Not the boldest title, I know. But this post is about exactly what the title implies. The truth. It is also a confession. I have not been honest with you, gentle readers. Please, allow me to give you a background.
When I was in High School, my brain chemistry was just starting to shake things up. I figured it was just your typical teenage angst. Of course, come to find out later that most people really don’t go through that phase like I did. Yep, my angst was special. Not that it was justified. I was put on medication to curb that angst, after all. But the point of this opening paragraph is that when I was depressed in High School, I hid it from everyone. I became the expert of the fake smile. I was slightly paranoid and thought people were watching me, to see if I’d fall flat on my face. Truthfully, there were a couple of people doing that. Not as many as I thought, though.
So I was always happy and always succeeded. I would wake up after a night of inner darkness and not want to move. The feeling of my chest moving up and down was more than I could bear. But I picked myself up and took myself to school. I attended every class without fail. I never skipped. I got excellent grades in the “Smarter-Than-Thou” classes I took. And every so often, I felt like my mind was going to explode and take my entire being with it.
Turns out, I was SO good at faking it that people were surprised to hear that I suffered from major depression. (But oddly, they were unfazed when they heard about the Bipolar diagnosis. Go figure.) And I remember that feeling of no one knowing they could bring me down. I was invincible. I was untouchable. Sometimes it was amazing and sometimes it just made everything worse.
I graduated High School, went off to university, met a new guy, and became vulnerable. Everyone knew when they tore me down and everyone knew exactly which buttons to push. It was simultaneously frustrating and freeing. I could flip out whenever I wanted, crawl into a corner and cry without worrying what people would think. They knew! I was free! But, naturally, every emotion I had came into question. “I’m Bipolar, so am I justified in being this upset or are my neurotransmitters screwing with me again?” “Am I really happy?” “Why am I so irritable?” “What is going on inside my mind???”
It is so much easier in internet-land to pretend that everything is alright. I put up posts that, just in case they are read, are cheerful or optimistic. Even the ones that dip into the pain still have the upturned inflection in the end. And I’m so tired of it. The facade did amazing things for me in the past. I got to move around like a normal person in a sea of normality. But I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to be honest, and this is my confession: I’m hurting. I’m very depressed. There have been triggers, such as a huge falling out with a friend. I’ve tried to tell myself I don’t care or I shouldn’t. I’ve tried to cling to the anger and to any shadow of relief. But I can’t. Every time my mind stops for a moment, I think of my friend. I dream about her. I miss her. And I shake it off after a few minutes and continue on with life. But the hurt is still there.
I wanted this blog to be about balancing adulthood and childhood dreams. I’ve been making an effort to do that and I’ve loved it. But it’s not all sunshine and daisies, the way I foolishly expected it to be. I hope it is ok with you guys for me to share my true feelings here. I’m going to anyway, but I’d like your support, too.
So, Breaking Out of the Bell Jar is taking a slightly new direction. I will not only share my joys in exploring my childhood dreams, but I will also share my roadblocks, my doubts, and the truth. Today, I’m sad. Who knows how I will feel tomorrow?
I am imperfect but I am not broken.
I am a real person writing these posts.
My blog from here on out will be completely honest, if a little vague.
Thank you for your patience, your kindness, and your support. 🙂