Faking It

One of our favorite cliches as Americans is "fake it till you make it." We usually use this phrase when someone is in a difficult situation, and they have no choice but to successfully deal with the challenge or fail. And in some cases, failure isn't even an option. The person may be in a situation in which he or she actually has zero ability to escape, and "making it" is the only choice. This then leaves the person with two options: 1. Fake it until you actually come out on the other side, or 2. Go insane. Literally. There's a whole list of mental disorders that come from someone being unable to cope with the situation. Some are more serious than others. And sometimes someone ends up both making it and ending up with some sort of mental disorder in a combination of making it and going a little crazy. PTSD being a prime example of that.

Paradoxically, sometimes it is necessary to stop faking it, in order to fake it. No, I didn't mistype. Sometimes we have to remove the masks we have become comfortable wearing, in order to hold it together long enough to pretend like we're functional human beings long enough to actually become one. I'm done trying to pretend about certain things. I'm done glossing over, and hoping no one will notice. Some may question the wisdom in me putting this out there as I'm trying to find a new job in a new place, but I have spent so long wearing certain masks that I really don't care. If being real keeps me from a great job, so be it.

I'm not okay. I'm just not. My ability to cope keeps diminishing. This entire post is a really screwed up attempt to fake it. Because really, I have two choices right now: 1. Fake it until I actually do make it, or 2. Go insane. In my case, end up so far down the Depression and PTSD rabbit hole that I can't even pretend like I'm pretending to be a functional human being. I am one small bump right now away from Option #2. The issue for me right now isn't courage- it's not about being Dauntless or not. My issue is pain and enough cognitive dissonance to drive an ESFP absolutely nuts (my friends who speak Myers-Briggs will get that). Yeah. I get up every day, I get dressed, I do my best to hide the puffy eyes with makeup and glasses, and I do enough holding my breath and gritting my teeth to keep me from bursting into sobs in public. I post my assignments, I give my lectures, I grade my papers. I put in job applications and resumes, and make emails about assignments. I pack a box or two. I put a smile on my face and tell countless lies every day when people ask how I'm doing in regular conversation. I don't want to make it. But I really don't have much of a choice here.

Last Fall, when I had my car accident, I kept pushing myself forward, determined that it wasn't going to beat me. I spent the better part of a month playing "Don't Put Dirt On My Grave Just Yet" from Nashville on repeat and belting it out at the top of my lungs. It worked. I kept going. I made it. But I had a lot of fight in me at that point. Today, I decided to start playing "Fight Song" over and over until I believe it. It actually fits really well, minus the fight part. I feel like I have no fight left in me. I feel like, despite dealing with multiple traumas and challenges in my life, and despite having PTSD since I was three, and yet still managing to have a good job and a Master's degree, and despite making it through all of those things, I finally encountered something that managed to actually break me. Or maybe not one single thing, but the right combination of bad things in a short period. I'm just...tired. Tired of 32 years of constantly fighting back. But I really don't have much of a choice.

So I'm pretending. I post things on Facebook as though I'm not broken. For the first time, I'm doing 30 days of thankfulness on my wall. I never did that before because it's the kind of touchy-feely whatever that INTJs tend to abhor. Day 4 and I'm almost tapped. It's really hard to find things to be grateful for when you are so low that all you honestly want is to go to sleep and never wake up. I think today's took me a solid 10 minutes to come up with. My cousin Anne has been one of my biggest cheerleaders in the last few years. At the end of September, she posted this quote to my wall: "She never seemed shattered; to me, she was a breathtaking mosaic of the battles she's won." (Matt Baker). I don't feel like a mosaic right now. I feel like all the shattered pieces that have just been broken and left in a heap, unable to put themselves back together. But all I can do right now, is pretend I believe it. Or at least pretend to pretend I believe it.

I remember explaining to some people what an actual 10 on the physical pain scale feels like: It's physical pain that is so bad, it is impossible to see beyond it. Pain that quite literally blinds you to anything other than what you're feeling- that your only desire is to either die, or have the pain removed, immediately. That's where I am on the emotional pain chart. I honestly cannot see beyond this. Even the prospect of Denver cannot excite me right now. It feels like this pain is all there is. And yet, I'm pretending to see beyond. But yeah, it's one big act right now. But that's all the option I have at the moment. Maybe someday, it won't feel like this anymore. Maybe someday, things will seem better. Maybe someday things will be better. I don't know. But for now, all I can do is pretend I'm pretending that I know things will be okay.