An unfortunate, but realistic portrait of what a “bad” mental health day looks like:
It’s a Saturday night and I’m home alone again. I’m not always completely alone on Saturday nights. Boyfriend and his daughter are usually in the house, but I tend to shut myself away in the bedroom to read or write, thus making it feel like I am alone.
My kidney (infected, for the second time in 5 weeks) and my uterus have ganged up on me to make me feel like shit these past few days. I haven’t slept much, due to the throbbing in my side/lower back and the urge to piss every twenty minutes. Despite my current ailments, I was determined to have a good day today and make the best of it. The weather was beautiful, so I made sure to go outside and take a walk to get some much needed fresh air. I also paid a visit to the bookstore, as per my usual Saturday routine.
Despite all my attempts, here I am. Alone on a Saturday night again. Boyfriend went out to get drinks with friends. I had also been invited, but I blew it. When asked if I wanted to go out my brain panicked and loudly declared “No. We do not want to go out this evening.” Which was a lie. Just 10 minutes before I was asked to go I had been saying that I wanted to go do something this evening. The last few weeks I have been feeling somewhat down and lonely. My brain keeps telling me that I don’t have any friends and that I have nobody to spend time with. It’s also convinced me that some of the people who call themselves my “friends” are not really my friends at all. As a result, I am confused as to who my actual friends are at the moment. There’s a definite few I can name, but beyond that it’s a blur. It’s okay though. According to my brain we don’t like most of those people, anyway.
I could have just gone out. I should have just gone out, but I didn’t feel like I had enough time to fight off the wave of social anxiety that accompanied the invitation. I wasn’t prepared for it.
Alone, and having a random outburst of tears, I broke into my emergency stash of leftover Valentine’s candy. Because being depressed while your own organs attack you definitely constitutes an emergency. After eating those my eating disorder made an appearance and reminded me of all the other sugary things I’ve had the last few days and made me feel guilty. He told me I should throw up or under-eat tomorrow to make up for it. Blindly, I listened.
I know better.
Sometimes, no matter how hard I try to have a good day, my brain has other plans. *sigh*