Wednesday, June 27, 2012

When you are frozen. Metaphorically

It's funny how you are moving along in your mentally ill life and think the you have it all under control and then suddenly your heart starts to race for two straigtht days and then all your words start coming out really really quickly and then the words won't stop coming out in repetative series as well as still being really really way too fast and your brain starts to actually feel a buzzing and your body twitches and twitches and then turns into full blown involuntary movement until fnally...FINALLY...your body turns off.

Just like that.

And your mouth refuses to open. And you want to say words but your mind and your mouth simply refuse to let them out. This is surprisingly quite beneficial because it gives your mind a chance to speak normally to itself at a regular speed and with regualr amounts of words. But you know that if you even attempt to utter a syllable, all of it will crack apart from the opening you have allowed and your body may actually split down the middle. Your crazy might actually just climb out of your body through the hole of your mouth that you opened and shed the skin of your body and run freely about the world with no chance at ever catching it. It will run wild and free and insane systematically destroying all of your relationships and work and interests until there is no trace of you left and then the monster will run away into the horizon, its work finally fulfilled and there will be a skin and clothes (if I happen to have been clothed which is unlikely) pile laying in the ground like a macabre puddle of melted human. So you don't open your mouth. You can't.

That was my Thursday.

And my Friday which by then allowed me words but only under vast amounts of psychiatric medication and lots of coaxing by boyfriend to take said medications. I think he just didn't want to have to clean up a skin puddle. He gags at dog vomit. Like hard core dry heaves.

So I spent my Friday riding in his truck. He drives a truck for a living and I was in the truck all day as I was not to be trusted alone in my home acting like a whack job. I don't think I would have been unsafe in the ways that I have endangered myself in the past, but I would have been whacked out enough to probably destroy a couple things and end up in a ball in the corner talking to my OCD which would have by then taken on a human form and be appearing to me imploring me to continue to pull at the wallpaper or bleach the microwave or count the whatevers and touch the whatnots and repeat the words.

And so went my weekend. I'm seeing a new Dr. today. Let's see how he handles me.

Post Script: I just spell checked and ZERO word were wrong. Suck it English language.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

My haiku is better than your haiku. That's a lie.

It’s day 4 of the project that was supposed to last 30 days but I have managed to draw it out into a month so far!! Actually, this would be post 5 but I screwed it up and swapped a couple. I don’t know that it entirely matters since I pretty much do whatever I want. Suck it.

So today is “I blog about mental health because…” the ellipses being the part where I take over with my own words.
I blog about my mental health because I didn’t know how to come out of the crazy closet. I blog because I needed a place to tell people who I am and what I go through without looking them in the eyes and seeing their horror. At least, that’s why I started. Now I continue to blog about my mental health because there are too many of us not to speak up. To share and bond and lean on each other. There are too many of us fighting in silence and trying to figure out how to live in a world where we are so different and so frightening and even so many times the objects of ridicule and misunderstanding.  I keep writing because I need to.

And over the years my motives have changed. Hell, my entire existence has changed. My world has flipped and turned and chewed me up and spit me out and then recreated all that mess into an entirely different person. I blog to keep myself accountable to the promises I have made to my kids and my family and most importantly, to myself. I promise myself to live in the moment and keep placing one foot in front of the other. I blog to show others that you are not alone in this. I blog to find kindred souls who tell me “you are NOT alone in this.”

 I blog because sometimes funny shit happens and I need  someone to laugh at me/with me. I keep on telling my stories and spilling my thoughts because if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be where I am now. My thoughts were once deemed "dangerous and inappropriate" and it almost silenced me. But I am still here and stronger and louder and having more fun than ever. It forced me to stand behind the words that come from my fingers and the thoughts that come from my head.

I blog about OCD and depression and anxiety and very nearly taking my own life so that someday I can remember exactly what that felt like and I can look back and remind myself where I’ve been. I write it all down for anyone anywhere who might be in that place of dark and scary or sad and lonely or hurt and betrayed or frustrated and medicated or angry and confused. I write it down because of those who came before me that were brave enough to share their private pain and their public triumph. Those books and blogs and emails and texts and pictures that found me months, years, and centuries after their inception and reached down into my being and gave me strength.

I blog about my disorders so that other people around people like me can maybe understand just a little bit of what we go through. They can relate to our victories. They can know us. I keep writing because I can. Because I must. Because I have this humbling privilege to do so. I keep writing so that maybe someday when things change and our disorders are managed or even eradicated, we won’t forget where we came from and we will never ever take for granted each second that we breathe. We will feel sunlight and run and jump and get dirty and love and make love and live and laugh and experience without fear, but it will be always sweeter because we will remember where we came from.

I blog about my mental health for me. For my kids. For my life.

And in Day 6: Haiku. Which is freaking perfect for a counting Obsessive-Compulsive

I like to touch everything
No. not your penis.
That is inappropriate.

Obsessive Compulsively
I have O C D
No I do not wash my hands

Sometimes I take daily pills
Sometimes I do not
Stay away from me those days.

Beer is the best. And nachos
I eat them a lot
This might be why I am fat.