No one would have guessed by looking at the girl wrapped in a Scottish cape blowing bubbles and singing along to Debussy’s Clair de Lune was sobbing on the bathroom floor only 5 minutes before. I was blowing these bubbles and watching them flutter about to the augmented and seventh arpeggios of the music and thinking how I could make them symbolize something about what happened.
I’ve said this before, but being this fucked up mental health wise is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through (and my appendix ruptured when I was 12). I’ll be having a fine day, just working my ass off because finals are in 2 weeks and I’ll be reading a web comic to destress and then BOOM!
All of a sudden you’ll hear me sobbing loudly from the bathroom (the only place in my flat I can find privacy) clutching my boyfriend’s sweater and trying so desperately not to reach for a razor in my bathroom to make the interior pain subside for a few hours. I can’t express how desperately I want to give up. People tell me all the time how strong I’m being (thank you for that) but I don’t want to be strong anymore. I’m tired of constantly having to be strong against myself. I want to just relax and not feel like I’m always fighting off my own fucked up mind. I want to be strong for other people. I want to be able to save this strength for when I need it, not every waking hour.
I want to say something cheesy like blowing the bubbles symbolizes my depression making itself huge and then popping away, never to be seen again. But lets be honest, if depression and anxiety was really like that, I wouldn’t be fighting like this.
I see the same tear stained face reflected in every bubble that flutters away from me and I reflect on Cinderella while she’s scrubbing the floor and singing to herself. All she is doing is waiting for life to turn around for her so she can escape the horrid life she has.
If we take this Cinderella metaphor and apply it to my situation it makes a lot of sense to me . Lets swap the Evil Step-sisters and Step-Mother for my mental illnesses and her little animal friends for the people who have helped support me through all of this. She tries to act happy for her friends who are always there to help her and to keep herself sane, but her step family is cruel and tearing her beautiful life to shreds when she has a sliver of a chance of finding happiness again. When she’s scrubbing the floor and having the bubbles swirl around her, she’s about to hear about the ball and she’s imagining herself in a better place. Step mother of course ruins everything and then Cinderella is saved by her fairy godmother and her friends and marries a wonderful handsome prince.
Except…I don’t have a fairy godmother, my little furry friends are about 8,000 miles away, and my prince is over 10,500 miles away from me. Maybe the Anxiety Treatment Center I’m going to in late April will be my fairy godmother and my prince will return to me one day. Maybe then, I’ll have my happily ever after.
Have a day filled with kittens, Okay?