I constantly look to others to tell me where I should be in life. What one person my age owns, has accomplished, and is capable of immediately becomes what I should own, what I should have accomplished, and what I should be capable of.
This type of thinking has plagued me for years, and has only gotten worse since my diagnosis. Being incapable of doing what it seems everyone else can do is heartbreaking. Knowing I’m different and knowing my limits are below the limits of others can bring tears to my eyes, and always leaves me feeling disappointed in myself.
Not knowing where I’m going in life has left me feeling lost and alone. This has become increasingly hard to bear now that I’ve reached adulthood. Being an adult means being responsible and self-sufficient. Unfortunately, I cannot be held accountable for all my actions from time to time, and as for being self-sufficient, I have no choice but to put the bulk of my personal care into the hands of others.
Learning to accept my disabilities as a part of myself has been hard. There are days where I don’t want to admit to myself how bad off I am. There are days where I like to pretend I’m not as sick as I am, only for it to blow up in my face later. There are days where the crushing weight of acceptance has made me suicidal. But I need to accept that while I have a great and reliable support group, I am essentially alone in all of this. And that’s okay.
Being alone in a sea called mental illness doesn’t mean I can’t reach out for help. And just because I can’t force someone go through this turbulence with me doesn’t mean they’ll refuse to hold my hand to steady me. I may be alone, but I am alone on an island called support.