I am NOT okay.

I am NOT okay.

I may look like I am.

I may smile a lot.  

I may even laugh a lot.   

My house may look neat and organized.  

I may be performing extraordinarily well at work.

My hair is combed, and I remember to pay bills and feed my dogs.

And I still may not be okay.

As a matter of fact, I have not truly been okay for almost 20 years. 

Trauma has a funny way of reconfiguring the status quo in your head, in your body, and in your soul.

Body chemical levels have since realigned and reconfigured, shifted and altered.

What is left is a person who looks okay on the outside.

What is left is a person who may be capable of winning Emmys and Oscars for her daily performance.

This person—this woman—puts on a daily act.

My act has misled hundreds (if not thousands).

Depression and anxiety rarely look like we think they should.

We expect someone who cannot get out of bed.

We expect someone who acts like a skittery rabbit.

We expect disheveled clothing, forgetfulness, and a lack of energy.

While they may be true for some, 

It has never been true for me.

Even in my darkest days, I was still functioning.

Even in my darkest days, I still wore a smile and still got done what needed to be done.

This is the curse of high-functioning anxiety and depression.

High-functioning means that there is no outward sign of the reality beneath the surface.

 

Underneath the pictures of a visibly neater house than I have had since I lived by myself in graduate school,

Underneath the Kim who laughs around friends and is managing 3 extra classes this semester, 

Underneath the Kim who manages to keep mowing and edging her yard, who is working on reorganizing her garage,

is the real Kim who fights each day

To see sunlight,

To find joy,

To listen to voices of positive affirmation,

To keep functioning,

To believe in a future that is happier and brighter than this one,

To keep moving forward.

Depression looks like me.

Anxiety also looks like me.

Just as I am.  Just as I have appeared for 20 years.

Before anyone worries if I am suicidal, I am nowhere near that.

I regularly see my counselor.

I reach out to friends, and they reach out to me.

I have howled with laughter recently,

I have hugged friends and shared special moments,

I have celebrated recent milestones, and

I have sung at the top of my lungs and done my version of an uncoordinated dance, 

And I have been beside myself with joy at the sight of the hummingbird drinking from my salvia plants.

However, I have also sobbed, wailed, cried, cursed, and cursed some more.

I have pulled off to the side of the road to cry and beat the steering wheel.

I have looked at the bulleted list of “to do’s” and felt overwhelmed—closing the laptop screen with a slam to go sit and stare at the television.

I have examined my past and tried to avoid the bullets of “what if’s” and “if only’s” that inevitably follow.

[Big P.S. This Kim is no longer listening to the voices of “Let Go and Let God” and guilt messages of what God can do if only I trust enough. I have heard that often enough before, and I believe it is an evil lie.  We don’t blame people for their other diseases, so I refuse to think of myself as weak or broken just because I have these 2 conditions.  This Kim will not feel less than for taking anti-depressants or anti-anxiety meds.]

Below my smile lines are tear creases, circles beneath my eyes, and a feeling of heaviness.

Below my laughter lie questions about the meaning of life and about the logic of my life resembling Job’s.

And beneath all of that is the emptiness of being without either parent or my husband and being with kids who are far too emotionally distant for this Momma’s heart.

And beneath that is the real fear of what the future looks like.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I don’t write this for sympathy.

I write this to let you know that if you, too, are a play actor,

If you have performed a show of functionality when your life is falling apart around you,

If you have worn the costume of the perfunctory “I am doing fine” when the truth is anything but,

If you try to silence the negatives, try to silence the “what if’s” and try to control it all under your mask,

You are not alone.

I have no solution.  If there was one, I would have found it years ago.

I have been looking.

I am one who wants a quick fix.

Medication helps.

Counseling helps.

But the reality is depression looks like me.  So does anxiety.

I feel as if these 2 conditions that have caused me to be vulnerable have made me love others even more.

I regularly share this reality with my students who are struggling now more than we know.

Because I know how tenuous life can be and how our perspectives can shift,

I rarely hold judgments about others.

We each bear our own secrets about the truth behind our masks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If you ever want someone to see you beneath the mask, I am here.

I am here for the happy moments of singing at the top of your lungs with your favorite song,

I am here for the loud sobs that eliminate the need for any words,

I am here just to sit on the other side of the computer screen or phone or table.

There is freedom that comes from admitting the truth of the real person who is behind the mask.

I welcome you to take off your makeup, 

remove the fake plastered smile, 

just sit with me.

We can be NOT okay together.