On Mental Illness

Honesty good.

I’m working on a wee essay for Geez on mental illness, recovery, and faith. It is an essay about what mental health looks and feels like and is a follow up to this piece I wrote long ago on Medium. The American Healthcare System, however, thought it expedient and maybe even humorous to remind me of what mental illness actually feels like. The reminder is helpful if…uncomfortable.

Yesterday, I posted something like the following on Facebook and Substack:

I’ve been without my psychotropics for over a week and it’s taking a toll. Switching insurance providers has meant changing pharmacists. What a fucking nightmare. Jesus be a pharmacist. I am manic and disrupted. And I may need a cookie.

I am mentally ill. There’s no doubt. Ugh.

I am one of those folks who is keen on normalizing mental illness. Stigma bad. Honesty good. So, here’s a little honesty.

I am exhausted. My brain will not shut off. Mania is not a happy place. I don’t experience ideations when I’m manic, so I have that going for me. But neither am I really productive and able to Get Shit Done. No. I am Supremely Distracted. Jittery. Confused. It’s a bad trip.

Mental exercises, like writing, are helpful because they force me to focus. Such focus is a respite for my brain. But the my general well being is strung out. I’m a big weepy mess.

I should have my meds in a few days…maybe by Tuesday. Until then, I’m going to make some phone calls, have lunch with a friend, and take the afternoon off from work. I tried to tell someone a story about work yesterday and broke down crying. Ha! Ugh. My emotions are right on the surface. So, I need some down time.

I will return to writing my micro-essays once my mental health returns. They will be about faith, hope, grace, and other such salubrious subjects.

I hope to see you then.

Be excellent to each other.