"As for me, I believe that if there's a God -- and I am as neutral on the subject as is possible -- then the most basic proof of his existence is black humor. What else explains it, that odd, reliable comfort that billows up at the worst moments, like a beautiful sunset woven out of the smoke over a bombed city." --Elizabeth McCracken
At least six times in the past two weeks, people have (kindly, and with good intentions) likened what I'm going through to diabetes, insofar as it's a medical condition that will be all but ignorable once medicated properly. But, honestly, it is nothing like diabetes. This is how frustrated with my situation I am: I am frustrated with the METAPHORS FOR IT. Soon I will probably go apeshit on the letters b i p o l a and r, which will make playing Wheel of Fortune pretty interesting.
It feels much more like hemophilia. One cut, you can't stop bleeding. One blip in my day, my brain goes haywire. An instant that would at best mildly annoy someone else leaves me -- literally -- crying on my knees on the sidewalk. It is not, strictly speaking, that awesome.
Fortunately, it's kind of hilarious. I've been cautioned many times in the past decade-and-change of therapy to avoid using humor as a defense mechanism, to allow myself to really feel and experience my feelings. And you know what? I've done that. I know what these feelings are. I have NOTHING left to learn from them. I can only be crushed by them and I'm not particularly willing to do that anymore.
I'm still fighting these days. It's hard. There's no way to make it easy. Fortunately, there are lots of ways to make it funny. I fight like hell to keep from going down every day, and I'm not planning on it, but if I do, I'm sure as hell going down laughing. Laughter is my clotting factor.