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Under the Skin

A Day From the Eyes of Mental Illness

By Artemis HerondalePublished 6 years ago 10 min read
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The people in the world we live in today are so quick to gloss over other people's problems when they themselves are not directly affected. We live day to day trying to better ourselves and focus on a single task at a time. Whether you are on your feet, sitting at a desk, or at home taking care of your children, all of us have everyday responsibilities that become more like a routine than a chore. But what if that wasn't always the case?

Imagine yourself getting out of bed in the morning and making your way to the bathroom. You get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror... but you have no idea who that person is staring back at you. You put your hands out in front of you, wiggle your fingers, and lean closer to get a better look. "Who is that?"... "Are those MY hands?" You splash cold water in your face and close your eyes tightly, thinking this has to be some sort of dream. But when you open your eyes, you realize it's your reality.

You shake it off with a sigh and turn on the water for the shower, slipping out of your clothes and catching another glimpse at yourself. "Have I really gained that much weight?"... "When did I get like this?" You turn side to side taking a look from every angle, searching for any sort of familiarity. You don't feel sad or disappointed. You feel distant, as if you're looking on from another dimension, suspended in the air with nowhere else to go but behind the eyes of this alien staring back from the foggy mirror.

The water inside the shower is blistering hot, but the pain on your skin reminds you that you're still human. You stand under it, letting it run down your body while you close your eyes and imagine what life is supposed to feel like. What is it like to be unafraid? What is it like to be confident in your own skin? Does anyone out there feel like I do? Suddenly your heart starts racing, your breath quickens and you have to grip onto the shower wall to keep from falling over. You see a man pull back the curtains, holding a bloody knife above his head, laughing as he slashes it toward you...

Your eyes fly open and you realize you're laying on the floor of the shower, your arms wrapped around your knees and a shooting pain in your jaw from clenching your teeth. Slowly you lift yourself up to finish your shower as fast as you can, your head pounding and the edges of your vision glazed over as you reach for a towel. You step out and dry yourself off. Walking down the hall to your room, the image of the knife replaying in your head. You step into your closet and look at all the clothes you'd thought were adorable, but in the end you pick out a pair of jeans and a large sweatshirt. It's the only thing you have that makes you feel less self-conscious.

You walk back into the bathroom, brushing your hair as you stare at the dark circles under your eyes. Your gaze drifts to your makeup bag and you can't seem to remember the last time you'd worn any. The lines and blemishes on your skin seem to be attracting your attention like spotlights... but you don't have the energy to cover them. Instead, you pull your hair back into a lazy ponytail and slide on a headband. "At least my forehead won't look too big today..." you say out loud as if the person in the mirror would respond in agreement.

You grab your bag, taking a moment to make sure you haven't forgot anything then head out of the house. Determined to find something caffeinated enough to help you survive, you swing by a local coffee drive-thru and order a triple shot of espresso. You finish it before you leave the parking lot, crumpling the cup and tossing it on the floor of the car. Pulling out onto the road you notice the traffic backed up for about a mile... of course. Finally, you arrive at work and pull into your usual spot. You glance down at your phone after turning off the car. "6 MISSED CALLS FROM MOM"

"Honey, are you okay? Call me back."

"Please, I know you are busy but I miss you. I only want to talk for five minutes..."

"Sweetie? I've left several messages, please just let me know you are okay."

You frown and look at your mom's number but can't seem to get into the mood for any sort of discussion. What was there to talk about? "Oh, hey mom, I am doing worse than ever and barely feel alive enough to get out of bed." No... you can't tell her that or she will worry too much. Instead, you send her a text.

"Sorry mom, I am really busy today. I will call tomorrow I promise."

"You always tell me that and I never hear from you. Do you love me anymore? I wish you never moved so far away..."

"I'm sorry mom, of course, I love you."

You start to feel hot tears roll down your cheeks and wipe them away with your sleeve. You begin to sob and can hardly catch your breath as you throw your phone on the other seat and slam your hands against the steering wheel. WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!! You slam it until you notice someone walking past the car, they give you a startled yet concerned look but continue down the street. "Great..."

You check the mirror to see how puffy your eyes seem to be. You look fine. Grabbing your things you head inside, and make sure to shut off your phone before shoving it in your locker. The hallway is empty (thank God) and you take the time to get yourself a large cup of coffee from the break room. More caffeine couldn't hurt, right? You see one of your coworkers sitting at a table and you give her a convincing but fake smile.

"Hey! How are you?"

"I'm doing good, how about you?" you choke on your words, wondering if she noticed. When she doesn't answer your heart starts racing. What did I say? Does she hate me? I thought she liked me... you go over and over in your head how you said it, did I sound mean? Did she notice my fake smile? What did I do?

You turn back around and add the cream and sugar to your coffee. Your heart feels like it is trying to pound its way out of your chest, your hands are shaking so hard there is sugar everywhere. When you turn back around you notice she's holding her phone to her ear and talking away, giggling. Oh... she wasn't talking to me at all.

You sit down at your desk, organizing your things the exact same way as you did every day. Coffee, top right. Lotion, top left. Book, under coffee. Candy, next to monitor. You turn on your computer and notice, per usual, you are twenty minutes early. You relax knowing you have plenty of time, which means you can't be late.

You begin filing papers and taking calls, it's beginning to feel like this is all you ever do, but that's probably true. The edges of your vision are blurry, your hands once again seem to belong to someone new. Your head is throbbing and you feel you might faint, even if this sort of thing was "normal" to you. It begins to weigh on you as it happens every day. You're working hard when your boss taps you on the shoulder, causing your breath to hitch.

"You have been doing well these last few weeks, you are always so positive and happy! I love seeing your smiling face every day!" he continues complimenting and your mind gets even hazier. Surely he isn't talking about me? I barely remember when I am here... am I doing well? Am I even doing what I'm supposed to? You hear him speaking as if he were in a tunnel, the last bit of his sentences turning to gibberish.

"I would love to train more and move up in the company." You finally are able to speak, even though you have no recollection of what he'd just said. He pats you on the back and walks away leaving you to sit and wonder what exactly you just agreed to. The other girls seem to be staring you down; every time you look around their eyes are like daggers. You put your head in your hands and close your eyes tight.

The rest of the day seems to fly by; you clean your desk to perfection and stack your things back where they belong. You smile for the first real time all day, knowing it is time to go home. You hurry to your car and leave as quickly as you can, heading straight home to lock yourself away from the world. You pick up your laptop and stare at the screen, wondering what sort of fantasy you wanted to escape to today.

"I never ate today..." you shrug and go to the kitchen to see what could be for dinner. You certainly find something. Everything. You go back and forth from the kitchen to the table, over... and over... and over. One by one you eat until it is gone, chips, Hot Pockets, chocolate, vegetables, ice cream, tea, noodles, leftovers. You eat all you can find. "I must have been hungry!" You think... before returning to the fridge to find you had binged the entire grocery list you had just shopped for.

Your stomach feels like there is a bowling ball inside your intestines. You look at the empty space in the fridge, the wrappers, and containers all over the counters. I ate all that? There's no way... I would have realized it. What... is wrong with me? You sink to the floor and begin to cry, resting your head on your knees as the screams pour out of your throat. You kick the cupboard, smash a plate into the sink, shove all the garbage into a bag. Why am I like this?

That night you lay in bed, tears soaking your pillow as you replay the day over and over inside your mind. You bite your lip and remember the anger, the pain, the anxiety. You remember the rejection, the uncertainty, the loneliness... you remember there are people out there who can smile and mean it. Who can lay next to the love of their life, and feel like they have the world in the palm of their hands. You wonder what that must be like.

You feel your loved one stir next to you as they roll over and look at you in the darkness. "Hey honey, how was your day?" You smile and whisper back to them...

"I had a great day, my love. How was yours?"

===============================================================

Every single day can be a struggle inside the mind of someone who feels they need to suffer alone. I write this not as some invitation to my pity party, but to hopefully shine a light on the taboos of mental illnesses. Especially the ones you can't see immediately.

I am only 23 years old and I have been thrown from psychiatrist to psychologists, to therapists... you name it. The official diagnosis has yet to be seen, though the most popular to be thrown into my papers are PTSD, anxiety disorder, and manic-depressive. I find joy in the fantasy world of movies, books, video games... but none of them can keep me distracted forever. If I had one wish in life. It would be not to be myself any longer.

disorder
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About the Creator

Artemis Herondale

I am 23 years old, and I am a mess. I love reading, writing, playing video games, watching TV shows that I get SUPER attached to. (Hello, Supernatural and Grey's Anatomy.) Also, profile picture credit goes to Seuyan@Deviantart.

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