So the thing about mental health, I’m learning, is that it’s very much a spectrum. Just because I have been diagnosed with anxiety doesn’t mean symptoms of depression don’t seep in every now and again. Likewise, my best friend who was diagnosed with depression began suffering from panic attacks. Both of us believe the other to have it worse, but I suppose we’re just used to the demons we know.
I am at least self-aware enough to know that this is just a bout of mental illness that will wash over me, and be over. I thought maybe writing would help me out. I forget to write here, I just don’t know how personal I want to get. It was much easier when I was nobody and aspired to be nobody. It was much more of a hiding place. Now that I’ve seen how the Internet works, any little thing can come back to fuck you over and it’s made me timid.
But that’s beside the point.
Today I just wanted to express my deepest and most sincere appreciation for my mom. She never really “got” mental illness, but she tries. She still says things like “cheer up” and “don’t worry” which is about as useful as telling someone who’s drowning to “just swim.” What I love about how she goes about talking to me about being sick is that she never faults me. She knows I don’t want this. My bad days are met with empathy and kindness rather than scorn for being lazy. She makes sure I get some food in me, even if she has to bring it up to my room and give it to me in bed. She asks if I need a hug (always, yes).
I’m just really really glad I have her.