I took a smudging course at a local Native arts shop, and found it pretty excellent. More than excellent really… it was quite healing.
So after a day of sobbing for an hour or two and dealing with the aftermath of that, I got out my candle I have devoted to The Morrigan, and smudged the SHIT out of my house. I smudged the corners, I smudged the windows, I even smudged the yard in the rain. I called to The Morrigan and Kali and any warrior goddess that would like to help me out of this dark, deep hole I find myself in.
I understand that overcoming 30+ years of bad thinking habits is not going to happen overnight, but with this last bout with Major Depressive Disorder, I am entering the fourth year since I last worked. Entering the 6th since I felt somewhat human.
I apologize for my giant Twitter rant earlier. I have a dark side of me. A very dark side. Sometimes that darkness wins out. And you know what? It should. A dear friend posted an article about feeling what you feel, despite whether it’s “negative” or not, and that was an important reminder. It’s basically how I’ve got where I am now… by constantly trying to be everything to everyone. With the best of intentions, I assure you. But I’m working out what that is going to look like in the future. I don’t want to be like my father, approaching 60, and still in the throes of a panic disorder, because he always has to be kind to others first, instead of to himself… ever.
A lot of people have been good to me with this whole… okay… here’s the fucking entire diagnosis, just so I can say it out loud and stop tiptoeing around the thing…
Dysthymia complicated by Major Depressive Disorder, with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder, Panic Disorder and Acute Agoraphobia.
Okay. Now that we have that out of the way, and you have some inkling (or maybe not, if you’re as aware of these things as approximately half of the population seems to be… sorry ’bout it) of how heavy of a diagnosis that is, maybe you have some understanding of why every so often I go offside about the unfairness of people, the world, the Gods, et cetera, ad infinitum.
So yes. A lot of people have been good to me, despite the stigma that persists with a mental health diagnosis of any kind. I even hate calling it mental health… no other disease has the potential subtext that I might actually secretly be CrAzY. I prefer to call it a Brain Disorder. A lot of people have been understanding, and some have shared similar experiences. Some people couldn’t give two shits, or just plain don’t have any life experience on which to form any empathy for my situation. All I want is a little love, really. I don’t expect people to understand, but I would love a little understanding.
It’s really hard (and totally my fault, my problem, and I don’t expect anyone to fix this for me… but truth is truth) to see my family and friends going on and having perfectly happy lives while I mindlessly pass my days feeling too drugged up or too anxious or too exhausted to do anything. I’m jealous. I’ll admit it. I’m happy that other people aren’t similarly plagued with an affliction such as mine (and I do mean plagued… ironically enough sometimes I will randomly break into stress related hives… #leper). But it really, really sucks watching life pass me by from the sidelines. You’re talking to a girl who was at the top of her professional and private game, without going into specifics that would identify me further. And I went from being everything, to being “that girl that had a complete nervous breakdown in the office and sobbed for two hours straight before anyone came to help her”. It’s frustrating when people complain about being nervous about going to someone’s party, when I can’t even get out of bed because I’m so anxious. I’ll have to talk to people… I might not be able to stand near the door should I have a panic attack (I still have those on the daily… the drugs no longer work for me)… I can’t drink anything before or during, because I can’t use other people’s or public restrooms… I am deathly afraid of eating in front of other people…. you get the picture. It’s hard to keep my mouth shut when people complain about butterflies, regardless of how legitimate their complaint really is. Oh honey… I am so on an exponentially higher level than that….
No one wants this to be their life’s story. I’m scared that I’ll never get better, and yes, that is an option as to what might happen. I might never get any better than I am right now. I might kill myself. I am passively suicidal most of the time, A.K.A, in a state of disbelieving hopelessness, and am actively suicidal sometimes too. Those times are getting fewer and further between, but every so often, like it did today, it’ll rear its ugly head and scare the crap out of everyone I know. I seem composed and completely not-depressed in person to most people. I know. I am far too good at wearing that hat, and it usually surprises people to hear this about me. “I had no idea!” etc. It isn’t a bad thing… but it gives people a false impression of what’s going on with me about 99% of the time. I’m getting better at asking for help, but it’s still extremely hard for me.
So anyways. Back to this being religion-related. So I had a nice smudge, and I called to The Morrigan and Kali, and any other beings that would like to help me cleanse myself and this place of the negativity. It has its place, but I’m long overdue to have some progress. I’ve dealt with so much shit lately there should be flowers springing up everywhere. Believe me, it’s RIPE in here. I find a lot of peace in actively pursuing bettering my situation… whether it’s journalling, blogging, screaming on Twitter (lol) or doing some sort of spiritual practice. It feels better if I feel like I can grab even an inch of control of this thing, illusory or not.
I really hope Morrighan doesn’t have a problem with me mixing cultural practices.