The Dark Side

What goes on in my funny little brain

It starts with opening the door.

“I can do this! I can face the public and interact with other people like a normal person. Don’t think about it. Just – ”

NO, anxiety says.

A pause. Hand on the doorknob.

Stop being an idiot. You’re stupid and weak, says the little voice that’s been my constant companion of going on ten years.

But somehow, with what I can only describe as being a mix of self-deprecation, a fear that I’ll never be “normal,” and a gentle prodding that I so often ignore, I power through.

The next step is the front yard.

“That shouldn’t be too difficult. I mean, it’s my own neighbourhood right?”

But still I’m grateful for the towering evergreens that shield me from the ever-watching, ever-judging windows of the surrounding houses.

Usually, on a good day, I make it to the shed.

I grab my bike.

And then it really begins.

Who do you think you are? You’re nobody. Practically everybody can see that. They’ll all be laughing.

Depression says, You suck.

I hate you.

But I’m not sure who’s saying what anymore.

So I’ll stay put, looking at the road.

“Come on! You’ve made it this far! Just out to the street –  can you do that for me?”

They’re watching.

“SHUT UP!”

Tentatively, I make it to the end of the driveway. The street is empty. I dart out.

“Up the street, up the street, up the street. Nobody’s watching you. You’re fine. Everything’ll be fine. I swear.”

But then…

PHASE THREE

I see the main road, cars, but even worse, people.

The urge to turn back is so strong.

At this point, I usually start to speak out loud.

“Why did you think this would be a good idea?”

“I have to get better at this. I can’t be easy on myself.”

You think this is hard? You are weak.

“I KNOW!”

By now though I’m well on my way down the main road, the conversation an excellent distraction from the people around me.

Who do you think you are going on a bike ride in public? You have no right. I mean, you’re so awful you’re an absolute disgrace.

“Other people do stuff like this all the time.”

Well they’re better than you.

“Look how far I’ve come though! Today’s a good day! J”

Nope, says anxiety.

I freeze.

Suddenly I can feel the stares of every passing person. Their beady eyes are drilling into me. I feel it pushing me over.

I try to shrink, disappear into my surroundings, anything.

I turn away from the road and put my hand up to my face to shield myself from the glares of judgement.

Everybody can see you. They know you suck. You are ruining their day. You have no right to be here.

“Everybody can see me. Everybody can see me.”

“They can see me… they can see me… THEY ALL CAN SEE ME… they can see me… … …”

I know I’m mumbling this to myself – that I must look like a crazed fool to the passing cars. But at this point I don’t care. I can’t move. There’s no going back. I’m trapped.

Somehow though, invariably, I make it back to my house, drop off my bike, go back through the front door, up the stairs.

“Up the stairs, up the stairs, up the stairs.”

To my room. My safe harbour. My quiet fortress.

Blanket on the bed.

Blanket over my head.

Safe.  

See, I told you you’re a failure.

Depression again.

You suck.

“At least I tried.”

There’s always that.

We can’t deny her that.

No.

There’s no winning though.

Never.

Another day, another battle.