Whats going on here?

For once, just once, it would be nice to have a conversation with my mother without it turning into a discussion about my mental health. I get it.  I’m crazy. Why do we always have to talk about it? It could be worse I suppose, I could have a mother who doesn’t believe that mental health is a thing, just “teenage hormones” and puberty. Or a mother who believes “praying the sadness away” is the answer.

Okay so calling myself crazy is a bit of a stretch. I have bi-polar disorder with some borderline personality issues thrown in there too, a poster child for mental stability right? I take meds that unfortunately cause me to break out, and a therapist, Lisa, whose sarcasm almost rivals mine. I see my doctor twice a month for check ups and see my good pal Lisa three times a month, so what more does my mother want from me? I know she loves me, I know she only wants whats best for me. but sometimes she just doesn’t understand. There are days where getting out of bed is the biggest victory and the rest of my day is a battle. Days where just the thought of interacting with another human being is enough to make me want to curl up into a ball and never come out. Unless extra cheesy pizza is in my future, then I might be tempted.  The world doesn’t understand me sometimes, and I don’t understand it. Why am I like this? I have this thought at least 4 times before I even leave my house. I walk down the street with a smile on my face because I actually made it out my front door today, but nobody will know. Nobody will know that I’ve been trying to do this simple task every day before but just. couldn’t. do. it. Those of us who suffer from the silent killer, also known as depression, don’t wear our struggles on the outside like a wound or scar, because the battle is all in our heads. Most days my biggest enemy is myself, the voice in my head that tells me I’m not good enough, no one will ever love me, I’m just crazy.

I know all of those aren’t true. Okay, maybe I am a little crazy. I’m also sarcastic, stubborn, passionate and sometimes even a little reckless. I wouldn’t be who I am today without my mental illness, as much as I may hate the little voice that’s always with me, I’m also thankful. Thankful its taught me to be more appreciative of the good days, and to remember them when I’m in the middle of my bad days. I might never be normal, and I’m okay with that. I’m okay being crazy.  Don’t be ashamed to admit that you’re not okay. Everyone has their demons, some are just harder to banish then others, and you know what? That’ s perfectly okay, were all in this together.


My Handsome Bug-a-Boo

Have you ever hit your lowest point and wondered if it was all worth it? I have, and let me tell you its a very dark lonely place. For weeks and weeks I had to muster up the strength for even the simplest of tasks. The only place I found comfort was within the four walls of my rarely clean room, I was held together with glue and I could feel myself unraveling. That was until April 2015 when I met the tiny black and white kitten my friends wacky ass neighbor had. Maybe it was because my tiny brain couldn’t comprehend how it was possible for something to be so small,or because it had been so long since I had felt needed, but adopting that little fur ball saved my life, taking care of him gave me a purpose. Here is this living, breathing creature small enough to fit in my palm and the only person he cared about was me, and I him. We ate together, shared my small bed, watched TV, you name it we did it. I even put him on a little harness so he could run around outside while I read. Something in this world needed me, depended on me to take care of him and that’s what I needed to get through. I still have my bad days, my days where its just impossible to get up, my days where talking to someone is enough to make me wanna curl up and die, but they’re fewer and far between. They say that we rescue the animals, but really they rescue us.