Play Pretend

Ever had a bad day? I mean a really bad day that breaks you down into tears?

I had one of those days. I walked out of the office in tears. I couldn't hold them back. It had been a long time since I have had a break down quite like this. I couldn't even pin point why I was such a sobbing mess. I didn't have the usual systems of self loathing or the everybody-hates-me paranoia. All I knew was that it had been a very stressful day and I do not have the mental capacity to deal with that leval of stress.

People forget or simply refuse to acknowledge that I have a mental illness. I am high functioning and very open about it. I believe those around me should know that I do not always react in a “normal” manner and some things can make me very unbalanced. However because I am high functioning the point is mute.

Let me explain it a different way. Image that your body is internally destroying itself. Nobody can see the effects of what is going on inside your body. Imagine that even thought your body is breaking you must continue on your everyday life and go to work that it is happening. You know there is nothing you can do to change or stop this thing that is going on internally. Go to bed and wake up every morning thankful that you are still intact, but know inside you are being destroyed.

You discuss it with those around you and they smile and nod or laugh it off. You don't look sick, sound sick, or double over in pain. There is nothing wrong. Get back to work. Get back to life.

This is the existence of a high functioning person with mental illness. At least that is how it feels like to me. When I break I want to reach out so badly. I want to turn to my coworkers and say “Guys, I am not ok right now.” But I can't. I have to try to be normalish. Then I realize I don't even know what that is and I spiral down further.

I freak out because the nice girl is trying to be friendly, but she keeps touching me. Touch makes me feel violated and invaded when I am not given a chance to prepare for it. At first I sucked up and then I told her never do it again. I could deal.

Things keep being done outside of normal procedure. I freak out. Things are to be done in a certain order at a certain time. This keeps me stable. Order keeps me normal. Disorder frightens me. It terrifies me. It breaks me down. If I don't have an order of procedure I cannot make a proper decisions, I cannot make the appropriate responses, I cannot figure out the proper tone of voice, and I cannot pretend to be friendly.

How could I ever expect anyone to understand. I know it's absurd and nonsensical. I understand that and it is why I cannot get understanding for my plight. It is the worst part. Knowing that there is something wrong with you, but world refusing to acknowledge it because you know.

I feel alone most all of the time and when I mention it people say I have a daughter. I cannot come home to my nine year old and say “Today was a good day. I was able to have a conversation and not blurt out some weird antidote or talk about my mother.” or “Today was a bad day I hid in the bathroom six times because I felt like was about to hyperventilate and I think the office thinks I'm just avoiding work.” I can't come home to my nine year old and ask her to hold my hand while cry because holding somebody's hand will make me feel safe. I can't do that. I have to pretend like I can take care of. I have to pretend I can function.

I always have to pretend I can function even if it's a bad day and all of my friends hate me and people are only nice to me out of pity.