Today I hit rock bottom, I was having a wonderful time drinking cocktails with my best girlfriends in the sun without a care in the world. When I got home and had dinner something snapped inside of me, I don’t even know what the thought was that did it but all of a sudden I was bawling, so sick of constantly thinking I’m going to die I convinced myself I’m going crazy and will end up like a mental person; either homeless or used as an example to tell children not to do drugs because they might end up like me.
Tonight I told my sisters that I need to be admitted into a psych ward because I’ve finally lost the plot and I need severe intervention. Let’s be honest, it was obviously the alcohol working as a depressant as it does and making me feel this way, and while I probably do need to go back to seeing a psych and increase my meds I probably am not at the psych ward stage.
At my worst this evening I panicked that I might need a lobotomy although apparently they’re not too popular in modern medicine. I shouldn’t carry on and say ‘poor me, why me’ but seriously, I’m a good person, I recycle, donate to charities and for two years was vegan where I’m sure I saved thousands of innocent animals. Was I a bad person in a past life and I’m being punished for it now?
Actually, not why me, why anyone? Why do over 40 million of us have anxiety? That’s not even all of the mental illnesses, just anxiety. Is it our food? Are we not working out enough or reading enough novels before bed? Is it from watching too much tv or the partying we did when we were younger? Even as a child I had the potential for mental illness, I would cut myself accidentally and ask my mother if I would die from it.
So what if I am unfixable? What if I continue on this crazy journey until I’m ninety-something in a constant battle with my head? Surely there has to be something more to life than blundering around panicking about getting the bird flu from accidentally touching a piece of bird shit while I’m washing my car by hand?