An open letter that attempts to explain the reasons behind the radio silence of those struggling with mental illness.
Dear Unanswered Text,
Hello old friend, I know, it's been awhile.
First of all, let me start by getting the clichés out of the way... It's not you, it's me.
Let me also forgo the half-truths and white lies: "I totally didn't see this!", "I'm sorry, I forgot to respond!", "I replied in my mind!".
The truth is: I didn't forget to respond, I did see your message (though I may not have read it until a few weeks later), and I am very aware that I never replied.
You see, the truth is something a lot heavier than I can convey through emojis and abbreviations. It doesn't fit into 160 characters and it's probably way too intense of a response to "Hey! How's your day?".
It's true, I saw that you sent a text, but likely I never opened it. Now it sits, unopened, in a sea of missed connections and blinding red notifications of guilt. With it, a heavy aroma of anxiety that emanates from my phone to perfume the air with reminders of what a shitty ________ (insert word here: friend, daughter, partner, etc.) I am. A growing tally of reasons I'll never amount to anything and how I'm failing as a human being.
I'm not being dramatic, that's just the depression talking. She likes to hang out in anxiety's shadow and give commentary on the situation.
So, now that we've got that out there... lets address how if it isn't the anxiety of "I've waited too long, I can't respond", "there are too many", "what will they think of me now?"; it's the deadening exhaustion of the idea of pretending to be okay even over text. Or maybe it's the fear of being a burden on everyone around me if all I ever say is how down or overwhelmed I am. So, I mean, if they're already not going to want to be around me because I'm such a "Debbie Downer" then maybe not responding is the kind thing to do. You know, take away their obligation to feel they need to console or fix me.
Help. I'm drowning.
Drowning in a sea of self-inflicted worst case scenarios that paralyze me... preventing me from responding. Unable to draft two words together because whatever I type won't say enough and will say too much all at the same time. My response will take up more space than I am worth. It will physicalize my inadequacies. It will be empty promises and guilt-ridden excuses... All while trying to mask the real cause of my despondency and isolation tactics.
For all of this, I am sorry.
The real struggle is that I want you to reach out and I so badly want to reach back, but I'm stuck. Bound by the demons that dance in the dark corners of my mind. The high school mean girls of mental illness that tell me I'm not worth the attention and don't deserve your love. So I recess further and further into my isolated existence.
I so desperately want to be that girl again. The one who can type "haha" with an actual laugh smudging her face. The one who can make plans without fully intending on canceling them in the same breath because she "just can't" that day, which she already knows a week in advance because that's her daily existence. The girl who doesn't have a war waging inside her between wanting to go out, to be included, to be loved and not being able to. I want to be the girl who can respond to a casual text without a million "what if" scenarios plaguing my mind. The one who feels. The one who isn't as hollow as her replies.
But instead, the elephant graveyard grows in size, the light touches less and less of my "kingdom", and the unanswered text tally climbs.
Then there are the comments I get when I finally push myself out of my protective cocoon and venture into the world. "You're so popular... look at all those messages!" people inevitably say when they see my inflated text count. Not knowing that most of those notifications are weeks old... Filled with unacknowledged greetings, invites, insides jokes, and inquires.
They don't mean to, but they invite the mean girls to the table who sit there not-so-silently judging me for being a bad ______ (insert word here: friend, daughter, partner, etc.) and I'm forced to come face to face with my disappointment in myself. Disappointment sourced in not being able to silence the mean girls; to tell them that I'm doing the best that I can right now. Disappointment in my inability to reach out to those who love me. Disappointment in my perceived weakness manifesting itself in red pop-up bubbles of self-loathing. Now the darkness clouds over me and I continue the dance; pretending it's not there for the duration of my interaction, until I can go home and face the demons from the privacy of my cocoon.
So, I am sorry.
Not for not responding, but for not being honest with you as to why I haven't. For not believing that I am worthy of the explanation or for fear that it would become tiresome for you. Believe me, I know it's tiresome... I'm tired of it.
I seethe with envy as I see others carelessly banter with each other on their smart phones. Freely flowing exchanges of shared interests, daily happenings, and mutual admiration. Connections made with ease. No inner turmoil. No angst over not having the energy to respond or the will to carry out a conversation. Just doing... being. I so long to just be.
For me, connecting is tough even on the best of days. Getting any semblance of feelings is a game of cat and mouse where the joy of my past life must be a relative of Speedy Gonzales because, damn, that bastard is fast.
Even as I'm writing this, I'm battling the chatter of anxiety and depression telling me all the reasons I shouldn't. All the reasons I'm not worth the explanation. That people will think I'm just making excuses.
But, the truth is, I'm not making excuses... I'm trying to make sense of it all too.
So, Unanswered Text, all that I ask is that you don't stop. Please don't stop... because the only thing worse that then guilt is the silence. I live in constant fear that eventually everyone will realize I'm not worth the effort too and the notifications will stop. Then the illness will have won. It has already taken away my joy, but I am fighting to keep the connections alive.
It may take me a couple of days, or weeks, or months, but I am working on responding. Sometimes the darkness wins and the dance takes an intermission so my mind can keep me from drowning in the dark.
Please be patient. The response is coming.
Always yours,
Dancing With Darkness
xo
#mentalhealthawareness #mentalillness #unansweredtext #isolation #dancingwithdarkness #openletter #depression #anxiety