Inside. I’m trapped inside and I can’t get out. I have to be in here for my own good – for everyone’s good. But – it’s miserable in here. It’s small, and I can hardly move. I can hardly breathe.
The pill bottle. I’m trapped inside the pill bottle. Or at least, that’s how it seems. The pills. They keep everything so small, so boxed in. I can’t be in a box. I can’t live that way. I’m going crazy. I need to feel. I need to be free. I’m no good like this.
Like this, I’m just taking up space. I just go through the motions. I do what is expected. I work when I’m supposed. I socialize when I can’t get out of it. I laugh when it’s appropriate. But that’s it. It’s all on the surface. It’s all forced. None of it is genuine. None of it comes from a place of joy or passion. And that’s what is missing.
This disorder that I have – this thing that is sometimes a gift and sometimes a curse – is the thing that has allowed me to learn and grow beyond anything I ever thought possible. It’s because of my experience with this that I want to help people who also wrestle with it. But there’s a problem.
I can’t when I’m in the box.
I’m blunted in the box. I’m so numb in the box. I’m so detached in the box. I don’t have the desire to help. I don’t have the passion or the creativity to write when I am shoved into that tiny pill bottle. I can’t tap into past experiences when the pills take over. I can’t rely on past hurts. I can’t recall how I felt. I don’t feel anything. So what do I do?
I can’t have this all be for nothing. I can’t have gone through all I’ve gone through and not be able to access it when I need to. Yet – I can’t stay in a place where I can’t function either. So, what? What do I do?
I don’t like where I am now. I bounce. I feel good. And then I don’t. I feel bad. And then I don’t. There’s no explanation. There is just constant change. Change is the constant. But there is this energy that I feel. I feel it bubbling. I feel it inside, not allowing me to rest. I feel it keeping me from being at peace. There is a war within me. The truest parts of me are fighting to be set free while the pills are fighting to keep them bottled up.
The pills are both the problem and the solution. How can that ever work? How will that ever work? How will my insides ever be at peace with that? I don’t think they will. I don’t see how I will ever have peace like this. I don’t think I can be well the way I want to be. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like a bandaid trying to hold together a broken bone. It will never work.
And I don’t think I can be both well, and help on the level that I want to help, at the same time. Maybe I need to take a look at what my role as a helper is supposed to be. Maybe I’m coming at it from the wrong angle and trying to make something fit that isn’t supposed to fit. Maybe I’m onto something here.
I’ve had so many people pray for healing over me, but I’ve just never felt it in my heart that that was God’s plan for me. Maybe wellness needs to look a little different than I have been thinking, too. Because, to be honest, I don’t feel well. I feel more stable, but stability doesn’t feel like wellness to me. I don’t think I can put words on that to make it sensible, but it makes perfect sense to me.
I just know I can’t stay trapped. This is not wellness. This is madness.