MEMOIR OF THE SPLINTERED

EIGHTEEN

Intense and highly changeable moods, with each episodes lasting from a few hours to a few days.

•••

Energy buzzed through my body, making me feel more alive than I thought possible. My mind somehow simultaneously drifted up to cloud nine, while also feeling insanely connected to the life around me.

Joy.

Peace.

Excitement.

Possibility.

Things to keep me going through the day. I held onto every positive emotion that swam my way; holding tightly to the rare treasures I hardly found anymore.

I was happy. I was motivated. I held a sense of purpose that I hadn't known for a while.

At least... for few brief hours.

~

'Did you do any housework?'

N-No... I lost track of time...

'What? You don't cook for your husband everyday?'

Why me? Why can't it be a shared responsibility?

'It's the wife's duty to cook and clean. He works all day; the least you can do is keep a tidy home.'

I work too... please don't use the word 'wife'; it feels... wrong. Spouse is okay—

'Excuse me? You're his wife.'

But—

'Wife. Woman. Female.'

I'm sorry. I'll be better. I'll be a better sp— wife.

~

The world came crashing down around me. The euphoric high I experienced dropped to a suffocating low. Each discouraging statement stabbing into my gut like a hot fire-poker.

The biggest problem?

Those discouraging words weren't coming from outside voices. Not my husband, not my mother. Myself.

Simple, innocent questions would send my mind into a spiral. Questions from my mom, such as: "what do you do around the house?"

Such questions would automatically make me feel inadequate. Like she was passively judging me for not being the perfect sp— wife.

Not spouse. Wife.
Not son. Daughter.

Why couldn't I get it right? Why didn't it feel right? Why did everything I do make me feel like I was coming up short? A disappointment compared to the person I was supposed to be.

My thoughts continued to spiral until all I could do was curl up on my bed, letting the tears silently fall. In the span of two minutes, my mood switched from elated to depressed. I let myself wallow in those dark feelings, being dragged down deeper and deeper until I started to imagine how much better the world would be without me in it.

Why? Why did it get that bad? How did I go from feeling on top of the world, to wishing I was buried deep beneath it? All because of one single comment, and then my mind did the rest of the work.

Overdramatic. Attention seeking. Cry baby.

Why couldn't I be stronger?

Grabbing the remote, I switched on Netflix and re-watched my favorite stand-up comedy special. Within the first few minutes of the show, my problems were fading to the back of my mind. Halfway through, I was laughing again. By the end, I felt ready to conquer the world once more.

Such a routine has never been uncommon for me. Waking up elevated. Falling into an intense depression. Raising myself back up again. Over and over and over.

The routine my therapists have said I can expect to experience for the rest of my life.