It's been a good week or so since I showered. Because depression that comes with anxiety will do that to you. I get home exhausted for no real reason. It can be a simple day and I'm just as tired from work as I would be on the biggest truck of the year.
It's because being up and happy and facing life as if my brain isn't screaming at me is hard. It's hard to fight with yourself nonstop. So, I come home and rest. I rest so I have enough strength to cook dinner for my husband and myself. I can create strength from no where when he needs it; when he needs me.
One day, I dream that simple tasks won't feel so taxing. That checking the mail won't drain me. Some days are better than others though and that's just life with mental illness. My mental illness doesn't make me weak or lazy or make me any less of a person. I am not my brain. You don't have to be defined by your disorders as if they are bad. They just make you far more interesting.
"My brain told me I should pee in a plastic bag today," for instance, you could say. Now you're full of life and flavor while Sharon is rambling on about if her donations will be tax deductible or not. Come on Sharon, you don't even have salt on that dish and I'm over here giving you paprika?!
I might not be squeaky clean but damn it, I have seasoning (not that you should eat me, that is ill advised) and I would rather that than be bland.