*** I wrote this post exactly one year ago. Today I’m in bed with the flu, but apart from some painkillers for that nonsense, I’m currently not on any meds for mental illness. I’m coping with the occasional Valium to help me sleep, a great therapist and regular psych team check ups. I got through the really dark days and the neverending nights. I’m doing mostly ok. I’m still here. I’m still me.
I had to go back on meds today. I hate that. My brain gets fuzzy, I lose parts of myself. The sharp parts that remember my history classes, the part that knew your face, the bit that stored all my grammar knowledge so now I can’t edit, even if I wanted to. The part that remembers how to do the thing… you know… and that thing and the other one…
You’ll see me in the supermarket. You’ll know something’s off. I’ll have trouble looking right at you. I may not know your name. But I’ll make you laugh, I’ll give you a bear hug. You’ll go away thinking ‘she seems to be doing good’.
But I’m not. I am not even close.
Do you remember who I was before my meds made me a big fatty? Do you remember when I could hold my side of a debate and blow your hair back with my memory for facts and theories? Do you remember how happy I was when I was first published? Do you remember when I used to dance all night long with the music pounding in my chest? Do you remember that I used to be able to gallop a big ol’ horse along the beach or swim out farther than anyone else? Do you remember that I could drive manual and race 4 wheelers?
Because I’m having trouble not crying when I forget which type of coffee Tevita likes, what time the school run is, to fold the stupid laundry and when the blank pages mock me and I can’t write a word.
I’m still me… right?