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I’m Still Embarrassed by My Mental Illness

13/10/18

By Victoria KPublished 5 years ago 3 min read
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I went to the local shop today to put on my gas & electric. As I was paying, I reached tentatively towards a display box of Malteaser Reindeer and subsequently knocked the whole display into the floor. Chocolate deer splayed out across the tiled floor like a delicious festive massacre. I could immediately feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

“I’m sorry...God, I’m so, so sorry,” I stammered to the check out lady, who had already laughed it off with a shrug & a wave of her hand to indicate no harm done.

I imagine that her daily routine in the shop was somewhat the same as usual. She is obviously a busy woman & has her own things going on in life to attend to, as do I. However, I went home afterwards and didn’t do the washing up left from the night before, because I was overwhelmed with the notion that I would have to walk further away to a different shop to put my gas & electric on now, as I’d never be able to go in that shop or see that lady ever again.

I got back into bed at 10:00am and stayed there until my shift at work started at 2:45pm. I tried to distract myself by forcing myself into a nap, but the events of the morning kept replaying in my head. I’d knocked over a display that somebody had spent their precious time building. What if that lady had spent all morning creating the masterpiece & I’d destroyed it? What if the lives of her entire family were dependent solely on whether or not a display of chocolate reindeer stayed intact? I would not, could not ever forgive myself. I’m a ruiner and I ruin things, and that is why everybody I meet secretly hates me.

I actively try to teach myself that my thoughts are not facts. My therapist once taught me that whenever I find myself worrying or "thinking catastrophically," I must consider whether my thoughts are a fact or an opinion. If somebody in the street approached me and told me that they didn’t like my hair, and I thus spent the day worrying about it, it would be a fact, as there would be evidence to dictate that it was true. If I thought somebody in the street gave me a funny look, and I then began to worry that they disliked my hair, it would be my opinion. I would have no reason to believe that that was in fact the issue. However, putting this way of thinking into practice is difficult as it is a learned way of thinking, and an anxiety disorder isn’t. An anxiety disorder is like a flashing beacon that attracts negative thought, honing in on words and their subjective meanings to fabricate multiple fictional scenarios.

The Malteaser Reindeer incident isn’t the only thing that I’ve done where I’ve been mortally embarrassed. My anxiety seems to try to embarrass me at every given opportunity. I sweat profusely & blush when fervently attempting to remove the right amount of change from my purse within the time limit I’ve given myself before I fail & it causes my parents death. I choke on food in public because I’m conscious of eating like an infant. I stutter & muddle up my words when responding to people, making it seem as though English isn’t my first language.

I do know that, logically, I shouldn’t find it embarrassing to live with a mental illness. I didn’t invite it into my life. I’m just wading through life, putting my socks on one foot at a time like everybody else. But there is a shame I have attached to it. I am ashamed that I seem to latch onto people like rafts & rely on them to keep me afloat. I’m ashamed that I’ve rejected and refused people from my life due to fear.

The operative word I’ve used in this article, I think, is "try.: I am constantly in the motion of trying. But Jesus Christ, almighty God above, please let me lay down my sword and give in, and allow myself to like myself exactly as I am.

anxiety
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About the Creator

Victoria K

24 yr old woman. Writer of mental health experiences/feminism/poetry. Lover of coffee. Hater of single use plastic.

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