Playing the Fool

How did I do it you may ask.

How did I manage to fool everyone, including my doctor, that I was fine.

How did I make them believe that I really was improving? How did I convince them that I had a better grip on my anxiety?

Well, I’m fooled. I have no idea how I did it.

My dad always tells me every time he sees me or even on the phone about how I “have a better perspective on things” or that I’m “in a better place than a year ago”. My doctor marvels over my quick recovery and says it must be due to how I grew up in such unfortunate circumstances that I have such a high level of maturity and therefore was more equip to handle anxiety and depression. My friends from home don’t see any changes in me. They’re all shocked when they hear how last fall went for me. My scars are faint, barely even noticeable. 

Except to my eye.

I haven’t been able to really sleep in weeks. I stay awake at night unable to shut my mind off. I’m exhausted during the day. My anxiety has caused me to lose over 15 pounds in 2 weeks. I rely heavily on my beta blockers, which my supplies are running low, to get me through the day without freaking out. I still wake up most mornings wishing that I hadn’t woke up at all. 

Do you see now?

This is skimming the surface. These are the things that I notice. The bags under my eyes. The sick pleasure I feel when I step on the scale before donating plasma seeing that barely eating and doing some exercise and see how much I’ve lost. The constant condemnation I put myself through on a daily basis.

Today, while simply talking to my roommate, I had an attack. Heart palpitations. I felt so dizzy suddenly and my heart was racing and I couldn’t breathe. I had to sit down just to carry on the conversation. 

I’m not okay.

How did I possibly fool so many people to believe that I am?

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