Original background image:
Hannah Hoch, 1930
Words and text manipulation by The Real Cie
Notes:
With this image, I am caught up with 30 Days of Haiga. Too bad I can't use it for Inktober, which I am severely behind on, but that requires actually drawing something. I didn't draw (or paint) this.
The image references living with a mood disorder which includes suicide ideation. I've said it before, but it bears repeating, please respect me enough to know that, as a person of 52 years old and having at least average intelligence (even though I sometimes think I'm dumber than a box of rocks) who has lived with mental illness for her entire life, I know very well what meds are, what counseling is, and what an emergency room is. If I went to the ER every time I had a suicidal thought, I'd have to live there. I don't want to live there.
When people tell me I should "think about seeing a counselor" or I should "consider getting on meds," it's pretty much the same as telling me that I should "consider seeing a doctor" because my blood sugar is elevated. Yes, I have diabetes. Insulin and metformin have worked pretty well for me, but sometimes, depending on what food is available and circumstances not entirely in my control, I may still have elevated (or diminished) blood sugar readings. As a veteran diabetic, I know the score with my blood sugar.
As a veteran of the mental illness wars, I also know the score. However, people tend to treat those with mental illness as if we are stupid children who don't know our own minds and bodies.
My life contains certain aspects that would probably depress a person who didn't have a screwed-up brain like mine which likes to exaggerate every emotion I feel. I work full time but don't have enough money to buy adequate food, which is crappy any time but has an added element of crappiness when you're diabetic. I "make too much money" to qualify for aid programs. When I started making "enough money," my Medicaid got cut off. I'm still behind on all the payments I fell behind on when I was underemployed after losing my job back in March. Like I said, GOOD FUCKING TIMES!
It seems that I no sooner catch up a little than something else comes along to run me over like a Semi barreling down a one lane road.
Last night I was thinking to myself "why don't I just do it? Nothing ever gets any better."
This thought wasn't one of the hyperbolic ones where I imagine flinging myself into a canyon a la Wile E. Coyote. I had some pretty realistic ideas on how to top myself. These are actually always in the back of my mind because I will utilize them toot sweet if I am ever diagnosed with dementia. I am not putting myself or my son through that shit, no way, no how.
Some folks will say "but the Conventional Wisdom when you're having suicidal thoughts is to go to Emergency Services."
As a veteran of the Mental Illness Wars, I can tell you that there's a myriad of reasons why that's the last thing many of us would do, one of them being the fact that I don't have the fucking time to be on a three-day psych hold. Guess what I wouldn't be making while I was in the psych ward arguing with a bunch of by the book types about the fact that SSRI's make me worse rather than better. That's right, a paycheck! I'm not stupid and I'm actually not delusional. Cold, hard logic dictates that I need money more than I need to seek help that isn't going to help me anyway.
The Haiga references the fact that on one hand I care very deeply and hurt very deeply. On the other hand, I've had so much pain in my life that I'm pretty well numb a great deal of the time. My heart feels like it's been shot full of Novocain which is wearing off. I hurt so much that I don't feel much anymore, and that hurts.
There's my story. I don't expect anyone to necessarily know how it feels, but I do expect respect for my experiences.
No one would ever tell me to "stop being so hypothyroid," although, sadly, I'm sure a lot of people would be happy to tell me about the latest quack miracle cure, such as rubbing myself in black salt while standing on my head and drinking liquid Vaseline. It doesn't happen as much with hypothyroidism, but with diabetes, this is certainly something that happens quite often.
The point being, no-one would ever tell me to stop being so hypothyroid or even stop being diabetic (although they might tell me how I could cure my diabetes.) However, people think nothing of telling me and others like me to "just stop that stinkin' thinkin'," "just get on some meds," "maybe you need to go to church," "mental illness is caused by demons, wrong thoughts, bad karma," or one of my favorites, "stop looking for attention."
I've also gotta love the people who post things like "how can anyone be a Negative Nellie when God has made such a beautiful world for us to live in? I just don't understand Teh Negativ Peepul!"
I used to feel really hurt and defensive when I saw such posts. At this point, I feel that these people are ignorant and lack empathy. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be wired to Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life. Even when I'm happy I'm always somewhat sad. I know that makes very little sense to anyone who hasn't experienced it, but it does not make me any less worthy of having a decent life than someone who is always Ms. Pollyanna Sunshine.
So, this is my last Haiga/Haibun for this year's 30 Days of Haiga. I can't say I hope you enjoyed reading it, but I do hope you might have learned something.
~The Cheese Hath Grated It~
