Mental Health does not exist. If we work hard enough and long enough we won't have time to even think about anything regarding our mental health. Therapy is a joke and talking doesn't change anything.
This is what I believed most of my life. And this is what began the downfall of my mental health. I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). My trifecta has haunted me most of my adult life though it took until now to understand the consequences. The things I've seen and experienced are beyond words. I have been trying to document them for my own sake, but the sheer amount of it all is overwhelming. Not only that, but there are so many gaps in my memory that sometimes I don't even know how my story fits together. I think this is the part that scares me the most. And it's the part that people don't really talk about. The lapse in memory function. There are times in which I find myself in a place and a smell will catch my attention. I can't place it and I can't even tell what I am actually smelling, but the scent will remind me of a feeling. Unfortunately, that feeling is normally negative and it makes me want to leave that place as soon as possible, but I can't remember what it is that made me feel that way. That's one extreme side of the issue. On the other side, I can't remember simple conversations I had yesterday. I can't remember things I've been asked to do. I can't remember what I need from the store. I basically can't remember much without writing it down. And this part SUCKS! This, again, is the part that no one told me about (or maybe they did and I don't remember).
What I have come to learn is that with each of my diagnoses, there is a side effect of memory loss whether you get help or not. This is because these issues required me to live in a constant state of awareness and to be on guard at all times. This means, that I could not take the time to smell the flowers and enjoy the day. I could not sit back, watch the kids and remember their faces during that time. Ultimately it means that I just could not make memories within my mind. My constant state of awareness to ensure I kept away from danger left me living day to day. And now today, I am left with holes in my story as I try to piece together the past. I'm left with pictures that I can't quite remember the context of. I'm left with stories that as I listen to them they sound more like a movie rather than my life. I just wish I had someone who knew me in the past that was willing to take the time to fill in the gaps.
For now I will just have to keep writing in the moment and going back to read about myself later. This way I will at least know what was happening in my forties.
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