Do you think it’s possible to change who you are? The person truly at your core? I often wonder about that, and today it was even more on my mind than usual. Obviously, there are things I would change about myself if I could. Anyone who’s read this blog can guess as to what some of those things might be. But then there are the other parts of me that make me…well, me. I am a mess. My husband affectionately calls me that. A complicated mess. And yes, it’s true. I can’t ever answer a question simply. There’s always a caveat in there somewhere. I can’t park straight in our garage to save my life. I love salt on my citrus fruit, get irrationally angry at the “stupids” in the world, and crave laughter. I’m obsessed with vampires and will debate with you for hours on the merits of elves vs. dwarves, vampires vs. werewolves, and football vs. baseball (by the way…the correct answers to these things is elves, vampires, and football). I’m a diehard Dallas Cowboys fan, and most of the time you’ll catch me in either that or some sort of A&M gear. I love British humor and hate any and all things Will Ferrell, John Travolta, and Arnold Schwarzenegger. I’m hard to offend, and am fairly open minded about most things…but then again, there’s always an exception to the rule. I’m a daydreamer, yet a realist…and a grammar and spelling fanatic, despite knowing I make errors in these departments at times. I hate video games, but spent 5+ years playing World of Warcraft and Rift…and was damn good at it. I’m temperamental, hold grudges, and struggle every day to forgive those who have crossed me. I’m just as likely to cry as I am to laugh. For some reason, people crack up when I’m on one of my rampages, which only fuels the fire. I make up curse words (my favorite being “mother bitch”) and am not afraid to let loose with the language. It’s satisfying. There’s nothing better than a well placed F bomb. I’m passionate about my music, TV, movies, and books. And I passionately hate just as many things. Basically, there’s no middle ground with me. I’m at a 2 or a 10 on the scale.
So, yeah, I’m a mess. I look at my girls, and see glimpses of their own messes in the making…and it makes me smile. Well, for the most part, anyway. L just turned six, but she’s going on 30. H is in that middle ground where she wants to be a kid one minute, and a teenager the next. Their personalities are so different from each other, a mix of a little bit of me, a little bit of hubby, and a little bit of people totally new. Despite my desire to change parts of me, I know that ultimately all of the nuances of my personality are necessary for me to exist as the person I am meant to be. And along that same vein, I can’t wait to watch my precious little ones grow into the people they are meant to be, messes and all.
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“Stress is nothing more than a socially acceptable form of mental illness.”
-Richard Carlson This week has been a non-stop ride of “what the hell why does everyone in the world have to call me this week shit going crazy at work and OMG why the fuck can’t anything be easy EVER?” Yeah, I’m stressed. Work is not just busy. It’s not just crazy busy. It’s super uber crazy to the ridiculous point of busy. *Deep breath* I’ve been taking lots of deep breaths this week. The above quote is something I ran across once and I thought it was so truthful. And it makes me wonder why it’s okay to be “crazy” when you’re stressed but not okay to be “crazy” because of a mental illness. I ask that question even though I already know the answer. It’s because society as a whole is still – in 2015 – uncomfortable with the idea of mental illness. When someone is just having a bad week, and they run around like a maniac trying to deal with their issues, people laugh and commiserate with them. They share their own war stories and tell the person “It’ll get better”, “Keep your chin up”, and “Go have a glass of wine and relax”. But when a person struggles with mental illness, the majority tends to look away. I think it’s because either a) they don’t know how to help b) they feel bad because they know it’s not temporary and “happy words” aren’t going to fix it, and c) so many people still hide their depression, anxiety, bulimia, OCD, PTSD, etc. because of how they have seen society treat mental health in general; thereby making it harder for society to see how much of the population actually suffers, which, ultimately, cause the masses to treat mental illness as an unknown and shameful thing. It boils down to ignorance. We need, more than anything in this world, to get educated on the subject. IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE AN UNKNOWN and SCARY THING! Read about it, ask questions, talk to people who you know struggle. The more we talk about it, the less hidden it becomes…and that alone will create a positive impact. I hid my issues for a very long time and I’m certain that it wouldn’t have gotten so bad if I had felt free enough to share what I was feeling inside. But I didn’t. For one, middle school and high school is just hell. It’s a whole different world inside a world, and anything that causes you to be “different” from everybody else is usually not good. Yeah, we all got the talk that “uniqueness makes us great”, but in reality? Sheyeah, right. Yes, friends knew I was moody, but they didn’t know the half of it. I didn’t open my mouth and say “maybe I should go to a doctor about this” until after I was married. Until I felt safe with a man that I knew wouldn’t hurt or judge me. And it has been a very slow journey from that moment to the point I’m at today. I hate the term “socially acceptable”. It’s such a shameful phrase. The very words just ooze “fake” to me. I don’t want to be a fake. I want to be me. And you probably want to be you. Maybe that means wearing your hair in a bright blue mohawk, or dressing all in black every single day, or being crazy about the color pink even if it is a young and girly color. As long as we are not hurting those around us, either physically or emotionally, I say do what you want to do, act like you want to act, and feel what you want to feel. Express it. Own it. Talk and share and freakin’ let the world see that there are probably 100 different layers to you. That includes that maybe you are depressed for no reason at all and need medicine to help stabilize you. Or that you might need to wash your hands 50 times a day. It’s whatever. It’s OK. I know all this sounds easy to say. And believe me, I’m not trying to oversimplify it. We’ve been battling the issue of racism in this country (and in this world) for a very long time, and here we are to this day still trying to sort the mess out. I am not deluded enough to think that getting a conversation going about mental health will magically fix the problem. But I do think that opening up the lines of communication can only benefit. I know many people who have all told me the same thing. They’ve all said, “I just don’t know how to help [insert name].” Well. I’ll tell you. All you need to say is, “I know you hurt, but I love you (or care about you) as you are.” It’s simple, but you’d be amazed at how far that will go in making someone’s day just a bit brighter. I’m speaking from experience. So, I’ve decided I don’t want to be “socially acceptable”. It’s a dangerous game, and I don’t feel like playing. Do you? March has always been a big month for celebrating family milestones. It’s the month of my wedding anniversary, my youngest daughter’s birthday, and my father’s birthday. But this year, I get to add one more celebration. This month my blog turns 1 year old.
I’m having a crazy time wrapping my head around this fact. What started out as a whim has turned into a huge part of my life. It has re-connected me with my passion for writing, provided me a forum to be open and honest about things I’ve spent a lifetime hiding, and challenged me to keep moving towards my goal to bring more awareness to depression and other mental illness at times when I really felt like giving up. It is also opening doorways to possibilities I never imagined. As happy as I am about these celebratory moments, I still battle an overwhelming feeling of despair on a near daily basis. Depending on the day’s events, this despair is either an inconvenience that I can easily be distracted from or it can be totally debilitating. I guess I had hoped that by now, after a year of baring my heart and soul to friends, family and the internet in general, I would have gained a little ground in this war. But I feel like my mind…this illness…and I are in a stalemate. This alone causes me to feel defeated. If I haven’t made any progress, what is the point of this blog? If I can’t gain any ground in this fight, how can I possibly be an inspiration to others? This past week has been really rough. On Tuesday, my stress level caused an old health issue to rear its head, so I stayed home to get myself feeling better. I also used that day to sort of shut myself away from the world and spend it reflecting and thinking on the things that are especially heavy on my heart. I get the question “Are you okay?” a lot. And my normal response is “yes”. I answer this way because a) I don’t want to burden people anymore with the same old thoughts and feelings that I can’t seem to shake and b) I keep thinking if I answer in the positive, at some point it will have to become true. But after my soul searching this week, the honest answer is “no”. No, I’m not really okay. I can’t even remember the last time I was truly okay. I am fraying around the edges. I’m a threadbare piece of cloth that is so worn you can practically see through me. But I have hope. I am finding joy in not only writing this blog, but in my fiction writing, as well. I truly love it and even when I’m arguing with a character or struggling through a scene, I’m still feeling satisfied in what I’m doing. I have hope because of my husband and girls. They love me so much that it has forced me to take a long look at myself and find some of the good that they so obviously see. I have hope because of the close friends who have never left my side and have shown me…proven to me….that I will never lose them. I love my family and friends. I love them for loving me, for seeing the good in me, but mostly I love them because of the unique and wonderful personalities they each have. They are my angels on this earth, and they are truly wonderful people. But most of all, I have hope because of my enduring love for God and the Truth I have come to understand and be so grateful for. He loves me and I can never truly fail when I have that. So, I’ve blogged for a year now. I’m still trying to chronicle my journey through all of this. Still trying to give a face to something that so many people don’t want to acknowledge or talk about. Still attempting to reach others and help them understand what it’s like for someone like me. I will continue to do this and hope and pray that I reach as many people as I can. Happy Birthday, Sassy Town! You’re my baby, my haven, and a great joy. In a recent post, I told you how an online quiz equated my temper to a Hurricane, and I completely agree with that assessment. If you can look past the cheesiness of this next statement, I'll tell you that my everyday mind is like a tornado. You've probably already seen that in the way I can leap around from subject to subject. I'm very erratic in my thoughts. To give an example, here's just a few of the many things that ran through my mind today.
1. It never ceases to amaze me how a little rain - just the slightest bit of it - makes everyone's brain fall out of their heads when they get in the car to drive. Today I was stuck behind cars driving 20 miles under the speed limit because the sky was barely spitting. Even though those drivers can't hear me, screaming obscenities at them makes me feel a tad bit better. 2. I hate being patronized. And I really hate being told what to do. And I REALLY REALLY hate when someone tries to tell me how to do my job by addressing me in bold red letters in an email with about 8 other people on distribution. Really? I'm the type that sees that and puts that email straight on the bottom of my to do list. I believe the phrase is "you catch more flies with honey" and the aforementioned behavior is NOT going to get you anywhere with me. 3. I love my Ford, but I'm really sick of Sync not being able to tell the difference between "Call hubby on cell" and "Tune to 1020 AM radio". Just...what? Every.single.time. Oh, and forget trying to ask it where a certain point of interest is. The way that conversation with my car goes shoots me into an orbit of rage like nothing else quite can. Yes, I get into arguments with it, and I've been known to tell it to "die in a fire"...I won't tell you its response. 4. I get a secret thrill every time I hear L speak in her "grown up" voice. The other day when picking her up from after school care, the lady who runs the program told me how mature she is compared to a lot of the other kids. And man is she right. So many times she'll say something that stops me in my tracks and I have to double check to make sure I really heard her correctly. And when she throws in that southern Texan twang? Yeah, I melt. And laugh. And shake my head. 5. I'm over winter. I'm sick of the wet, the ice, the snow, all of it. And I want to skip right through Spring, because I hate the storms that come with April-May. I'm terrified of tornadoes. Phobic. So, I'm ready to move right along into Summer and have sunshine and our beach vacation and warmth. 6. I'm doing a new workout that I 3/4 love and 1/4 hate. 7. I hate all shoes. If I could go barefoot 24/7, I would. 8. I flipped from feisty to "don't talk to me" to mellow and back to feisty probably all within an hour's time today. 9. I heard from a long time friend late last night that thrilled me to the bone. I have so much to tell her but I'm taking my time in replying because I want to make sure I capture what it is I'm wanting to say just right. 10. Emmy the Terror is really making me mad with her refusing to go outside and get her dainty little paws wet. I've cleaned up more pee than I'd care to think about and it's just one more little quirk of hers that I was not planning on. But then she looks at me with that face, and I melt and really, it just pisses me off she can do that. 11. I hate being called cute. Someone said that to me, and even though it's meant as a compliment, it just goes over like a lead balloon with me. 12. I heard from a publisher about my project, and though it was a no (because they no longer publish the genre I'm going for and not because I just suck or something) I received a huge compliment on my writing style. Seriously, I'm framing that email and hanging it up. 13. If I see one more tweet, fb status, or news article on "what color the dress is", I'm going to flip my shit. WHO CARES AND WHY IS THIS NEWS? I'm off to either write or read, not sure which, but dammit, I'm going to enjoy the fact that I don't have to get up at the ass crack of dawn and drive into work tomorrow. Today has been one of those days. The kind where every emotion possible seems to pass through you. Today I felt anger, sadness, joy, anxious, reflective. I laughed, I cried, and I cursed. I was a kaleidoscope of broken edges meshing together and ever shifting. Days like today wear me out.
I came home and cried some more. Full on ugly, sobbing, crying. Mascara running down my face and nose all stuffed up, crying. Tomorrow, I will have the joy of facing the world with puffy eyes because of the tears I shed. I know from experience that no amount of ice packs, anti-puffiness fixes, or sleep will get rid of it for about a day. Why was I crying? For so many reasons. Tomorrow marks an important day in my history. And I realized that I am not the same person I was 14 years ago. I know nobody stays exactly the same as time passes, but I am so far off from the young woman I was, and it's not a change I would classify as good. I've been through a lot, and some would say it's made me stronger, wiser, blah, blah. Do you know what I say it's made me? Broken. I feel like a broken, worn out shell of a person and it makes me sad. I cried in my hubby's arms tonight because I feel so utterly alone, and nobody...NOBODY... will ever truly understand what it feels like in my mind. To battle myself day in and day out, to hold grudges against myself, to remember every single mistake I've ever made and not be able to forgive myself. It makes me want to give up. More than anything, tonight I want to give up. I want to go to sleep and never wake. I don't want to try anymore and I don't want to be told that I don't have that option. Maybe I do have that option. In my exhausted, lonely, angry mind, not existing anymore sounds blissful. To not have to wake up and face a day trying to hold it together sounds like the best thing I can think of right now. Don't tell me it's a weakness to think like this. If you don't fight this battle...if you don't live with this fucking illness, you have no right in the world to tell me or anyone else who suffers that we're being cowards or weak. We're looking for a way to find peace. It's the one thing...the only thing...that I crave. |
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