There’s a Name for It.

There’s a name for it, for how I feel, for who I am.

I’ve never tried to explain myself, my insides, to anyone. It felt insignificant compared to other peoples problems. I felt insignificant. I didn’t think people would understand and even if I could say the right words, would they even care if I had a problem that wasn’t visible?

But here, in my safe-space, in the place that I hide from the world of people I know and share with complete strangers, here, I can tell the truth. I can express what is happening inside my brain and my body and heart. So here it is:

I am different than everyone else. I don’t see things the way other people do. I don’t see the world that everyone else does and not the fun magical creatures kind of way, but in my own way I have two sets of eyes. One pair of eyes see the world as a child, full of wonder and excitement and appreciation for the smallest and strangest things. I truly love my life in these moments and oddly, these moments usually come when no one is around. The second pair of eyes don’t see the world, they look intimately, to my surroundings. These eyes don’t see the bright, colorful life I have, they see the flaws and scars that life has left on my soul.

It is in these eyes that I see my problem. The first pair of eyes belong to a girl I used to know, that I still try to be. The little girl whose parents hit her and hid her away from the world, trapped in her own thoughts. Those eyes learned how to read in such a way that she could escape the awful feelings of neglect and abandonment from people who were always there. These eyes could see the life that she was supposed to have and project it upon the world much the say way one would project a movie about an architect building a skyscraper on the side of a building that was consumed by the elements long ago. It’s an illusion that even I don’t know how to escape from, not that I would want to if I could. The world is in shambles and everyone is selfish, but not the little girl, the little girls with her sparkling eyes. She knows that there is a better place and why shouldn’t she continue to live there.

Then the little girl stops, and she replaces her glittering eyes with dull, dark, sullen ones. The world she once looked at has changed. It seems smaller, it seems like the world only exists around her, around me. A small space, usually my work space or house or gathering of friends, is all that is visible. The people that are immediately around me and are interacting with me become harsh realizations that I am not telling the truth, that i’m somehow hiding from the life that they are all living, the real world is how they describe it, but what they truly mean is the broken spirit and controlled freedom that accompanies becoming and adult with responsibilities. They don’t see that in me, because I don’t see it in myself. The dullness of the world presses in on me and makes me retract into a shell of self doubt and hatred. The sadness that no one really understands me, could never understand my mind or my heart. That no one really cares how I feel, what’s going on in my life, that no one would really care if I weren’t here to be the butt of all their “harmless” jokes, they would be better off with out the girl that retracts at the first lash and tries to be nice to those that intend to hate her. The darkness that consumes my thoughts and makes me wonder why life has been so cruel to her, to me, when I’ve always tried to do right by everyone.

And suddenly, the little girl with sparkles in her eyes comes back, her life’s not that bad. She has some friends, she has a church family that loves her, even though they don’t actually know her, she has grandparents that would break if she weren’t around to hold them together. She makes her excuses for suppressing the grayness, because life’s not so bad, in fact, it’s full of wonderful things, like reading and other distractions that keep her from falling completely through the black hole.

This cycle of complete and utter oblivion and then depressive brooding happens constantly, sometimes within the same hour. Some people call it mood swings or PMS, but it is so much more than that. Every feeling is multiplied by ten, happiness, sadness, grief, every emotion is intense and life changing. Every cut heals slower and every memory fades faster. There are millions of tiny workers that are keeping that little girl from the “real world” and they are not ready to go into retirement.

But today, they did get a pay cut. Today, I found out i’m not alone, that what I feel is not my burden alone to bear. It has a name.

Dysthymic Disorder is a real thing.

“People with dysthymia generally experience little or no joy in their lives. Instead things are rather gloomy most of the time. If you have dysthymia you may be unable to remember a time when you felt happy, excited, or inspired. It may seem as if you have been depressed all your life. You probably have a hard time enjoying things and having fun. Rather, you might tend to be inactive and withdrawn , you worry frequently, and criticize yourself as being a failure. You may also feel guilty, irritable, sluggish, and have difficulty sleeping regularly.” (http://www.allaboutdepression.com/dia_04.html)

“The symptoms may cause significant problems or distress in social, work, academic, or other major areas of life functioning.” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dysthymia)

The people around me may not know that I have a problem, they may think that i’m just irritating or naive, but I know the truth. I know what I feel is real. I know i’m not alone in my bruised self-worth. My mental instability has a name.

 

(I would like to note that this is a self-diagnosis. I have not seen a professional. I have, however, read peoples thoughts and symptoms and personal feelings about there own Dysthymia and could have written their synopsis myself. I do plan in the future to seek out professional help.)