As I lay here on a blanket outside, I can’t help but feel that I am the epitome of sick. Yesterday I had a pretty severe mental breakdown, requiring my boyfriend to get physically involved to keep me safe. I feel like a failure. I feel like because I share my story in such a large scale to help others with mental illnesses, I’m not allowed to relapse. But I am. Recovery is NOT a straight line up. If I put on the act that it was, I’d be hurting my cause. Because I don’t want you guys to get the wrong idea from me. I live with the intent to help others, not give them false expectations of what recovery looks like. And right now, I’m relapsing. It’s agony and shame and negative self-talk. I’m not mentally stable right now, despite good mediation and excellent self-care.
On top of that, I’m physically going through a scary and rough time. I’ve had right flank pain with an unknown cause despite 7 months of doctors appointments and tests. And two weeks ago my digestive system almost has stopped working all together, accompanied by uncontrollable daily vomiting and kidney pain. 2 ER visits, 2 doctor appointments and one CT scan leaves me still with no answers. Honestly I want the CT results to show something wrong so they can fix this and I can get over it. The flank pain has changed how I do almost everything, like clean pet cages or sleep.
I feel like I have a large neon sign hanging above my head saying “look at me I’m sick!!” and I have a strong desire to hide from all the airsofters that are around me (bf is playing airsoft and I’m trying to relax and get fresh air). I feel like a sitting duck for ridicule and judgment. I know it’s the paranoia speaking, but logic doesn’t help me when I’m in this mental state.
I feel sick. I am sick. I am disabled. Recovery is definitely not a straight line up.