Tag Archives: crazy

December 13, 2023

Full Moons are for Finding Yourself

By Steph

Again.

And again.

Maybe the Universe knows we’ll always need reminding.

Five years ago in August, I was in a really bad place. Sick. Alone. Getting a divorce. Either losing custody of my children or losing them to their own adult lives. All painful in different ways, but that’s not what I want to talk about today.

Today, I want to talk about beauty. How amazingly, awesomely, breathtakingly beautiful it is to be in love…with yourself.

There is no doubt in my mind that I will journey through that dark, hideous place of pain and fear again. That’s the way humans, and this human in particular, are built. So, this isn’t me saying I’ve cured my depression or healed my trauma or that I’m not going to be sick anymore.

This is me saying: I will survive it. Whatever it is that sends me to bed with heating pads or ice packs, with pillows soaking up my tears, I. Will. Get. Back. Up.

This is me saying: It’s worth it. The pain, the hurt, the worry, the fear, the illness after illness after illness; it’s all worth it.

This is me saying: I DESERVE MORE than survival.

This is me saying: I don’t care what people think about me. What I care about is how people treat me.

This is me saying: I lost my health, my partner of 16 years, and my children all in a matter of months, and yet here I am. (Yes, y’all, I’m still me, the “motherfucker” at the end there is silent.)

This is me saying: I’m stronger now than I have ever been. And as someone with depression, I was strong to begin with. You have to be when you spend your life fighting your mind for your life.

I’ve spent a lot of time alone in the last few years, and time alone is time to think. I need it like I need air. I notice so much more now that I can listen. I worry less now that I can feel without judgement.

Our intuition has been shit on for so long, it’s almost like those of us with “feelings” trained ourselves not to notice them. Because when you say, “something doesn’t feel right” or, worse, “I’m getting a weird vibe” or even “what’s wrong” to someone who doesn’t want you to notice any of those things, what do they do?

They tell you that you’re fucking crazy.

What happens when you ignore your feelings though?

I spent a lot of my thinking time out in the woods. When I say “woods” I hope you’re picturing hundreds of acres in the Ozark Mountains, because that’s what I’m talking about. Where people can and do disappear. I figured out that if my gut said, “something isn’t right” that I should scoot my happy ass back to the house where I most likely won’t get eaten by a bear.

Obviously (to me) these kinds of feelings are part of us for a reason. The older guy from town who was cute but who I always, always, always avoided? In prison for violent crimes against women. That look some people get when you accidentally make eye contact? That glimmer of meanness that makes your skin crawl? The feeling that you’re being lied to, or manipulated, or that something just isn’t right?

Guys, we’re not all crazy. Some of us, okay. Me? Probably, but I LIKE IT.

Actually, I LOVE IT. I’m 44 years old, and I fucking LOVE myself. I’m hilarious, often unintentionally which makes it even better. I’m brutally honest, but I never intend to hurt anyone with my words. I’m smart sometimes and some ways, but also hardheaded and can be incredibly stupid and so, SO naive. I’m frequently oblivious because I’m so caught up in living. LIVING, do you understand what I’m saying? What you are doing RIGHT NOW IS YOUR LIFE!

The full moon was a while ago, but that’s when I lit some candles and watched the shadows of flowers dance on my ceiling and then danced with them. I’ve been thinking this post since then. I had come to a point where I felt like I was moving backwards. I’d been so at peace and then my peace shattered, and I felt like I would too. But I’m not made of glass, and neither are you.

Life isn’t a straight line. People say that about grief, but I think it applies to life too. We’re always going to be picking up the pieces of ourselves, and we’re always going to be putting them back together in a better, stronger, more beautiful way.

11 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | posted in chronic illness, CPTSD, Depression, disability, invisible illness, joy, kids, love, Mental Illness, random bullshit, thoughts

January 28, 2020

"You're A Break in The Code"

By Steph

Holy shit.

Wait…you can love the messy parts of yourself?

It should be at like 4:12-4:38. Just listen. (I’m so fucking specific, but not totally committed to the idea that I did that correctly.)

Admittedly, I’m a pretty obsessed Halsey fan and also a bit high. But I’ve listened to that 30-second statement at least six times now and I still don’t know quite what to do with it.

Clutch this brazen, tantalizing idea tightly to my chest, hold my breath, picture myself laughing too loudly and talking too much; writing blindfolded or on my skin, in the dark or in a bathroom; dancing because I have a body, singing because I like it, listening, really listening to music all day long, stopping only to make my own?

Or drop it before it burns me, this foreign thought, forgiveness, appreciation even, of a chaotic mind, a rollercoaster ride, a river of tears; give back this moment of not-wrongness that is not mine; apologize (again) for being crazy, broken, volatile, for being at all; try not exist too brightly, feel too hard, want too much?

It took me 40 years to even like most of me. I’ve never thought that I could–maybe should–love the side of me that is impulsive and inappropriate and creative and damaged and yes, passionate, about so many things. The side that cries as easily at the beauty of a sunset as at the coldness that crept into love’s voice. The part that needs to “calm down.” The unreasonable side; the “crazy” that I make jokes about because it’s easier than trying to explain what mental illness feels like. The side that feels everything, all the time.

I can love…my temper, my inability to stop saying, “fuck,” my awful dancing and worse voice, my nervous talking, oversharing, failed parenting, broken heart?

What I really want to know now is:

WHO TOLD ME I COULDN’T?

No piece of me is perfect. But I am not in pieces.

I am not a broken thing to be discarded. I refuse to only love and cherish my shiny best-self, the self that’s seemingly so easy to love. Because THAT me couldn’t exist without THIS me. I don’t get to pick one or the other, and neither do you; it’s all or none, my best and my worst, my past and my present, my heart and my mind, my laughter and my tears, my opinions and my insecurities.

All this, this mess, this disaster, this madness, this me? It’s not what I ever thought I ever should be. It just is. It’s me. The whole damn thing. Brave and fearful, weak and strong, obnoxious and honest, funny and ridiculous, hideous and beautiful.

I don’t see any reason to start using my head now; generally, that fucker is trying to take me out anyway.

5 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Depression, joy, Mental Illness, random bullshit, thoughts, total chaos, writing

December 29, 2016

One Day

By Steph

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It’s amazing how quickly things can turn around. How, in the blink of an eye, hope can turn into despair. Things to do become things to be survived. I’m tired of being on this ride that always seems to end in tears.

I woke up this morning in fairly minimal pain. I enjoyed my coffee, and laughed, and thought about how much better I felt today than I had this past week.

One thing. One tiny, insignificant little thing. And now here I am, trying not to cry, trying not to curl up and hide under the covers, trying not to give up.

I can hear one part of me saying, “No, don’t do it. It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe. IT WILL BE FINE, GODDAMMIT, JUST STOP. Just. Stop.”

But there’s the other, louder part, chanting, “You fucked up. You ARE a fuck up. You are FUCKED up. You didn’t do this, you should’ve done that, why don’t you ever do ANYTHING right, why even try when you know it’s pointless, remember when this happened and this and this and this and this….”

It feels like there are two people inside of me, both fighting for supremacy. But the ugly part is stronger and it always claws its way to the top and laughs at the small, flickering, almost-blown-out flame of the other. Sometimes I think the part that hurts allows the part that hopes to exist, to creep into the sun, just so it can crush it over and over again.

I want to reach back in time and grab the smile I wore this morning and hold it tight so it can’t get away.

No, you know what? I’m not even asking to be happy. I just want to be okay. Can I have just this ONE DAY without the never-ending litany of pain on repeat in my head? JUST THIS ONE DAY.

Please. I just need this one day.

16 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Depression, Mental Illness, thoughts, your health is your wealth and this is why I'm poor

December 12, 2016

Sewing, like life, is hard.

By Steph

cropped-glass.png

Was I ever whole?

I always feel like there are just frayed stitches barely holding me together, and one day the entire thing will completely fall apart.

I feel like I’ve wasted a lifetime in fruitless attempts to put myself in some kind of order, but my edges are still ragged and I’m covered in rips and tears and bits of glue.

Forever trying to gather the broken pieces of myself and reattach them in some semblance of a person, I sometimes think the messy repairs and faulty seams are all anyone can see.

I see a broken puppet, controlled by a broken puppeteer, trying to pretend that one day I will find the perfect pattern and, with clean, straight stitches, will sew myself up securely, and never be undone again.

13 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Depression, Mental Illness, stuff I made up, thoughts, total chaos

August 18, 2016

Red Pens and Condoms.

By Steph

You know how your brain tries to protect you from things you can’t handle? I think mine has been doing that without my knowledge or consent.

I’ve spent the last month dusting my living room. This may not seem like a remarkable feat, but here:

living room left
living room right

I not only dusted the shit on top of the bookshelves; I dusted the bookshelves themselves AND all the books on them. Then I rearranged the books by author and favorites.

If I made a list of all the household chores that I despise (that would be all of them) dusting would be Number One.

Now, granted, I spent some of that time sick. Migraines, arms not working, back breaking in two (not really). But seriously. I had real shit to do. Shit that actually NEEDED to be done. Like get my kids ready for school, since it STARTS TODAY.

No big deal, right? Right. Except my oldest is going to college, middle is starting 8th grade, and littlest is entering 2nd grade.

So one would think, since a) I’m freaking the fuck out and b) I love school supplies more than almost anything, that I would be prepared. Backpacks. Notebooks. Lovely, lovely pens. Highlighters.  Folders. Every year since the oldest started school, I have had these things for weeks before school started. Backpacks would be packed with carefully labeled supplies. All binders would have little pencil pouches, just in case they forgot to bring a pencil to class. Paper would be stocked inside each folder, and folders would all be a different color so they would be easy to identify in a hurry.

Ha. This year, I didn’t buy shit. I mean absolutely nothing until yesterday. The day before school. So I assume my stupid asshole of a brain purposely derailed me. Likely because I CAN’T STAND THE THOUGHT OF MY OLDEST LEAVING.

Yesterday we finally went shopping. The boys didn’t give a shit about folders or non-scratchy pens, so they went out to the car. I filled my cart with my favorite things, plus bedding and other dorm shit (sob).

I was getting more and more stressed out the longer I was in the store. The last things I needed were red pens and lunchboxes. THEY WERE COMPLETELY OUT OF RED PENS. This was almost enough to push me over the edge, but I held it together and went to find lunchboxes. Of which the entire fucking store only had two.

I couldn’t take anymore. I stood there, lunchbox in each hand, waving them in the air and cursing like a sailor. An employee saw me and I had to explain (while starting to cry) that I wasn’t cussing at him, I was cussing at life. And lunchboxes. He left, looking a little scared, and I sank to the floor. The lack of choices in lunchboxes was apparently all I could take. I sat there in the middle of the store, just sobbing, with two lunchboxes clutched to my chest.

After finally getting my shit together enough to stand up and get the hell out of there, the checkout guy asked me, “How I was doing.” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? MY HEART IS BREAKING AND SCHOOL STARTS TOMORROW AND YOU ARE OUT OF RED PENS!

We got home and I sat down in the floor, surrounded by school supplies. This is my happy place. I do realize that my middle child is in 8th grade. I didn’t give a shit. I started filling binders and writing class names on the spines and making sure each one had a pouch of pencils and pens. This lasted approximately 3 minutes before he came out of his room and asked for his supply list and all his stuff.

Sure. YOU’LL REGRET THIS WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE COLOR-CODED BINDERS, EACH WITH THE CORRECT RATIO OF PENS TO PENCILS! I’m positive he didn’t sharpen all the pencils. You have no idea how much this hurts.

This morning we took the two youngest to their schools, then I went off with a fully loaded car and child who was not coming home with me. I maintained while we drove (except I got really lost). I was fine as we unloaded. Once again my breakdown happened at Walmart. I may not be allowed back there. This is what I found when I returned to the dorm, loaded with shampoo and soap and condoms. (YES, condoms. Shut up.)

Dorm shenanigans

These kids look like they’ve totally got it together enough to survive on their own. Also, the condoms were possibly a waste of money.

I finally left my baby (yes, the one who is a foot taller than I am). When I got to the parking garage, my car was lost. There were so many levels, I was so tired, I was crying again, my feet were on FIRE…I seriously considered just laying down and rolling until someone ran me over. Then they’d be obligated to give me a ride to my car. Wherever it was.

Do you think I subconsciously blocked out The Big Day? And the directions? Also where I left the car? I’m pretty sure I just pretended none of this was happening until it actually happened. Surely one of you has had a crying fit over lunchboxes? Scared a Walmart employee? I can’t be the ONLY one who has seriously considered rolling down the ramps in a parking garage. Right? 

 

 

 

25 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Just Being Awesome, parenting, school, small humans, total chaos