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I guess a little backstory is necessary here. If you have kept up with my writings, then you know I am “touched". I don’t write longform on Substack anymore, so if you are not subscribing, you are missing out. And just think, for less than a week or two of Starbucks, you could be getting my content quarterly, or even yearly!!! Exciting all around.
But that is not the backstory, I went on a side quest. It happens to me a lot. ANYWAY, the meme above is funny because it is true. People with mental illness understand this to the core. Staying alive when you feel you cannot is not a minor miracle. People can be on edge, and one sentence, one word, one vile paragraph could have catastrophic effects. I love the internet. I fucking hate the internet. The most vile, virulent, vicious people hide behind their screen and say the most fucked up things. On every platform, the things I’ve heard, which are no big deal to me, would blow yall away.
So, the isms and phobias, all the TRASH and TERFS, I’ve heard it all. And usually, I have no problem. I will engage for a bit, then pull back and not answer. It is fun for a while. Go back to the top and read the meme again. It, for me, means exactly what it says. And I would assume (am I taking a giant leap here) that other mentally ill people have been on this edge. They survived the night and lived to see the next day. Reclaiming that pain and fear, and transmuting it into something wicked humorous is an art form. I applaud this meme’s maker. They caught the essence perfectly.
You can’t just open up the conversation at a lunch in a restaurant or a dinner in your house with something like I didn’t kill myself today so that’s a win, and expect the conversation to continue to be fun and jolly. That is a serious conversation starter. Like, grippy socks hotel conversations. Although, to me it is very funny, sometimes it absolutely is not.
As I said (or may not have) I posted this meme on Substack in the notes section about a month or two ago. I got some likes, a couple of restacks, and maybe a couple of comments. Fast forward to today, and this fucking asshole comes in the comments and says “YOU SHOULD DO IT TODAY THEN I WILL GIVE YOU A HIGH FIVE.” Negro, what???!!!??? This motherfucker!! Usually, this stuff runs off my back like water to a duck ( is this actually true), but today, idk, it was another spiral. All I could think about is all the things I haven’t accomplished. How I’m the loser of my family. I know Egg is frustrated with me, but I can’t help it. It doesn’t give me the right to be an asshole; when I am, I should be told, and, ideally, I will apologize and try to correct that behavior.
I have bipolar disorder, and I am in a mixed episode still. I thought I was moving out of it, but damn it is still going strong. I guess it really is going to take time for the medicine to kick in. With mixed episodes, I get very agitated, very aggravated, and very explosive in temper. I know Egg is walking on eggshells. I wish I could be better to her. I can feel her frustration. I am trying. Right now, I am better on my own, with her nearby for any crisis - but I don’t want to be near her. Can you understand that? And I think it would extend to any person irl. Online, with trusted people is fine. Having to deal with people while in a mixed episode is hard. I struggle with people used my cheery mood. When they see me in an episode, something changes. It is almost always pity. And “
Let’s stop and think about this from my point of view. I am a Black trans nonbinary woman. Every time I leave the safety of my place, I am taking my life in my, and my peoples hands. Now, throw in the fact that I am agitated, can be a dick, am quick to cut people off. What if I pop off on the wrong person?? So, I am staying the space, hiding out and trying to ride it out. I mean, I can see the humor in mental illness, and bipolar provides a font of laughter. I can even crack jokes through tears filled with pain and despair.
But today was not one of those days. I was on Substack like usual. And this asshole leaves this comment. And the mixture of rage, self-loathing, and mental pain manifesting as physical had my brain moving, and not in a good way. I spiraled for a while, reached out to an online person. I reached out to a group chat, but didn’t really get much support. Oh well. Not shocking. But there are a few good eggs. And one particular person who knows who they are whose got my back. Egg was in a meeting, and had been for an hour and a half. When she got out of her meeting, I told her, we discussed it, and I felt better. I know the way I approached with her scared her a bit. When I get like this it is called dysphoric mania. The jackass is still there, just pissy, and one who takes out on the people around them ugh. My thoughts around pain, hurting myself, or unaliving myself do pop up, but I don’t feel like it goes that far most times. Thoughts, like onions, have layers.
This time was just the fleeting thought of not being here anymore. How Egg would have a better life. How people wouldn’t be shamed by me. How everything just might be better if I wasn’t around.
I realized that it was the mixed episode, and am writing this out so that I can truly (hopefully) get this out of my mind.
Fuck.
Thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far. I am sure it is a scrambled read, as my brain is scrambled too.
