Stigma Fighters: Mike Fierro

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Stigma Fighters: Mike Fierro

Sometimes depression sneaks up on you. You’re just going about your day without a care in the world, and you realize there’s a little tug at your heart that’s demanding attention. As you look into the situation, you realize you’ve been growing more and more depressed over the last few days, and now, there’s no denying it … you are depressed. That’s OK, you’ve been there before. You know it will work its way out and eventually go bugger someone else. Those are the nice depressions. The ones where you need to put the pieces together, because no one piece is big enough to declare itself your owner.

That’s not what happened to me this time. And it’s silly, because I’ve known this was coming for months (or rather I knew this was one of the possible outcomes for months). I knew it was coming and I knew it would hit me hard. I underestimated it. I have been hit with a depression so sudden and so black that I have to squint to see the light. Draw the drapes and cover the mirrors, for the darkness has returned. Let no light shine on his face, as the only thing worse than his feeling is his countenance. It is better to lay in the dark, knowing he is there, beside you, than to ever stare into his face.

Fortunately I’ve been here before. I know how to draw warmth from his cold fingers. I know how to masquerade for those who don’t need to see a broken face. I know that I am safe. Most of all, I know that I am safe. He has nothing to offer me that could cause me harm. I can live with him squeezing my chest for as long as he needs to stick around. He can go fuck himself if he thinks he can outlast me. I may be a broken warrior, but I am a warrior nonetheless.

I remember a happy place … I think there was a castle, or maybe a boat. Maybe even an island. It’s all so fuzzy now. The happy memories are like barbs that stick in my soul. The gut-wrenching reality of today bonds my loved ones more than memories. I cry a lot, both for my pain and for others’ – some of theirs is much worse than mine, and I don’t know how they can bare it. My hope for them is that their defense mechanisms of numbness have kicked in.

Numbness comes with great depression. It is required to maintain sanity. Numbness kills all emotion and feeling. It’s an all or nothing sort of thing. Feeling anything means feeling everything, and everything is unbearable. Sure there are good feelings that we miss this way, and there are some bad feelings that we could probably handle, but it’s the feeling that takes your heart and rolls it in broken glass that must be held down. There’s no avoiding visiting that feeling for brief moments – just enough to remember why you’re in the dark with that guy around your chest, but you can’t have that raw nerve exposed to the everyday world. One simply cannot function with an open hole in their heart.

I should say here that I am OK. I am safe. I am not in danger. I am simply depressed at an unfathomable level. I didn’t really write this blog entry for anyone but myself. If you’ve come along for the journey, welcome. But I needed to get this out of me. For me. Bleed the poison a bit …

photoMike Fierro is just a guy who has lots of small thoughts about big ideas. He rarely have a full grasp on what he’s writing about, but that doesn’t stop him from drawing conclusions (confusions?) and being either excited, concerned, or just plain interested.

Mike has suffered from Bipolar Disorder since his teenage years, but went undiagnosed for 30 years. He lives happily with his wife and two children in Ellicott City, Maryland.

Mike can also be found on his blog.

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By | 2015-11-14T08:59:05+00:00 November 14th, 2015|Categories: Stigma Fighters|0 Comments

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