Ginger Vee My Chronic Life

Do you ever feel like a duck? Like, you look like you’re just cruising along calmly with your ripples gliding elegantly, trailing you in the smooth water as you cross the serene lake of life, but your feet are paddling frantically, doin’ all they can to keep you afloat, fiercely peddling as though your feathery butt was on fire? Does that facade ever fool folks? Or are others aware of the torment in your depths? I ask merely because I am doing my very best to keep my head above the rising ocean of depression that I find myself in currently, but I’m also trying to not sound any alarms or bring attention to my woes. I’d like to appear as “normal” and seem like a well-adjusted, relatively happy individual on most days because, but, in case you don’t know this about me, I can be “a lot.” And, depression in and of itself can be “a lot.” I’m not being self deprecating when I say this, but even I get tired of my sad girl vibes. My psychological issues don’t need attention from others 24/7. I’ve got to manage my issues on my own sometimes, and one way I do that is to not divulge the enormity of my perma bumbed’outed’ness, and glide through my days without anyone knowing about the sharks that bite at my feet.

Don’t misunderstand, since my diagnosis of Bipolar II, no one in my post trauma life has ever told me that my “issues” annoy them, nor has anyone told me that I can be “a lot.” My husband has never made me feel anything other than supported and loved. I keep some of my shit to myself not because he doesn’t want to hear it, on the contrary, he’s got a strong shoulder for me to cry on, but because he doesn’t need to hear about it all day, every day. It’s a tough burden to carry and I want to make sure that I take the brunt of the heaviness.

So, I’ve been making an extra effort on masking more frequently because I am in a dark place, and I don’t want company to see how I really live. Honestly, I feel like I’m getting gypped a little in the happiness department, and I am fighting bitter feelings and epic frustrations that no one can do anything about. I know that I am “supposed” to feel happiness in my mind? body? thoughts? I know I should be able to feel it somehow, yet it eludes me while still taunting and tormenting me. I think of it as an illusion that is so real I start to believe it’s an attainable, tangible thing that I can grab, but every time I reach for it, it vaporizes in my hands. Sometimes, I feel like I can literally feel the tingle of joy on my fingertips, but when I try to reign it in, focus in on it to enhance it, I just find my hand dangling in icy air.

The thing is, I’m not even grasping at nothing. I am certain others are loaded up with as many happy feelings they can contain within themselves. I know that there are humans that are enveloped in happy feelings and thoughts of all good things sans self loathing. Happiness is a wide open, accepting club, fairly easy for others to join in on, but for some reason my name is just not on the list and I can’t seem to find a way in.

It’s sad. I’m sad that I’m sad. I don’t want to be sad. I’d prefer to not go through life masking my blues with forced, faux smiles and basic life participation. I’m unhappy, but I’m not unhappy with my life, and there’s really no need to pout loud enough to draw attention to myself and harsh everyone else’s vibe. I am, in fact, very blessed, and I am acutely grateful for the love that surrounds me every moment of every day.

My universe is filled with empathy, compassion, understanding, patience, and unwavering love from my family and my village. I am immensely thankful that I have such a fun, loving, thoughtful, romantic, funny, exceptionally caring, protective, and successful husband who adores me, no matter what state I am in physically or mentally. I have two remarkable children who are intelligent, driven, sweet, funny, and kind humans who treat me like I matter. I am relieved to finally have a healthy relationship with my mom, and forever proud of myself for cutting ties with those who only brought me pain.

My friendship circle might be small, but I am lucky enough to have friends who are literally always there for me, no matter how far away I am or how much time passes between visits; they are my sisters. I have a beautiful home with an exceptionally gorgeous yard, my own separate space to create, reflect, sesh and connect with myself. I have a home full of love, a couple of four legged, furry best friends, and I live in a peacefilled, warm, welcoming space with no negativity, yelling, loudness, chaos or arguing. We have enough money to not stress, and we always have plenty of fun and adventures. I have all of that, the makings of a beautiful life, but even though I recognize and appreciate my blessings, I still find myself in the grips of depression. I have therapy, a psychiatrist, medication, journaling, yoga, gratitude, and yet, I still find myself being pulled down into the crevasses of dark, murky, tearful waters.

To put it simply, I’m just not doing well. And, while I see the irony of not wanting to draw attention to that, but sharing my inner feelings in a public blog, here I am. I truly don’t mean to complain, I’m not looking for pity, there’s no need to be concerned about me. I don’t need a lifeguard to jump in after me; I am not in a mental health crisis. I’m just feeling feelings that are too enormous to contain. I gotta deflate some of this building pressure inside me, and I am choosing to express it through writing. I’m not sure there’s much anyone can do to help me anyway. I am psychologically ill, and there is no cure – only management. So, I’ll continue to manage it as best as I can, as best as I can. I’ll continue my relentless quest for happiness, batting at it like a cat with a fish on a string. Maybe one’a these days, I’ll win.