The Imp
Fuck this acceptance therapy bullshit. My mental illness is my sworn fucking mortal enemy. I've seen people paralyzed by the shit that I have, crippled by anxiety, unable to go outside or dress themselves or drive or hold down a job or even throw out something so simple as a used tea bag. On a podcast I was listening to recently, the host described being neurodivergent/mentally ill as being like trying to climb Mount Everest in a t-shirt and sandals and some trail mix, while being neurotypical is like showing up for the same climb with the appropriate gear and supplies. Life is an arduous climb for everyone, but if you're neurodivergent and/or mentally ill you might need some extra assistance with the climb. And it is this notion of being handicapped, disabled, that I've struggled with my entire life.
Life often feels like I'm trying to force myself into some ill-fitting shoes. I can do it, but it's uncomfortable and it takes a lot of energy and stress, and in the long run my feet start to hurt. I want shit to feel natural, and I've had to operate my whole life by ignoring what my amygdala is saying, ignoring my gut. Not able to trust my thoughts. Never feeling at peace. Not really.
I don't want this just to be my sob story, but I did think that this would be easier to deal with as I aged. That by age thirty-six I'd have this shit sorted or would at least have a steady strategy for dealing with it, but while there have been ebbs and flows in the fight, intermittent victories and patches of calm, the battle rages on.
I've been told by a therapist that it's not productive to portray my relationship with my mental illness as a zero-sum battle, or even as an antagonistic contest at all, but I don't know how else to think about it and keep on living. I find the notion that I have an opponent, that I am locked in struggle, invigorating and motivating. Thrilling, even. I know that really what this therapist was really trying to rid me of was the delusion that I can ever overcome or eradicate my OCD and anxiety. I've since come to terms with that. But I will never stop fighting this battle, even if I have no chance of winning.
Befriending my mental illness or even accepting it has felt too close to capitulation to me, but maybe someone else can explain to me why I should be befriending this force that puts unwanted thoughts in my head and compels me to do embarrassing, shameful shit that I don't want to do and that is contrary to my values. That's not a fucking friend, that's a bully, and any therapist who doesn't understand what it's like to be bedeviled by intrusive thoughts and compulsive behaviors and is telling me I need to play nice with them or accept them needs to fucking get bent. I don't feel warm and cozy towards the irrational patterns of thought that have harassed me my whole life and generally made me miserable. If I ever catch this "imp of the perverse" as Poe called it, I'm tearing its wings off and choking it out.