I discussed this a bit in my Vocabulary of Depression post, but I have once again found myself in a defensive posture. As I am feeling sick now for the third week in a row, with an intense fatigue I now realize that it may be more physical in nature, and everyone recalls their own struggles with fatigue.
But as discussed in this post on the 13 different types of fatigue associated with Sjogren’s’ Disease, (which I have a partial diagnosis as having) – it’s not the normal, I haven’t been sleeping well/working too hard/not getting enough sunshine/need to exercise/eating shitty fatigue. The fatigue I experience is crippling. Completely incapacitating. It’s not one I can push through – I’ve also had normal fatigue and know the drill for that, get some rest, eat better, go for a walk. I can’t do anything when this fatigue hits.
And as I said in my What Sticks post, I feel like people who have suffered from depression sometimes are the ones who make me feel the worst, acting as if I’m proactive about taking care of their health in a way they choose not to, they suffer in silence pushing through with their willpower. I get defensive because, I want to be like, if you truly had battled the demon of mental illness, if you had been face to face with the dragon breathing its fire, you’d have more scars and burns. There’s no way you could have remained standing. Deep down, I know I’m actually stronger than a lot of my peers, that if they’d faced some of my hardships – those without mental illness would likely crumble. They are not actually better at coping than me.
And those with depression, maybe it’s just depression light. But I’ve suffered through manic spells – a restlessness plus exhaustion that feels like a form of torture, I have had experiences of disassociation, where I’ve literally felt outside of my body, that I am hovering over a scene, like a haunting ghost, watching my life unfold but disconnected from the reality of it actually happening to me, I’ve taken a blade to different parts of my body anxious to see the sight of blood and calmed by it, I’ve had days where I could not do ordinary things I’ve done millions of times like eat a meal at a cafe, it wasn’t because I didn’t’ feel like it or wasn’t in a mood, I couldn’t. I’ve held my bloody wrists in a bathtub of warm water and watched it drain out of me paralyzed.
I know I’m unlikely to get empathy from people who can’t truly picture this suffering, but when day after day, I don’t get better, whether physical or mental, I get defensive, knowing the world thinks if I was just stronger, I’d find a way forward. Instead, I’m like a broken record, feeling like shit, contemplating suicide, damn, I’m sick of hearing myself. I don’t even want you to ask me how I’m doing, I don’t want to answer, I don’t want to hear your implicit judgment, or me projecting it on you, doesn’t matter what’s true and what’s not. And I don’t want you to relate to me, offer the solutions that worked for you, proffer pieces of advice on how to beat the fatigue and the emotional ups and downs. I’ve been managing my illness for 26 years, I’m definitely the expert.
But stop thinking you’re special.
Everyone’s been depressed, everyone’s been fatigued.
Inside My Madness 