So because of the job stuff we had a bit of a financial hiccup this month and aren’t going to be able to get my medication for about a week. When I’m on it I’m a normal functioning person. When I’m not… well it’s pretty much hell for me and everyone around me. I’ve been off for about 4 days and shockingly enough I’ve been alright.
It’s scary because I know it can change at any moment. I know that my brain isn’t really mine when I’m not on meds. I think things I normally wouldn’t and I do things I normally wouldn’t. Things that hurt the people I love.
I was telling Andy that it’s okay we have to wait a week since I was feeling pretty decent given the situation. He said we will get it as soon as possible because he doesn’t want to play with fire.
At first I was a little caught off guard. Am I the fire? Are the meds the extingisher? Is he the fireman?
I found myself on the depression subreddit today. One of the things I do right before shit hits the fan. The moment I pressed the button …
… I felt like the fire.
Slowly spreading, burning myself and everything around me to a crisp.
But something funny happened. As I was looking around at the posts I started realizing that I couldn’t seem to relate to any of it. Sure it sounded familiar, but I didn’t share the thoughts or feelings that come with depression like others did on the subreddit.
It made me feel hopeful. And because I felt hopeful I had a moment of rational clarity.
I am not the fire. None of us are.
Depression is the fire.
I’m the house.
I am the house that cares for others and shelters them. Loves them and keeps them warm. Helps keep their memories and is always there for them when they need me. Warns them of fire with smoke alarms in hopes that someone will wake up and help me tame the flames.
I am fine.