Please note: This post talks about mental illness, specifically depression and anxiety, as well as loss and grief. If any of these make you uncomfortable, feel free to skip over this!
June was the seventh year anniversary of my mother’s death. It hardly seems like it’s been that long. My mother was such an alive, vibrant, radiant person that her no longer being here sometimes seems like an impossibility. It certainly was nothing I would have ever expected or known to brace for. To this day, it still feels like I was punched in the gut.
I began having panic attacks around the anniversary itself. I took myself to the emergency room one morning after having been engulfed in panic for almost twelve hours. I felt certain that I was going to die. My jaw throbbed, my chest ached. But I was okay, and an EKG, stress test, and an appointment with a cardiologist proved that. At least I’m physically okay, although my mind is a mess.
I’ve felt lately that I have to censor myself in order to keep others comfortable. “Don’t talk about being less than perfect, Emily — it bothers other people.” I’ve always been open about my mental illness. While I don’t want it to define me, it is a part of who I am. It has been there since I was ten, and it will be there until I die. I always found comfort in the confessions of those who have similar struggles (Jenny Lawson is my heroine), and after discovering Brené Brown about five years ago, I made the conscious decision to be authentic and (try to) embrace my vulnerability. If I can’t admit to having these emotions, how can I be my authentic self?
So here’s the real, 100%, honest to God, authentic Emily: I have major depressive disorder and it’s usually controlled well with medication but sometimes I feel like crap. I miss my mom every single day and sometimes I cry myself to sleep thinking about her. I have extreme anxiety and worry about a lot of dumb shit, although it’s not as paralyzing as it used to be. I have all the hang-ups everyone else seems to have, but I like who I am and I make myself laugh. I don’t handle stress well. I’m messy and I run late constantly and I screw stuff up, but I have a good heart.
That’s me. Nice to meet you.
