Beyond the Mask You See

It has been a month since I left my last job. In a week and change, I will need to pay rent. I barely had any money to start this month off with, then a freaking hurricane disrupted my job prospects for a week and a half because Irma didn't like the landscaping. Every day, I look at my daughter and I feel like I'm dying inside. I'm supposed to be able to protect her, to provide for her, and so far I am doing a terrible job at it. Don't be so impulsive- that's always the admonission. Restrain yourself from being too smart, too independent, too dependent, push to get ahead but don't be too ambitious. Restrain your emotions, act instead of react. All a bunch of utter nonsense. So I slipped. I left without a back up plan, I left without any way to earn money. I had foolishly hoped that I could at least get something from freelancing, but so far my Norma customers are distracted and new fish aren't biting so no money from that direction. I was a bit arroga

Reality sucks. In my dream world, I would be able to become a business owner and make it big quickly. In my dream world, I left my last job on good terms, when I was ready and had saved enough to fund my business. In my dream world, the man I love would support my dreams and stand with me through thick and thin because he believes in my dream too. Of course, in my dream world, I would have no issues with money, job loss, depression, anxiety, and eating cake makes you lose weight. In reality, I was making slow progress focusing on my business only some of the time. I was comfortable at my job because it was easy and I didn't suspect things were going on behind my back that would ruin my plans. In less than a month, I went from being a great employee to public enemy number one and I don't really know why. I left on bad terms because I couldn't keep my temper in check and told the CEO of the company what I really thought of him. Loudly and to his face. It was a rather epic

Over the past few months, I've undergone what appears to most to be a healthy transformation. I quit smoking, I've lost weight, I even seem happy. While it is true that I did quit smoking, that isn't why I have lost weight. Happy people don't hide 90% of their life away from everyone. But, my mask is pretty solid. Aside from a few slips of temper, it's believable by everyone. Well, almost everyone. But that isn't the secret. I think anyone reading this knows I wear depression and anxiety like a cloak and shield while I hide behind a mask of lies. No- the secret is actually my weight loss. I meant to quit smoking. I wanted to, so I did. But for some reason the wires in my brain that would scream at me for a cigarette are screaming something new. Control. I dominated my cravings. I had control again. And if I had control over smoking, maybe I could control something else. But I couldn't do it while I was keeping anxiety at bay with medication.

Quick, what is the most cliche jokes that comedians fall back on when they have a dead audience? The relatable hospital/airline/prison food sucks jokes, of course! The jokes are easy to relate to for the audience and might get a chuckle that can revitalize a set. Except for this week,  the joke was on me or rather the vomit was on me.  It started on Saturday. While I was looking at new places to live, my daughter was slowly starting to feel worse. By supper, she was telling me her stomach hurt and not long after she ate, the vomiting began. I assumed that this was just going to be another annoying stomach bugs that spread to everyone in the house, sticks around for 24 hours then goes away. Except it didn't. By Sunday night, my daughter had barely managed to keep down water and was feeling even worse. I wasn't worried at this point, though, because it had only been a day. Maybe this bug needed an extra day to run its course. Monday morning, I took her to the pedi

I think part of my problem is that I don't really know and go for what I want, what I need in a partner. Because I simply have this nebulous criteria of what I think I may want, I fall for the one who seems to fit the bill, the one who flirts and says all the right things. So, maybe if I write down what I am looking for, I can get what I need from a relationship. First, I need an equal. Someone who treats me as an equal, contributes as an equal., is my equal. I don't need someone to worship the ground I walk on as though I were some goddess and I don't need a master to control me. I am a queen and the only one who should be at my side is my equal, the king to my queen.  I need someone who can see the light and the darkness in m and love me anyway, rather that focus on eliminating the darkness because it is too distrurbing. Someone who loves me as I am. I need someone who understands that the depression, the anxiety- it's not their fault but it's also not somethi

I've said it before and I'll probably say it again: despite how intelligent I am, my brain is a freaking idiot. Why, you may ask? Well because it likes to take a negative thought and blow it up into monstrous proportions. It also likes to say that potentially dabgerous things are perfectly ok and that nothing bad will come from it. It's like the wires in my head that control the self preservation and the ability to know reality from fiction became some jumbled mess and now everything is discombobulated:  So I walk around on edge, never fully knowing what to believe. I'm paranoid that not only is this obvious to everyone, but that they are all discussing it behind my back. Logically, I am quite sure I one cares enough about me and my depressing life to say two words, or if they do it is mentioned in passing.  I have no idea who I can trust.  So I keep my thoughts to myself until I can get home and write them anonymousl. Today, the thoughts played o

So some people believe there are stages to the grieving process and that each happens in a specific order, but once you reach the last stage then you are ready to move on with your life. I know from experience that this is complete bullshit. There is no straight line when you are grieving a loss. Each day is different and brings with it a different emotion. Which is unfortunate for me because I have trouble expressing or even admitting certain emotions even exist. Now, for most people in my life, the mask I keep on is flawless. They wouldn't know something was wrong unless I told them. Some people are far more intuitive than I would like and see right through the mask. Over the last few weeks, I've run a gauntlet of emotions that have left me feeling raw and on the edge of panic most of the time because I just don't know how to deal with what I'm feeling. I've felt a profound sadness because a chapter of my life has come to an end and not under the best circ

There are days, like today, when the demons in my head are louder, so loud I can't think straight. So loud and demanding that my heart pounds in my chest, my hands shake, my stomach is in knots and I spend my entire day racing to the bathroom because panic attacks also apparently make you need to evacuate your bowels immediately. Those days, it's almost impossible to play the game. I fight the physical urge to simply walk out of the office or where ever I happen to be, get in my car and drive until I can't anymore. Those days, every mistake becomes an apocolypse, every negative remark feels like an attack. On those days, I want to run to the last safe thing I knew, the only safe place I have. But I can't. Because to the world I have it all together. I am calm, confident, assertive- a force to be reckoned with. I am in command. The first time I watched Frozen and saw Elsa, I though "this is me... not the awesome ice powers, but the anxiety and fear, th

The last few days in, my head hadn't been the best place to be. All those thoughts stinging my brain, angry wasps demanding my attention. The medicines only keep some of the wasps away. So I have been writing those thoughts down here. Sharing with strangers the things I can't actually say to other people.  This is the only place where I can let the mask go completely, because here I am anonymous. Another one of the many faceless bytes of data on the internet. Tomorrow, these thoughts will follow me.  They will sting me again and again. But for a very brief time, I can escape them by putting them here. On the outside, I will be fine.  On the inside, dying. And no one will know the difference.

I feel a bit of levity is in order today. Something to remind myself that even though I feel bad, things aren't always going to be bad. So a few fun memories are on the menu for today. 1) There really are grass police in military housing who measure the height of your lawn weekly during growing season to make sure that you dare not allow it to be longer than 2 and 1/4 inches long, that you do not have weed growth in your lawn, and during the winter to make sure you dare not leave a flake of snow on your driveway and the sidewalk in front of your house. Anyway, these all powerful weilders of the citation (3 strikes and you lose your house on base) can be quite the pain in the ass. For example, one year in Minot, North Dakota, we had a massive blizzard followed by four days straight of -75 or colder temperatures. The snow plows drove through during the blizzard, pushing all of the street snow onto the end of our driveway and it had now frozen into a solid block of ice. Now, becaus

It's interesting how many people believe the mask. I swear that people could see through the mask and know,  but then again most people don't care enough to look deeper. That's the sad truth. Even people who claim to care about me dearly don't see through the mask when I don't want them to. But sometimes, I wish they could see the truth, that beneath my smile and pleasant conversation, beneath the professional focus on my work, beneath my drive to be the best mom to my daughter and show her that I am happy- beneath it all, I am slowly dying inside. It feels like my insides are full of glass shards. It hurts to even breathe sometimes and takes everything I have in me to not break down in tears in front of everyone, to save my tears until after my daughter is in bed and I can let that pain escape in rivers down my cheeks. I say that I am okay. I say that I'm over it, that I'm not torn up inside. That it doesn't kill me every night when I lay down to sl

Sometimes, I feel scared and anxious for no real reason. Sometimes, I feel insecure and need reassurance.  Sometimes, it feels like my heart is in my throats and my stomach is full of lead. Sometimes, the thoughts swarm my brain stinging like bees, demanding I pay attention. Sometimes, I need help but I rarely seek it. Sometimes, the days are bleak and gray.  Sometimes, I think it would be better if I went away. Sometimes, I am desperate for some feeling of control. Sometimes, I feel lost and alone. But sometimes, I feel happy. Sometimes I feel loved and wanted. Sometimes, I feel beautiful, intelligent and strong. I wish that sometimes, the good times happened more often. Sometimes, I am in so much pain I can't even breathe. Sometimes, it's tolerable and I can forget the disease destroying my insides. Sometimes, I feel sick for no reason. Sometimes, I get sick for no reason but there is nothing to throw up.

When I was younger, the box I shoved all emotions that weren't helpful to my situation was my protection. It kept me as safe as possible in a situation I couldn't control. It became as natural as breathing, to hide my emotions and thoughts away and keep my mask in place. The problem with this is that if you never let those emotions out and deal with them, then you never learn how to express them properly. When you don't know how to properly express an emotion, then that emotion becomes a source of anxiety. Do I really show that I love someone? Am I expressing it the right way? If I am angry I worry if I even have the right to be angry. When I am sad or hurting, I don't even know how to express that in a helpful way. Worse yet, I wonder if feeling sad or hurt isn't just a sign of weakness. As the anxiety builds, shoving those emotions back in the box looks so tempting. It would be easier to withdraw back into myself, especially with the negative or painful em

PTSD. High functioning anxiety disorder. Depression. In my story so far, I've referred to these disorders of the brain as she. I've given them human like traits and asigned them insidious personalities. I've personified the darkest part of my psyche but rest assured, I do not believe these are different people or voices I don't recognize telling me to do things. I understand quite well that each of these things are not some separate entity from me trying to harm me. No, I know perfectly well that they are me. As I am female, so too does my mind see these aspects as female because they are me. They just aren't the good side that I want people to see.  One throw back to my teen years, developing the talent to hide your thoughts and feelings behind a pleasantly nuetral mask to avoid harm, is also one that I use to this day. I hide most emotions and thoughts behind a mask, a pretend person who has her shit together, who is confident and capable.  When I'

Imagine, for a moment, that you are trapped in a room. This room has no doors, no windows, no way out at all. You are sitting on a chair facing a wall that is covered with screens of different sizes. In fact, every wall is covered in screens. All the screens are dark. Then one of those screens flashes to life. Flickering in the darkness, one of the smallest screens has a scene on it that you can barely see. You strain your eyes to figure out what is on the screen when another flickers on. This new screen is larger, you can just barely make out what's on it. It's a scene from your past.  You try harder to focus on the screen when another turns on. The screen is large enough that you can clearly make out that it is most definitely a memory. The more you focus, the more screens turn on all showing the same memory. The last screen is so clear, the picture so perfect that it's almost like you are there. As you watch, you realize that you aren't watching anymore- you ar

If only it were so easy to silence my demons. Just take a few pills and the demons go to sleep, but not forever they always come back. When the anxiety is silenced or the panic attack she induced has calmed, that is when her sidekick takes up the axe to keep the fight alive. Depression is a sneaky demon, not quite so aggressive as anxiety but she still causes immense harm because she doesn't just hurt me. When she comes for a visit from the recesses of my mind, she slowly steals away my passions, my confidence, my desire to do anything. She steals my energy, too. Some days it takes everything in me just to get out of bed. Most days when she is here, I can keep my mask in place so that no one can see that in reality I'm dying inside. Where anxiety screams, depression whispers convincing tales in my ear. But the longer she stays the harder it is to keep the mask in place. My mask starts to slip and people start to see the despair behind the mask. I work harder to keep the mask

My darling girl, they don't love you like I love you. I tell you only the truth, confirm the things you already fear to be true. Because I love you. Because I need you. They were right to tell you not to reach so high, to stay where you belong.  But you didn't listen to us then. You had to prove us wrong. But we weren't wrong were we? No darling, you know now that this is too much for you, better to just let it go. Remember that we told you that you would never deserve love or happiness? You didn't listen then either, now look at you?! A 32 year old divorcee pretending she can make it on her own. You know you can't though.  Even he doesn't love you like I love you. He doesn't understand what it's like when I visit. How I make your heart pound. How your mouth becomes too dry to speak. How your thoughts race around your head like a school of angry sharks tearing apart your dignity, your sense of self, everything you try to fool yourse

I arrived at Lackland FL at nearly midnight. I hadn't slept the night before because I was so nervous, so by the time I arrived at the base I had already been awake for 32 hours straight. It must have been the dileriun that mad me volunteer to be in a band flight and say that I could play an instrument. Or it could have been the intoxication of finally having some modicum of safety and control that made me pick up an instrument again. Finally making it to basic training was the most liberating feeling I had ever had. I needed to keep the feeling going. So I volunteered for everything I could. I volunteered to be guide on bearer. I volunteered to help everyone else in my flight study and clean. I started drawing again, sketching things around me into my issued notebook. I volunteered for the worst guard shifts, which meant that when one depressed airman who was desperate to leave tried to hang herself in the bathroom, I was the one who found her. I'm not sure why I reacted