Deteriorating Mental Health and the Failure of Self-Care in 2017

In the collapse of modern civilization, we with invisible illnesses are overstimulated with the decline into a future dystopian reality that we've only read about in books and seen in movies. No gender, race, ethnicity, religion (Non-Religious), gender identity, sexual identity, we were in essence not safe before 2016, but in the landscape that is our current political and social environment we’re even less safe. We’re targets.

We have a man-child in the highest office of the United States. We’re having our rights dissolved by white, upper-class Republicans. Walking down the street is an exercise is strength and hopes that our fear doesn’t override our hope of something brighter. The United States is no longer considered a place people can come to escape oppression.

I don’t discuss politics, mine are a personal choice and in order to hang on to a moment of self-care, I avoid social media. It’s not all about politics, it’s every Keyboard Warrior who takes offense and can issue an all-out attack on a human who is just attempting to survive. Devastation comes in many forms, physical, mental, and environmental, as proven by catastrophic hurricanes, but we aren’t supposed to speak of climate change in terms other than false news. An anomaly.

Our rights to protest peacefully are under attack. A black American can’t stand or kneel, can’t raise their fists and say enough is enough without being deemed a threat. I could list all the black Americans who were murdered and the list would be endless; centuries worth. Can we list every Trans person who’s died due to hatred? Can we list every Muslim who’s been verbally/physically assaulted? We can and we should, we kneel and we raise our fists for them. People have forgotten or conveniently forgotten the centuries of protest for freedoms that people take for granted because they own privilege. 

Do you know what we don’t do as Americans? We don’t ignore millions of people who are dying due to neglect. We are what we are, we can either choose to be blind or scream at the tops of our lungs that ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

I’m an Atheist, butch lesbian. I am Bipolar. I have uncontrollable rage. I have daily urges to self-harm. I have daily thoughts that this world would be better without me. I want to drink and get high every day. No way will I deny who and what I am. Because the moment we deny what we are, we silence someone who was unable to speak up for themselves. I owe the generations who come to show them that no matter how many times I’ve attempted to scar myself or put the razor to my wrist. I made it at least one more day because sometimes all we can do is hope for another day or at the very least another second or minute.

What I don’t owe the world or the people around me: my presence. Do you know why? Because my continued existence is held by tenuous strands that at any given moment could tear. We owe ourselves moments of self-care. An escape from the overload of stimuli that on any given day makes our own skin feel foreign. We have the right to step back, but we don’t have the right to forget.

My brain is a mass of malformed synapses. Wired to self-destruct and I’m not delusional enough to think that I won’t. No matter the coping mechanism. No matter the years that have past since I had my last line or drink. No matter the silence to calm my broken brain. No matter the loud music I use to drive out the demons. I will decline because I worry about what will happen.

Will I wake in the morning to find that my love is outlawed?

Will I wake tomorrow to find out that my preexisting conditions make me defective?

Will I wake tomorrow to find that my privacy; my right to a minute of peace is gone?

I have the right to shut down.

I have the right to not talk.

I have the right to exist.

I HAVE THE RIGHT NOT TO BE PRESENT.

No one owns me.

I JUST WANT TO LIVE.

Don’t demand I be present. We live in a technical age where we must be ON all the time. We live in a world of selfies, hourly status updates, and check-ins. But do you know what no one sees? What’s really going on with the person who posts how wonderful their day is when we’re leaving tears on our keyboards. We drip blood into pools of water. We leave crimson stains on rags.

We’re dying in increments of time. In tears. In blood. In hallucinations. In depression. We’re dying just to pretend that we’re okay.

So, say it with me: WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO NOT BE OKAY.