I'm driving blind and the landscape doesn't change.
These last few months have been rough, but the last week or so has been murderous. It's not easy to struggle with a disease that people can't see, a disease that some people don't even believe in. Social Anxiety Disorder is a bitch, my friends. Moving to a new neighborhood has nearly killed me. It is a very active neighborhood, with people everywhere. I should be happy about this. I should be thrilled that Sparrow has the potential to make friends.
And instead, I shut all the blinds and pray that nobody knocks on my door.
I should be attending my church meetings and getting involved in my new ward. I should be getting to know people and volunteering my endless free time. I should be friendly and outgoing.
Instead, I lie awake all night Saturday and have panic attacks on Sunday morning. And then I either go to church and have panic attacks throughout the 3 hour meeting block, or I stay home and feel guilty and awful that I have, once again, missed my chance at fellowshipping for the week.
I take medication for depression and anxiety (I've had my share of medication struggles too, which you can read about here), but lately it hasn't been doing its job as well. I've also been much busier this week with social engagements. It's even hard for me to be around family, and this week was a very family-oriented week.
I wait for my vision but it never comes...
I'm driving blind through this barren land.
I remember when I realized I had Social Anxiety Disorder. I was 14 and we had just moved to a new state. One day after a torturous panic-ridden day at school I was browsing the psychiatry books in the county library and happened upon a book called Social Anxiety Disorder or something. I read it and was so excited. Someone understands! Someone knows what I'm going through! When I tried to talk to my family about it, I was given these wise words of advice:
Get over it.
That was 11 years ago. (And I have been officially diagnosed since then, so it's not a 14 year old's guess.) I've tried to get over it. I'm trying. If it were that easy, I would be over it. I don't know why I was given this trial. I hate this trial. I hate whatever lesson I am supposed to learn from this. I spend days pissed off that God would let me struggle on with depression and anxiety and an autistic child. It's too much for me to handle. It's too much.
...I never knew it could get this dark.
I can't read the answers if I can't see the page.
I'm driving blind behind this bitter rage.
I spend days wishing I had cancer or lupus or polio or anything but this. Something visible, where people could see and understand that there is something wrong me. Instead, I look normal on the outside and people wonder why I'm so aloof, standoffish, or flakey. I tell people that I'm sick, but it's obvious that I'm perfectly healthy on the outside.
I want my diseased brain to go away. I want a normal life. I want a normal outlook on life.
I've been so lonely and ain't it sad
to be missing something that I never had?
And I've been so blind and now I'm paying the cost.
How can I find what was never lost?
And while I'm praying for things that will never happen, I would also like to have a normal child. This autistic stuff is total crap.
I got no direction, no change in lanes.
I'm driving blind and pushing through the pain.
God will never test you above what you are able to handle?
Bad news. That statement is a lie.
Lyrics taken from Driving Blind by Grace Potter, which you can view here.