Acting on Impulse When Relapsing in Mental Illness

Acting on impulse, mental illness or not, rarely turns out well. So, this is, unfortunately, a post about my situation, formed by acting on impulse. I focus on myself not out of some form of narcissism (I might enjoy writing this blog if that were the case) nor because I feel particularly obligated. I write about it because I have become a damn good example of acting on impulse when life gets dark. Right. Here we go.

Impulsiveness and Mental Illness

Two Weeks of Madness and Sadness

The last time I posted in this blog was December 6th. It's the 21st now and I actually thought today was Thursday--that's what happens when you suddenly don't have a schedule. I missed writing three blogs. Yes, this may not seem like a lot but what it represents defines the past couple of weeks.

I hate the word impulsive because it describes so much of my life. I became addicted to drugs and alcohol largely based on impulsive decisions. I moved from house to house, apartment to apartment, because of being impulsive. I have both a hard time stopping my actions and starting positive ones.

There is usually a reason for abrupt impulsive decisions and this time around there was. Someone very close to me, connected by genes and memories, suddenly struggled with severe depression after years of spinning through life quickly. This person had always been whatever 'normal' looks and acts like like.

He has held my hand as I tripped through life. And suddenly, I could see the pain in his eyes, his drawn face and movement - the signs that define a lot of my life. I spent all my energy cooking and cleaning for him and neglecting about my own mental health (Self-Stigma: The Undeserved Guilt of Self-Care). I fell apart. What else can I say? I just wanted to 'cure' this person from pain I know is certainly not curable and I let my own mental health falter.

This is when things get messy.

I Fell Apart, Dammit, I Fell Apart...

Quite quickly, I found myself in bed. I found it hard to move. I felt like I failed. This person needed me to do things; grocery shop, talk, clean, smile, tell him it'll all be OK. And then I was no longer OK.

Life became black. I watched TV for nine hours because I could not move. I don't even like TV (except silly reality singing shows shh) but I just could not move. And I became angry. I became sick. I decided that I wanted to eliminate myself from the world. Not suicide, no, I was too tired for that. I wanted my mind to stop spinning--spinning in s---l---o---w motion.

I contacted HealthyPlace.com. The very website that has believed in my writing for over a year-and-a-half (and the one you are currently reading if you have made it this far) and told them I quit.

Yes, Just Like That! My manager asked "Natalie, did you just want to take two weeks off?" No, I told this person. I quit. Just like that.

And I deleted my Twitter account. Took my website down. Cancelled, well, all social media accounts. I decided, in my madness and sadness, that the world could kiss my ass. I did not want to talk about mental illness anymore. I did not want to talk about addiction.

All I wanted was a glass of damn wine and maybe a bunch of cocaine. To take the pain away. Please, I thought, take this away. Take me away! But I remained sober, despite taking a few extra sleeping pills because it hurt to be awake. I wanted to disappear.

I do not want to hold anything back. It was madness. I ripped up a copy of my book. Pages littered my office. My father brought me a bag of food and I refused to take it. Actually, I threw it. I was angry. I was so bloody angry. Not at life, no, but at myself. I wondered: What the hell am I doing? And, as time passed, I realized I could not hide from myself. I needed to put my mental health first or, clearly, bad things happen (it kind of sucks picking up pages of your own book. Seeing the cover of it, your face, ripped in half).

I contacted Healthyplace.com, not an easy thing for me to do, and I asked if I could continue with the blog. They had been looking for a replacement, but by the grace of a God I am not sure exists, they have taken me on again.

And things are looking up. Things are as normal as they can be. This has not been an easy post to write; throwing the worst parts of my life out there for people to read but, I have to tell you, I am damn lucky people do read them.

Onward and upward.