It comes with no warning, I was just sitting in a chair when I felt my insides begin to melt.  My first thought was to wonder if I was getting sick.

I don’t have “sick” symptoms, which means it’s the sickness in my head, thereby named “the ick”.  It’s when that visitor from the deep recesses of my mind comes out to tell me how fucked up and stupid I am, that I should just crawl into a cave and die.

The visitor isn’t welcome here, but it leaves things behind giving it the idea that it qualifies under squatter’s rights to torture me periodically.

Everything I look at around me is scary, the house is a mess, the floors need a sweep, vacuum and good cleaning.  The cushions are crooked on the couches again and that spot in the garage where the cat threw up a week ago is still there.

Why am I the only one that can see this type of chaos?  This isn’t how it was supposed to be.  Sure, it was supposed to be hard but THIS HARD?  Seriously?  Why?  Why do we do this?  Who came up with the idea that living with other people with totally different habits is enjoyable?

Sometimes I can send the visitor away by changing my thoughts, reading something inspirational, talking to someone on the phone, or writing about it.  Sometimes it happens quickly, sometimes slowly.

No matter how many times I bid it goodbye, I know that it will keep coming to check in on me.  Just in case I’ve decided to let it move in permanently taking me to depths of despair and depression that I never imagined possible.  Not ready to be it’s bitch yet.

There is no permanent cure, there’s only a daily reprieve that helps keep it manageable most of the time.  After each visit, I become changed.  Mostly for the better, always a little stronger, always a little more enlightened, sometimes weaker.

The benefits gained don’t make it any easier to accept.