Friday, September 27, 2013

A Big Thanks......

I just wanted to take a few minutes of today and thank all of my readers. It has been a wonderful experience to learn how to blog and talk about something that is near and dear to my heart. I never imagined that when I started this blog over 10 months ago that it would turn out as well as it has.

So thank you all so very much. I really appreciate all of your support and comments. Thank you for your understanding, your acceptance, and your belief that mental illness is not a subject to shy away from. That we have nothing to be ashamed of. That what we have to say is just as important as what everyone else has to say. Thank you for standing with me and blogging with me. Thank you for listening and reading my opinions and rants. Thank you for standing up for mental illness and those that suffer from it. Thank you for simply clicking my blog post and taking the time to glance at it.

I truly believe the more we talk about mental illness, the more we can change other's perceptions of what that word means. I believe that the more open and honest we are the more we learn about not only ourselves but also each other. It has been an honor to blog about this and I truly appreciate all of the overwhelming support I have received form you guys. You guys rock!!!!

Until tomorrow.....
Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, September 26, 2013


Sometimes I can catch a glimpse of my childhood. When the dusk changes the sky a kaleidoscope of pinks, oranges, and purples and the warm breeze glides over my skin. I am taken back to hot summer nights where the air is so still you can actually feel the vibrations of the cicadas and crickets buzzing. The warmth surrounds you like your favorite childhood blanket. No matter how far away I am, anytime I cross the border into Texas I feel a sense of completeness. I feel Home. I think it is that way for everyone that comes from there. The smell of dirt and sun baked shirts hanging on the line to dry. The cool refreshing taste of southern sweet tea. Strangers driving by that wave to you or strangers that open the door for you. A place where people are inviting and open. People that are friendly. It isn't just a place you are from. It is a part of you. Good or bad, it is something that sticks with you for the rest of your life.
My children have odd ideas of what it means to be southern, especially to be a Texan. Their only ideas of being Texan are from my whole side of the family and Sandy from Sponge Bob or ,God forbid, Hank Hill. I say funny things. I talk funny sometimes. It has been pointed out to me that I say,"I tell you what," after some sentences.

I am a redhead. I was a stepchild (several times). I grew up rather poor. I wore glasses and to top it off I moved to the north so everyone made fun of my accent. To say I understand being picked out, bullied, and discriminated against would be an understatement. And that was all before they knew I also suffered from mental illness. Discrimination is a word that misleads. Many think it only happens to those that have a different skin color or social status.

Discrimination is the prejudicial and/or distinguishing treatment of an individual based on their actual or perceived membership in a certain group or category - Wikipedia

Growing up was fraught with negative feelings about myself. I never seem to fit into any kind of situation. A family friend one time sat me down and told me that being different was a hard thing to be and maybe I should make it easier on myself and try to fit in.....Like I wasn't already trying to do that. I couldn't very well change my hair color or pale skin with freckles, or eyesight, nor my financial situation at thirteen years old now could I. I decided if fitting in meant I would have to be mean to others, than I rather not try to fit in at all. I was a complete anomaly or at least that is what I was told by my peers. It was what I learned as they tormented me, tripped me in the halls, stole my belongings, laughed at my pain. It was what was thrust upon me as some of my teachers made it clear if I wasn't so different I wouldn't have a problem. It was an extremely painful process. It made me really look at myself and I must say it shaped how I treat others. 

I am sensitive to being judged or discriminated against. I know what it is like.  Therefore, I refuse to do that to others. I refuse to judge or shame others. It is not my place. I do not pretend others are invisible simply because some people choose to overlook them because they deem them unworthy to be seen or heard.

Having mental illness makes discrimination come to the forefront. We deal with angry comments, side ways glances, and preconceived notions. It hurts. In an age of information, we are confronted with the fact that many times the information that should be spread is not being shared. Instead, ignorance has taken over scaring those that do not know better and being perpetuated by the media and news sources. It makes us a target and it is extremely unfair. 

Discrimination has no place in our society. It solely based on fear and differences that others have a hard time accepting. If growing up the way I did has taught me anything, it is that differences are what make us who we are. They make us a world full of interesting and colorful possibilities. That in a world of black and grey, we are vibrant. We are to be experienced not feared. We are all human beings, mental illness or not, glasses and unusual hair colors or not, accents and strange sayings or not,social status and belief systems or not. We all deserve the same respect and consideration. No one deserves to be singled out and discriminated against.

We are supposed to be a society if not a world full of people that are better than our ancestors. We are supposed to have learned something from their mistakes hundreds of years ago. You would think we would have learned how to treat each other by now and the fact that we still hold onto these false and hurtful beliefs saddens me greatly.

Sincerely mentally ill, former glasses wearing, poor, southern girl, redheaded stepchild,
Neurotic Nelly

Tuesday, September 24, 2013


Talking with my oldest the other night, he asked me about how people deal with tough things in their lives. How do we overcome obstacles or complications that make doing what we need to hard for us? I thought about that question for a few minutes.

My answer was that everyone has obstacles in their lives. Whether it be financial, emotional, physical, or mental. We all have issues we have to deal with on a daily basis. There are two ways to deal with the obstacles, to face them and fight back and find ways around them or to remain stuck and do nothing.

 If you fight them it will not be easy. You may face set backs. You will encounter frustration. It can seem like an uphill battle with slippery ground. You may have to continue to fight for weeks, months, years, or the rest of your life. It is hard. It is a struggle but you can overcome or go around the big boulders that stand in your path.

If you choose not to fight, you remain stationary. You dwell with the negative thoughts of anger and sadness. Feelings of shame and doubt become like a heavy chain you wear around your neck. Fear of trying to fight back and failing can consume you. Feelings of worthlessness, stupidity, ugliness, and loss of self respect are rampant if you become stationary. The more negative the emotional pool you swim in, the less likely you are to fight back, to believe in yourself and your self worth.

There are two paths and which path you choose will decide what kind of person you are going to become in life, a fighter or someone who is stationary.

As I told him this I realized that there have been times when I had been stationary. There have been times when I lost touch with myself and what I feel. I have walked the lonely halls of feeling worthless and pathetic, damaged and broken, lost and alone. I found it hard to pull myself free from the thought that it was a lost cause to try. It was not a lost cause. It is never a lost cause.  And so right then and there, I made a silent promise to myself that never again would I remain stationary and feel sorry for myself. That I would refuse to be ashamed of my mental illness. That I would be someone he could look up to because I refuse to back down and feel sorry for myself. That I would try to fight even when I am exhausted and barely hanging on. Not just for him and my family, but also for myself. Because I am worth it. That doesn't mean that I wont have times where I question if something can be done, it just means that I will try my hardest anyway. It doesn't mean that I won't feel sad about something I am going through or grieve the loss of my expectations, it just means that I will continue to dream and hope and believe even if I am sad, upset, or scared. That I can realize new dreams and the possibilities are endless. It means that I will not walk the easy path, the carefree road. The road that has been manicured and swept clean. It means that I will take the road less traveled and I will trip. I will fall. I will skin my knees and elbows all the way there, but I will get back up. I will walk myself around whatever is blocking my path even if I have to limp to do it. Whatever and however I get around my obstacles I will get around them. I promise that no matter what befalls me or gets in my way I will never again get stuck. I will not remain stationary.

Neurotic Nelly

Friday, September 20, 2013

Deepen the Pull.......

I wear my heart like a wet, red stain on the breast of a velvet gown..........

this describes me completely. It is a quote from my favorite poem A Well Worn Story by Dorothy Parker. It might as well be my mantra, my call sign, my epitaph.

I bruise too easily. I am too sensitive, too open, too accepting, too forgiving, too kind. I give and give and give till I have nothing left but the air in my mouth and lint in my pockets. I bruise. I break. I falter. I fall down.

I end up with nothing left. Nothing left of my strength. Nothing left of my will power. Nothing left of my soul except the gaping whole were it should be. I have allowed myself to be hurt again.

I accept people too freely. I always jump head first into friendships. I go with the emotions I feel. If they say this is your friend then I do not question. I always try to see things from their point of view. I always try to be conscious of their feelings and wants. I try to a be supportive of their needs. I may not always totally understand them but I spend almost every breath trying. Because I feel that is what friends do. Maybe I am wrong. I am no longer sure.

Sometimes I wish I were a self obsessed jerk. A narcissistic tool that cared nothing about other's feelings. How nice would it be to not worry about if what I have done hurts others? How nice would it be to finally not feel so deeply for those that don't give two turtle turds what I am going through? How nice would it be to so wrapped up in myself to not drop everything for someone who would not, could not, or chooses not to do the same for me? How nice would it be not to be the puppet whose strings are being pulled every which way just to see if I can dance? How nice would it be to not feel the disappointment and sting of being manipulated, lied to, and used yet again?

What has it gotten me? To be nice, sweet, and open? What the hell good is it? Really, I would like to know. What is the point of it all when it only gets me pain and despair? When time and time again my blind trust is burned to the ground like some kind of  sacrificial viking ship. Set it out to sea and set it a lite. What do I achieve by being this way except to become a beacon that draws the users and manipulators like some deranged bug zapper. "Please be my friend just make sure that you stab me directly in the heart when you get a chance. The heart or the back, either or, just make sure the knife is sharp and you smile while you do it."
What fresh hell is this? What is the point? My urge to help others, to love others, to accept others is more of a noose rather than something to admire. It slowly closes in threatening to cut off my airway and yet that deepens the pull.  All that has to be said is that I hurt someone and the guilt washes over me like salt water stinging and burning the cracks in my skin. Pointing out battle scars I didn't even realize I had. I am so exhausted of it all.

The worst part is I can not change this about myself. I have tried. It's my personality. A personality that is more flawed than good. My heart has been shattered like glass so often I am afraid I might run out of glue. My self esteem has abandoned me. My nerves are left feeling raw and my tongue is scorched. I feel tethered to the ground unable to shed this sadistic cycle of guilt and agony. It is like a disease if you will. An incurable disease to care for others too much and I so wish there was some magic potion to make it all go away. I don't want to care anymore.

To have to read or listen to where I went wrong or what I have done that wasn't good enough is tiring. I can not be everyone's everything. I can't even be myself half of the time. I can recite my flaws. I guess I couldn't give enough. I couldn't continue to be emotionally torn. I guess I am quitter. A bad soul. Not Christian enough. Because I turned away I suppose putting myself first finally has made me a horrid excuse of a person. I guess that is what I have become.

My biggest problem is I allow others to hurt me. I wear my heart like a wet red stain on the breast of a velvet gown instead of locking it up in a titanium safe, under the subway transit, buried beneath large boulders, and encased in cement. I seriously wish I could. Then maybe I could not have to hurt so very much. I would no longer have to be vulnerable. Vulnerable sucks.

Here's your sharpened blade back....I don't need it anymore....I have enough knife wholes in my back already.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Dropping the Ball.......

Another horrid tragedy has befallen America. As our hearts go out to the families that were ripped apart from a lone gun man that took it upon himself to systematically murder innocent people I feel lost and greatly disturbed. Not just because the action of this sick and demented man, but also because of how the media is portraying him. My post probably wont be very popular. It may even anger some people, but it is the truth. It is the way I see it.

I know that this tragedy will become a hot bed of gun haters and gun lovers clawing at each other's throats. I know there will be sign waving and name calling. These people miss the point entirely and the irony is not lost on me.

The point is our system is broken. That in every recent mass shooting in this country there has been warning from people that stood up and informed those in charge that something was amiss. That these shooters were unhinged and possibly dangerous. In every instance there were warning signs and they were ignored.

Seung-Hui Cho- Virginia Tech shooter
It was reported that two years prior to his attack on fellow classmates, an English teacher recognized the signs that his behavior and writings were violent and disturbing. She asked him to seek counseling and reported him to the school. Because he had not committed any crime the school was unable to force him to receive treatment. She reported him and nothing was done. The signs were there. The ball was dropped.

James Holmes- Aurora Theater shooter
One of his psychiatrists reported before the shooting that they thought he suffered from mental illness and was also a danger to others. A month before the shooting his doctor reported to the campus he was attending that he had made homicidal statements and he was a threat to the public. She did not however, try to have him committed for further treatment. Other people were also afraid of him as he sent texts declaring that he was bad news and to stay away from him. The signs were there. The ball was dropped.

Adam Lanza- Sandy Hook shooter
His mother was in the process of getting him committed by some reports but as he had no criminal record she may have had a harder time trying to do so. Regardless if she was or was not in the process of committing him she was taking him to a psychiatrist who did not have him committed. The signs were there.The ball was dropped.

Aaron Alexis- Navy yard shooter
Aaron does have a history of being violent. He was reported to have shot out construction worker's tires in their truck because he felt they disrespected them, even though there were never any words exchanged. He shot through his upstairs neighbors apartment after he threatened her because he felt she was being too loud. He had told officers he heard voices, felt vibrations and was paranoid. The officers called the Navy to warn them. They countered that they would look into it. The signs were there the ball was dropped.

It is heartbreaking that so many had to suffer needlessly simply because the signs were swept under the carpet. Because people that should be in the position to recognize that these individuals were no longer capable of functioning and had become dangerous either did not do so or chose not to do so.

The media has blathered on about mental illness. It has tried to explain that it was only because of mental illness that this has happened. I watched CNN and MSNBC. I watched as they slung mud into the mental illness community damning us for the actions of those that could have been helped but were turned away or couldn't be helped but could have been committed and treated. I watched as they refused to put blame on others or even on the shooters themselves but on the mentally ill as a whole. I have read comments or heard quotes of," lock all the crazies away, the mentally ill are dangerous, they should bring back asylums, they shouldn't be allowed to walk our streets." As the media tries to armchair diagnose the shooters with whatever illness they think best fits the symptoms. Never taking to account that others with that same diagnoses are getting pelted and hurled by insults and side glances. People that were and are not a danger to anyone are now rooted out and discriminated against.

No one stands up for us on the news and states that most murders are the result of addiction, greed, or gang violence. No one stands up and states the fact that most shootings have nothing to do with mental illness. That the mentally ill are twice as more likely to be the victims of a violent attack rather than commit one. Facts aren't sexy. Statistics don't sell newspapers or get viewers but fear does. Fear and misrepresentation are great for entertainment value. Not to mention a great way to promote yet more stigma against those that are just trying to live their lives peacefully. People that are doing their therapies, taking their medications,  supporting each other, and doing what they are supposed to do to stay as healthy as possible.

How bad has the misrepresentation gotten lately for the mental illness community?
Well. last month Brian Williams of NBC's news broadcast described the scene of the sentencing of kidnapper, rapist and pedophile Ariel Castro and topped it off with describing him as" arguably the face of mental illness".

Doctor Phil claimed in one of his episodes that insane people howl at the moon and suck on rocks.

It is disturbing that people that bring us our news or people that are supposed to be doctors that care for our mental health feel this way. It's hurtful and it is wrong.  The blame should not be put on the mental illness community because some people have crossed over a line and became violent. It is simply not fair nor is it helpful to anyone to spout of lies or implications otherwise. I do not know what made these people do these horrid things. What I do know is that the mental illness community is not at fault. The fault lies in the laws that effectively tie hands of schools that can not force treatment options to stay enrolled. The laws that make it almost impossible to commit a child that has become an adult and is exhibiting dangerous and violent behavior simply because they do not have a criminal past. The doctors that knew that their patients had crossed into a violent and homicidal delusions but sat by and did nothing. The people that received information that a employee had become increasingly violent and had used a firearm twice against perceived disrespect where there was none but failed to look at it in time. The fault lies in responsibility and taking responsibility. The fault lies with the shooters. The fault lies in a broken system that needs to be reevaluated. There is a lot of place fault lies. All of these balls were dropped and many innocent wonderful people have paid for the dropping of them.

So I would like to close this post with a truth that the media has decided to purposely ignore.We are not a threat. We are not vile violent creatures to fear and despise. We are many. We are one in four people in the United States of America.We are fat and thin. We are old and young. We are doctors and lawyers. We are parents and children. We are the man who pumps your gas and the woman cashier that checks out you purchases. We are actors, politicians, and teachers. We are professionals and home makers. We are construction workers and artists. We are your broken soldiers that come back form a war your country asked us to fight. We are not Seung-Hui Cho, James Holmes, Adam Lanza, or Aaron Alexis. We are just people just like you are. We have many faces and none of them are Ariel Castro's.

Neurotic Nelly

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Witch Hunt........

Hellooooooo, guess who's back to blogging? That's right this girl!

That being said, I promise to never ever leave you hanging like that again for such a long period of time. At least not without a heads up that I may be offline for almost two weeks.

I read something last night that just really burned my biscuits. The article can be found here:

With excerpts like this:
          Spanking or hitting children as a means of punishment may increase their risk of mental disorders later in life, a new study finds.
        Among adults, 2 to 7 percent of cases of mental disorders — including major depression, anxiety disorder and paranoia — are attributable to physical punishment that occurred during childhood, the researchers said.
        The study did not include people who experienced maltreatment as children, such as such as physical or sexual abuse, or emotional neglect.
        The study adds to a growing body of research showing that physical punishment in childhood can lead to poor mental health in adulthood, including increased risk of depression, suicidal thoughts and alcohol abuse.
        The findings suggest that eliminating all physical punishment of children would reduce the prevalence of mental disorders, the researchers said.

The article goes on to say that they got the research by asking 34,600 participants of the age twenty and above in 2004-2005, if they remember being hit, slapped, pushed, shoved, or grabbed as a child by their parents or any adult that lived in the home. 6-7 percent said that they had experienced this sometimes, often, or very often in childhood, without other forms of maltreatment.

Those who experienced physical punishment were 59 percent more likely to have alcohol dependence, 41 percent more like to have depression and 24 percent more likely to have panic disorder, compared with those who received no physical punishments, the researchers said.

What a load of bologna! First off, I have a problem with their definition of physical punishment. Slapping, grabbing, shoving, and hitting (I am not referring to spanking) is more often than not, actual abuse. It is certainly abusive behavior. I have no idea how they can try to say otherwise. I find it hard to believe that physical abuse is going on and that is the only form of abuse with it. People that beat their kids are also likely to be verbally abusive as well and sometimes even sexually abusive.  And make no mistake, if you are shoving your kid around and punching him, that is not punishment. That is being abusive! I have a different opinion on spanking, I believe if done without anger, without yelling and cursing, and without beating the child , it can be helpful. I was spanked and it did not hurt me as an adult. It also made me a better person, I believe personally. My parents never beat me, cursed at me, slapped my face, or left welts. Just a discussion of what I did wrong a quick spanking and we were finished. Never in anger. You don't have to agree with my sentiments but please don't make up ridiculous research that has absolutely no founding or contains no actual facts in it.

 This so called "research" is just ridiculous. How can you garner what mental illness you can derive from the (non abusive) punishments you received as a child? Anxiety disorder? I have that, but it wasn't because of anything my parents did. I was born with it.

Here is my biggest issue with this research. To have an experiment with reliable data, you have to have a control group. I went to Science class. I know that is one of the first things you learn is to have a control for research or experiments. Where is the control group? You can not have a control group of people. It is impossible. Everyone has different genetics, different life experiences, different reactions, different medical histories, and different backgrounds. No one is exactly the same.

How can you tell what mental illness a person will get from their childhood without knowing the history of their family background. Was there a history of mental illness in the family? Not just institutionalization, because many family members suffer and never speak about what they are going through. Some mental illnesses are completely genetic. They can't rule genetics out because currently they have been unable to effectively identify all of the genetic markers for every single mental illness out there.

They aren't specific about just what kind of physical punishment they are referring to or how severely it is meted out. Are we talking about a slight slap on the hand like when you tap a toddler on the hand lightly and say, " no, don't touch that," or a slap that leaves the skin angry and welted? Are we referring to grabbing a child lightly by the shoulder to stop them from wandering off or are referring to yanking the child around by his earlobe? Just what severity are really discussing here? There are no specifics in this article.

And my final complaint about this whole article is simply this. The last statement that the deposing of physical punishment will decrease mental illness in adults. This just promotes yet again, another source of stigma. It refers that mental illness is caused solely by our punishments as a child. It places blame directly on care givers and parents with no exception to the many mental illness that are genetic, hereditary, and caused from brain trauma. It simply lumps them all together under a fictitious banner and people will believe that. Yes abuse causes some mental illness. It can cause PTSD and DID. It can cause many issues not limited to just mental illness as well.  Saying that you get depression just because your parents disciplined you and only because of that is crazy. How many participants had preexisting mental illnesses and were depressed from having those already. The article forgot to mention that depression is high in those that suffer from other mental illnesses. The article didn't mention the fact that alcoholism can be predisposed as well. Nor did it identify that fact that mental illnesses are all different and therefore can not be lumped together in such a way that they seem to be the same. Panic disorder is not a mental illness in itself but it is the term of several anxiety disorders such as but not limited to GAD, OCD, PTSD, SAD....the list goes on and on. Not all of these are caused from trauma.

And for my final argument I would like to leave you with the actual math of the percentages they like to quote here. Because when people use a percentage it tends to sound very scary and more pronounced than it actually is.

Of the 281,421,906 people in the US in 2005 57.7 million people claimed to suffer from mental illness.This article claims 2-7 percent claimed to have mental illness due to physical punishment but not abuse from their care givers. That would be about 1154000 as 2 percent and 4039000 at seven percent. I won't even go into the fact that 2 and seven percent seems like a huge difference in percentages. Apparently they were unable to narrow it down it any further than a 5 percent gap.
They had 34,600 participants for their study and found that 6 percent "remember" being physically punished which is 2076 people. Of those 6 percent (2076 people) 59%  were more likely to have alcohol dependence (1224 people), 41% to suffer from depression (851 people), 24%
 suffer from panic disorder (498 people). Keep in mind that every person in this research is different, has different economic circumstances, different family dynamics, and different genetics. I fear that we garner no real answers on mental illness from this poor excuse of a research experiment that probably cost thousands of dollars to research. I fear that if anything this will shame and stigmatize more people with mental illness. This will be yet another catalyst for people to judge us or try to place blame on our loved ones. Many of us do suffer from mental illness that stems from abuse and that makes this article even more maddening. As if they are trying to minimize the horror abuse victims go through and the pain they suffer with mental illness afterwards as just a common thing or something everyone goes through. Not to mention the article is clearly one sided in it's original opinion and ideals before the research was ever conducted. Set out to find what you are wanting and you will find what you are looking for, eventually. This is not an article about mental illness or in anyway a support for those who suffer from mental illness. This is an article that is effectively a witch hunt.
And shame on them for it.

Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, September 12, 2013


I am sorry I haven't blogged since last week. Things have been very hectic around here with Summer break being over. School has started for my kids, my insomnia is back in full force, and I have been dealing with personal issues that I want to keep private and have nothing to do with my mental illness. Needless to say I have not been able to think of anything to write. I always try to stay positive and upbeat. That is just part of my personality and yet for the last few days I have been dealing with the feeling of being lost and broken. I am just dealing with a lot.
 I know that it will get better. I know that I am not doomed. This too shall pass. I can work through and change some things that have become unhealthy habits. It's just the waiting game I really detest. Patience is a virtue and I apparently do not posses it.
So, today's post has no funny word play or beautiful imagery. It has no moral of the story. Morals of the story always come after the story has been told and I am currently still going through this story and trying to find my place. Today's post is just an honest depiction of what I am going through right now and I feel that I have let you guys down by not writing as usual or at least not explaining why. I hope that you all can forgive me and understand that I really wanted to blog, I just didn't have the time or the mental capacity to properly think.
I hope to be up and writing tomorrow and back to semi-normal, at least in a blogging sense.

I will just leave you with a quote that seems highly appropriate for this week's troubles.

"Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans," John Lennon

Until tomorrow my friends,
Neurotic Nelly

Friday, September 6, 2013


Growing up, I not only had severe OCD but I also suffered from dyslexia. I was terrible at math, and by terrible I mean horrid. It left me feeling stupid and frustrated. It took hours to complete simple multiplication. It hurt my head when doing algebra. I actually passed my freshman year of high school with a D- in math. I was thrilled.  I worked my butt off for that D-.

In defense of my feeling stupid I decided that what I lacked in math I could make up in language arts. I would read big words and thoughtfully let them drop off my tongue. I would look up their definitions in the dictionary and try to equate them in any sentence possible. I yearned to be smarter and if I couldn't do the math route I could certainly appear to be more intelligent in other ways. I devoured the world of words. Tasting each one as I rolled them around in my mouth. The ways to describe my life, my attributes, and my pain. Words became my passion. I suppose it is no wonder that I would write at some point.

From this begat an immense desire of reading prose and poetry. After all, poetry is often just a slight of hand with words. A pun. A sarcastic prose. A gut achingly poignant set of verses to soothe the soul. Or to piss off. Whichever way you read it.

I became a lover of Sylvia Plath and Dorothy Parker. Two poets of which also suffered from mental illness. Here I found like minded company. The pages their books produced became my ledger. I had finally found a niche that understood me. Sir Walter Raleigh, Emily Dickison.....ect. Which was great because many times things I said seemed to be over my peer's heads. My English teachers adored me but that really doesn't get you popular now does it?

I never felt the need to dumb myself down so the boys would like me more. I had felt dumb all of my life and I would be damned if I acted like some twit just so my then crush would smile at me. Not going to happen.

So in feeling dumb most of my life, I have striven to do better. To be better. I learned how to make myself smarter in certain things rather than dwell on the things I am not good at. Words are my security blanket and numbers are my boogey-man that waits for me in the darkest of night under my bed.

As an adult, I have accepted that everyone is bad at something. Why hold it against myself? Albert Einstein couldn't tie his own shoes, and I am fairly certain he didn't feel like he was stupid or dumb.

So I will leave you with two of my favorite quotes from an amazing poet:

So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested them  ---- Sylvia Plath

I have the choice of being constantly active and happy, or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting in between.-------Sylvia Plath

Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, September 5, 2013

In The Eye of The Beholder......

We experience the same beautiful wondrous things in life the same way normal people do.

The perfect few seconds of quiet, reckless abandon, doubt, anticipation when the one you are infatuated with brushes their lips against yours for the first time......

The way the words fall from their mouths when they say you name...

The warmth of your favorite fuzzy sweater on a chilly Fall night....

The smell of puppies breath...

When the summer rain is so light it feels like carbonated bubbles on your exposed skin....

The salty breath of the ocean as it washes over you on the beach....

The security and calm of holding your loved one's hand as you walk down the street late at night....

Seeing your child's first smile....

Sipping warm cider by the fire place and snuggling up to a good book when the house is silent...

Laying in the grass and staring at the stars....

The perfect sunset, the smell of damp earth before it rains, the seducing rich taste of a hot chocolate......

We experience them the same way. But maybe we dwell on them longer. Maybe we cherish them more. Maybe because of the all of the ugly we see on a daily basis we clutch them so tightly to our chests our nails pierce the skin.

Because daily we suffer brutality form our own minds. Lies, deceptions, anxiety, confusion, and agony.....we hold dear the beauty we encounter. Maybe we appreciate the beautiful things more simply because we are so used to being confronted with the ugly things that our minds torture us with. We want to hear them. Smell them. Taste them. We want to devour the good and happy times in life because we are under no allusions that they are rare and beautiful. We want to touch them and grasp them. A sign that that there is something worth fighting for. That there is something to reach out to. Something that can possibly close the battle wounds and soothe the battle weary. Something that can glue back together our shattered parts. Our broken bits of soul. Things that could help makes us whole again......Maybe we cherish them simply because we have no other choice. Because not to would be giving up and we are too stubborn to give up........

So you see, we experience the beautiful things in life much the same way as normal people do, we just hold onto them like they are the last hope, the last dream, the last remembrance because for us they are.

We long to behold them. We long to be the eye of the beholder and finally behold something positive.
We long for beauty.

Neurotic Nelly