got it ALL this year. I have not been okay for a few weeks now. This morning, I awoke and write some poetry, as the angsty of nature are apt to do, and thought I would be okay today. But instead of comforting myself as usual, it felt a little disingenuous. And in the interest of transparency, I came back here to the blogosphere to air my grievances because today I’ve already binged watched My 600 Pound Life, and some show about real-life emergency room drama, and (surprise, surprise) that is not the antidote for feeling down. You know how toddlers behave when they are so maxed out on sensory input that they just melt down? They cannot tell you if it’s because they are hungry, or tired, or the seams in their socks are off kilter. They just whine in C Minor until you could pull your hair out in frustration from trying to console them. Yeah, that’s relatable. I may look fine, but deep inside, the seams of my socks are driving me crazy. The newness of the cancer diagnosis has worn off, and instead of feeling like a stab to my spirit, it’s more of being poked with a butter knife, repeatedly and with gusto. Duller, but still stabby. Just another chronic condition on my already-full roster. My overall pain level from my other conditions this week has been nonstop, as if not to be usurped by the cancer. And I don’t care who you are, everyone has a limit. So, I am fighting the urge to just give in to it, crawl in bed and sleep, and try again tomorrow, which I reserve the right to do, because again – everyone has a limit. I’m long past pleading with God to deliver me, which depending on which denomination you follow, could be construed as a lack of faith, or a surrendering. I am going with the latter. God will not stop the coaster, but he will pull the safety harness over the both of us, riding alongside me while I scream my head off. I imagine him holding my hand as I approach every incline, telling me breathe, we can do this together! And I’m yelling stop this crazy thing! Sometimes we rejoice WHEEEEE! together, other times I feel like my stomach is going to exit my body via my throat. That feeling you have at the top, knowing the ground is all the way down there, and you are way up here I and your heart hammers out of your chest? I have felt like hornking up my stomach since the election, I’m absolutely leveled by it. But days keep coming, they keep happening. So many of my friends – family I’ve chosen for myself – are in crisis mode right now, and my empath spidey senses are all a-tingle, 24 hours a day. Breathe, I tell myself. Focus on breathing. But my thoughts wander from breath to all sorts of doomy things, my depression saying see? I TOLD you everything is awful! So I come here to write. I changed my pajamas from yesterday into a fresh pair today (you expected me to say I got dressed, like a properly undepressed person? Pish.) I pray, the click-click-click of a roller coaster going up an incline the rythm to my mantra. I say, I see you to my Big Feels and realize so many of us are feeling like toddlers melting down right now, not having the proper language to express the groanings of the spirit. Maybe we need to tear off our wonky socks and run around barefoot. Maybe I need a nap and some graham crackers. Just don’t give in to the sadness. Just don’t pick up a drink. This January, I will celebrate 24 years without a drink, and Hons, you’d better believe it’s a hard-won victory this year. Some years are easier than others, but this year has been a helluva doozy. So, all of this ranting to say – If you’re feeling low too, just know that you’re not alone. Tomorrow is indeed another day. Blessed be, fellow humans. I’ll hang on if you will. WHEEEEEE.
Words by Jana Greene 
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