Lying uncomfortably at the bottom of my well of sorrow, I thought for a long time what my C would stand for. For some unbeknownst reason as I am sure you’ve noticed, I’ve been trying to alphabet my way through my current experience and in so doing, understand and give verse to my reality. Understand it in ways my mind and heart refuse to digest or understand. They ache the same way, they hurt the same way every day and all I look forward to is when I can sleep again and shut the reality of the scrapes which show so terribly inside and out.
Ok but come on now, this is C for something. I first thought hands down that it was cry. C is for cry with a capital wail. And then I thought no that was boring and a little obvious. My second would be candy (with cracked teeth thereafter) as an important, life saving device for any and all going through depression and grief. I have been hugged, kissed and caressed by no other than an amazing candy bar, eaten while I was fast asleep to the detriment of my remaining three teeth. But that’s kind of similar to binge which was B, so no that wasn’t it. No. C you see, I think most importantly, is for compassion.
People with mental illness have difficult experiences and realities everyday regardless of whether they are depressed, grieving, having a difficult time and all of the above. Many who live around me for example are immune to when I cry. They simply think that the person with mental illness is being extra, and I’ve been told, using my tears as weapons. I have never have because when my tears run, they are from a very delicate, vulnerable pool that is frustrated, lonely, sad and oh so tired. And believe you me, each time a person with mental illness conveys that they are not ok, the greatest remedy over and above all others is compassion. I know I need some, do you? I am 4 M’s Bipolar Mom.