Tag Archives: crazy

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.)

Okay, discuss.

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?

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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

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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

August 2, 2014

Most Unforgettable or Weirdest Idiot You Ever Saw

By Steph

Apparently I’ve always been a little weird. The other day I was doing a little stalking browsing on Facebook and ended up having to break out my old yearbooks. I got to reading the messages that people wrote in them and noticed a theme. The most-mentioned terms were “weirdness” or “goofiness” or “craziness.”

This led me to think back on my early years, to try and figure out just what exactly got me voted “Most Unforgettable.”

Here’s what I came up with:

In the 6th grade my mom found a nest of baby mice in her dresser drawer. While she was chasing the momma mouse down the hall with a broom, I was preparing a final resting place for the babies. I took a small box and filled it with Easter grass and wrapped it carefully. Then I buried it in the yard with due ceremony. I felt very proud of my humanity and the dignity in which I laid those mice to rest. Until my mother pointed out later that they were still alive when I buried them. I swear to you, it NEVER EVEN OCCURRED to me that I was burying them alive. Not once.

In the 7th grade I put an egg on the heat register of a classroom where the teacher taught us the value of using only one square of toilet paper in the restroom. This was ostensibly World History but we learned much more than that, including that a rotten egg smells terrible and the joke was on me as I was one of the people who had to smell it.

Also in 7th grade I used fake tanner. Only on my legs. I was (still am) whiter than white and I hated it (still do) but I was too lazy to apply the tanner everywhere, so I had very dark legs and very white everything else. I wish I had a picture of this ridiculousness. This was after I got sunburned so badly that I literally had blisters on my ass cheeks. I guess I felt like half tan was better than burnt to a crisp.

This, except opposite.

This, except opposite.

In 8th grade I had one of those sharks in a jar like you get from the beach. Normal enough, except my best friend and I decided to open it up and dissect it. Why, you ask? I have no fucking idea. This was also the year that a teacher asked what I wanted to be when I grew up and my answer was “eccentric.” I think I nailed that one.

In the 9th grade I decorated my shoes with multicolored yarn so that my feet closely resembled Fraggles. If you don’t know what Fraggles are, you are too young to be here.

In the 10th grade, my Home Ec vest project was such a disaster that I wrapped it in wet paper towels and threw it away in the bathroom, hoping that no one would be gross enough to investigate. They weren’t, but I still got an F.

In the 11th grade I wore those tall white socks with the colored stripes around the top. With shorts. Who am I kidding, I still wear those. I love those socks.

All through high school I used to skip school to go on my own private field trips. My best friend and I would go to zoos, drive through safaris, and animal rescues, where we would do irresponsible things like climb fences to pet elephants, feed Cheetos to monkeys, and get sprayed by ligers. Note: Monkeys will give you a rash. It’s unfortunate.

I still don’t really get it. None of those things seem exceptionally nutty to me…but then, my scale of weird may be different than others. What’s something you’ve done that people thought was crazy?

 

33 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in random bullshit

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