There’s just something about rainy days. It’s relaxing, soothing. When I’m at home that is. If I’m out in public, it’s an anxiety ridden roller coaster. But today it’s a relaxed day. I’m just sitting at home listening to the thunder, the rain pelting the complex. I’m about to make a cup of coffee and continue watching Nurse Jackie. I might go play a game and then take my meds to go to sleep. The only thing depressing about all of this is the medicine. I’m 28 years old and I have 14 bottles of medication sitting on the end table next to my bed. 14 bottles and 18 pills a day. Why? My doctor says I need them. And the doctor is probably right, but I’m too young to be this way. How am I not even 30 and I have all these medical and mental health issues?
Last night I was on the phone with someone and they were in a relatively good mood. Joking around and laughing, it felt good to be a part of that. But then the jokes turned into jokes being at my expense, and I got my feelings hurt. Like, really hurt. At first it was poking around at the medicine I take, and then one joke rolled into the next and I snapped. What I really wanted to do was cry but I made myself angry instead. The joke in question was “I’m not gonna make you pay me to talk to you” or something along those lines. Now, my medications and my doctors visits are usually a touchy subject for me in general. However, when the jokes come from someone important to me, someone close to me that I love, value and respect – well, it’s especially hurtful. And above all that, it’s embarrassing.
I mean, I joke about being a nut job. I joke often about being crazy but it’s a weird way of me dealing with it. It’s like when people say that they can pick on their sibling but nobody else can. That’s me making fun of myself but nobody else can do it. Going to see a therapist and being on medication makes me feel less like a normal human being. The ironic thing is that I’m not normal.
And I probably never will be.