By Misty Browne of Rustic Musings of a Scattered Mind

I am a liar.

I’ve lied to your family and I’ve lied to your friends. I’ve lied to acquaintances and total strangers. Oh, I’m a great story teller. I can weave a web of lies quicker and prettier than the best spider in the world, and the best part is, I capture you in that web as well.

At first you don’t even know it. You become extremely happy. You believe the lies and everything is great! With your head held high, you walk around, enthusiastically responding to questions with, “I’m fine! I’ve never felt better!”

People believe us! I say “us” because now, you and I are a team. In this case, “I” is in the word team, because I am running the show now. YOU are just along for the ride. An innocent rider in the side car of this crazy road trip and, oh, is the trip about to get good.

Pretty soon you start looking at your phone first when people call. You don’t really want to talk, but you’re still on that mountain of lies that I’ve built for you. The lies about how much you love your job; how much you love your kids, your spouse, your family in general. Especially the lie, oh, the greatest one, about how much you love yourself. How much you love living.

Next thing you know? You are avoiding the telephone altogether unless it’s that annoying person who just won’t leave you alone and might just show up at your house if you don’t answer. You still give the obligatory responses, and you know they are starting to sound hollow, but it’s all you know. You see, now, that I’ve eaten my way into your brain, and you see no other response available. It would definitely not be good if you had to face someone in person.

You start to stay in bed and turn your ringer off because now I’ve made you start feeling bad for ignoring the phone. Ignoring the part of your life where you are supposed to get up, shower, go to work and associate with people even if you don’t feel “well.” You tell yourself you’ve done it before, you can do it now, but I whisper in your ear that you don’t need to. Those people don’t care. They don’t really want to know how you’re doing when they ask.

That’s why you said you were fine in the first place. It was just an answer. It wasn’t a reality at the time because I had to ease you into your responses. I couldn’t let you know right away; then you might get smart and try to talk back to me. Those silly self affirmations you’ve done in the past? Haha…that shit doesn’t work. You aren’t smart anyway. Why would I let you think that?

Now you find yourself three days later, calling into work again and vaguely remembering your boss telling you that you need to come in and speak with him. You mumble “Ok” and hang up because over the past few days I’ve been working in you. Working your brain into overdrive. Telling you that it doesn’t matter if you don’t go to work. You aren’t good at your job anyway. You never were. They just gave you a job because they felt sorry for you or needed a warm body to fill a position.

No need to go into work, silly girl. Stay. Stay under your blankets where you’re safe. Except you aren’t safe. You don’t need to shower. Nobody is around to care how you smell or look. You don’t need to eat. That would involve leaving your blanket fort.

Now is when I step back and watch while sipping my coffee as your own brain takes over and does the dirty work for me. No need for me to exert any more energy than you are. You see? I will be back to clock in again when and if you finally drag yourself up and out of the hole I’ve made you dig on your own. The beauty in the fact that you dug this hole for yourself is that you can’t blame me! When your friends and family and loved ones and society call you a drama queen or an attention whore, you’ll believe it. All the while, I will sit here smiling, content that my work has been done for yet another moment in your life.

Oh, but suppose you can’t drag yourself out of the hole this time? Yes. You ARE thinking about that as well. What if this is the one time that you cave in and the dirt from the hole you are trying to dig out of crumbles in on you in blissful darkness, finally suffocating what life you have left from your lungs, taking your last breath?

Don’t worry. There are plenty of others that I can work for.

Let me lie to you. I am depression.

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About Misty Browne

I am a 36-year-old divorced mother of a very independent 17-year-old son. I love my career as a nurse and can’t imagine doing anything else in life. I have an odd obsession with goats! Anything and everything to do with goats. I spend my time away from work reading, writing, and fighting the stigma against mental health. I was diagnosed fifteen years ago with depression and anxiety disorder and four years ago with Bipolar type 2. I think it’s very important to educate the public on mental illness and to let others who suffer know that it’s OK. You are not alone. Sharing our stories through humor and truth not only helps us that are diagnosed, but it also helps those that are afraid to face their demons. I also believe that laughter is ALWAYS the best medicine! You can find me on Facebook at We’re Not Crazy, You’re Just Normal and Rustic Musings of a Scattered Mind as well as on my blog.