I hate myself today....
I hate this guilt.... This shame that pounds the bones beneath my chest where my heart should be. My cheeks blush crimson with humiliation. I can feel it rush up from my toes like poison.....I despise the way my palms get sweaty and my mouth becomes dry and parched when confronted with things I didn't expect. Like rubbing cracked crystal with broken fingers, my voice comes out in choking squeaks instead of imposing confidence. My thoughts are jagged and disjointed. I retreat back into myself to prevent further rejection. I feel ignored....It makes me feel weak and small and I hate to feel weak and small. I hate feeling like it is all my fault even though I know the truth is it has nothing to do with me. I am angry with myself for crying. I am mad at myself for letting other people's attitudes affect my own. I loath myself for not standing up for myself like I should because I am afraid, or I am too kind to others, or because I am so afraid of being seen as less than a considerate young woman. I hate that I am not a stronger person.
I hate myself when I am like this.
And then as I sit in my darkened living room, going over why I lost my footing and fell to my knees today, I remember that I have gotten through worse. People have treated me horridly and I made it through. I have had more horrible days. I have climbed larger mountains and slayed bigger dragons than this. This is just a blip on my radar. This is simply a bump in the road. I have been wounded but I am not cut off at the knees. This is nary a scratch for which to cover with one of those cheap drug store band-aids I bought a few weeks ago. It will heal in time. Probably won't even leave a scar. Besides everyone cries at some point. I am not special in that regard.
I love myself today....
Because if I don't how do I expect others too? Because I am worthy of love and affection. Because I am strong even when I think I am not. Because I can stand up, no I will myself to stand up. Because no one is perfect but that doesn't mean that they aren't special and magnificent and beautiful in their differences not in spite of them. Because no matter what anyone else says, I am a good person. I am a nice person. Because being a nice person doesn't mean that I have to allow people to dictate to me who or what I am and believe it. I am me. And that is enough....It has to be because that is all I've got. It is all any of us has got....being ourselves. Because it is okay to cry, and fail, and lose, and stumble. Because it is going to happen at some point. Because it doesn't matter how many times you have fallen. What really matters, is how many times you get back up.
I love myself enough to keep trying.....
I love myself today
Because only love defeats hate and I am worth more than feeling sorry for myself, or being mad at myself, or feeling like I am lost. I am not lost. I am not broken. I am exactly who I need to be.
Neurotic Nelly
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
Friday, January 22, 2016
How Dare You....
It's been a while since I gave a good ole' rant. If you were looking to read one today, then you're in luck.
Dear Daily Mail,
I recently read an article on your site trying to smear a political presidential candidate's wife and frankly, it pissed me off. I would like to say that I respectfully disagree with your posting of Mrs. Cruz's personal information but that would imply that I have even a shred of respect for your paper, of which I do not. Not that I am a supporter of Ted Cruz, because honestly, I can't stand the guy. I am angry because once again a public social site is using something personal and something that has happened to many people as a smear campaign. Something that only further stigmatizes and shames people that have the complete and utter balls to get help when they are suffering from something that most people are too afraid to even speak about.
Apparently Mrs. Cruz had a bout with depression. Now, I have no idea why this is anyone's business. It seems to me, that it is her personal issue and it should only be revealed if she wants it to be. Her bout of depression is her story and her life and it is not for anyone else to judge or in this case, slander, to make a headline or to try and destroy someone else's credibility simply because they want to try and make some kind of point.
I don't know the Cruz's. Never met them. I am not standing up for her because I have some familiarity with her. I am standing up for her because in doing so I am standing up for the millions of people that suffer from mental illnesses whether it be permanent or temporary. I am standing up for us because guess what Daily Mail? Mental illness is real. It is not a sign of weakness or a character flaw. It is not something to be ashamed of or something to use to smear someone's reputation. It is not something to be looked down upon. It is simply a misfiring of chemicals in the brain. That's it. That is all it is.
And how dare you imply, that because this woman had a small bout of depression, that she is somehow less worthy to be anything that she sets out to be simply because she had the guts to openly admit that she was going through something really hard to deal with. How dare you instigate the same tired old regurgitation we have all been force fed for decades that having mental illness means that you are somehow less than or untrustworthy. How dare you make her personal battle, that is none of your freaking business, something to poke fun at and use it against her and her husband, whether you agree with his politics or not. How dare you!
At least, she was honest about it and honesty is what we need to fight such things as depression and other mental illnesses. Because honesty keeps it in the forefront. Honesty makes it real to the masses. Honesty makes people not afraid to speak up when they need help. It makes people sit up and listen when it is important to do so. We lose more people to suicide in the US than we lose in car accidents ( As I am sure you already know since you wrote a article about that too). People that could be helped. People that could have been saved but weren't because they didn't feel like other's would be supportive. Because they didn't think other people would understand. Because of shitty articles like yours, that seem to make suffering from mental illness either a joke to be sneered at or political fodder to be ridiculed. You article isn't informational as much as it is biased. I am glad that you have never had to deal with something like depression. I wish we all had such amazing luck. Unfortunately, this is the real world and depression actually exists. Your article is discriminatory as much as it is insulting to those of us who live with mental illness on a daily basis. It offers no helpful advice nor any real substance at all. All it does, and poorly I might add, is use this poor woman's struggles as a stepping stone to try and make your "paper" or "online news source" appear to still be relevant. Which for me, it no longer is. So, thanks for that.
You want to get into a discussion about mental illness, then do it. Don't be coy and beat around the bush. Don't slant the article to your point of view, which is completely ignorant of facts. Don't call people out and shame them with something they have nothing to be ashamed about it in the first place. You want to write real news? Then do so, but try reporting something that is actually news worthy and Mrs. Cruz's battle with depression isn't news. It is personal and it has nothing to do with you or her husband's aspirations to become the next president of the United States of America.
There is no black and white when writing about mental illness. Either your article aims to teach others about mental illnesses and lift up those of us that suffer from them or your article aims to damn us and stigmatize us further. There is no middle ground. You can not do both. In this case, you chose to humiliate sufferers simply to make a political point and not only is that despicable, it is is completely unnecessary.
Shame on you. Shame on you for being ignorant and judgemental and shame on you for implying that just because someone has had a struggle with mental illness that they are somehow less of a capable human being than those that have not.
My only regret after reading such drivel, is that I no longer own a pair of pet birds so that I could print out your "publication" and line the bottom of their cage with it, but that would take time out of my day and be a monumental waste of printer ink. And, frankly, your articles aren't worth the five dollar ink cartridge replacement and I could use the five minutes it would take me to print such garbage, to do something more important than your news site, like darning a sweater out of cat hair. I would rather read the back of a cereal box. You suck....
Neurotic Nelly
Dear Daily Mail,
I recently read an article on your site trying to smear a political presidential candidate's wife and frankly, it pissed me off. I would like to say that I respectfully disagree with your posting of Mrs. Cruz's personal information but that would imply that I have even a shred of respect for your paper, of which I do not. Not that I am a supporter of Ted Cruz, because honestly, I can't stand the guy. I am angry because once again a public social site is using something personal and something that has happened to many people as a smear campaign. Something that only further stigmatizes and shames people that have the complete and utter balls to get help when they are suffering from something that most people are too afraid to even speak about.
Apparently Mrs. Cruz had a bout with depression. Now, I have no idea why this is anyone's business. It seems to me, that it is her personal issue and it should only be revealed if she wants it to be. Her bout of depression is her story and her life and it is not for anyone else to judge or in this case, slander, to make a headline or to try and destroy someone else's credibility simply because they want to try and make some kind of point.
I don't know the Cruz's. Never met them. I am not standing up for her because I have some familiarity with her. I am standing up for her because in doing so I am standing up for the millions of people that suffer from mental illnesses whether it be permanent or temporary. I am standing up for us because guess what Daily Mail? Mental illness is real. It is not a sign of weakness or a character flaw. It is not something to be ashamed of or something to use to smear someone's reputation. It is not something to be looked down upon. It is simply a misfiring of chemicals in the brain. That's it. That is all it is.
And how dare you imply, that because this woman had a small bout of depression, that she is somehow less worthy to be anything that she sets out to be simply because she had the guts to openly admit that she was going through something really hard to deal with. How dare you instigate the same tired old regurgitation we have all been force fed for decades that having mental illness means that you are somehow less than or untrustworthy. How dare you make her personal battle, that is none of your freaking business, something to poke fun at and use it against her and her husband, whether you agree with his politics or not. How dare you!
At least, she was honest about it and honesty is what we need to fight such things as depression and other mental illnesses. Because honesty keeps it in the forefront. Honesty makes it real to the masses. Honesty makes people not afraid to speak up when they need help. It makes people sit up and listen when it is important to do so. We lose more people to suicide in the US than we lose in car accidents ( As I am sure you already know since you wrote a article about that too). People that could be helped. People that could have been saved but weren't because they didn't feel like other's would be supportive. Because they didn't think other people would understand. Because of shitty articles like yours, that seem to make suffering from mental illness either a joke to be sneered at or political fodder to be ridiculed. You article isn't informational as much as it is biased. I am glad that you have never had to deal with something like depression. I wish we all had such amazing luck. Unfortunately, this is the real world and depression actually exists. Your article is discriminatory as much as it is insulting to those of us who live with mental illness on a daily basis. It offers no helpful advice nor any real substance at all. All it does, and poorly I might add, is use this poor woman's struggles as a stepping stone to try and make your "paper" or "online news source" appear to still be relevant. Which for me, it no longer is. So, thanks for that.
You want to get into a discussion about mental illness, then do it. Don't be coy and beat around the bush. Don't slant the article to your point of view, which is completely ignorant of facts. Don't call people out and shame them with something they have nothing to be ashamed about it in the first place. You want to write real news? Then do so, but try reporting something that is actually news worthy and Mrs. Cruz's battle with depression isn't news. It is personal and it has nothing to do with you or her husband's aspirations to become the next president of the United States of America.
There is no black and white when writing about mental illness. Either your article aims to teach others about mental illnesses and lift up those of us that suffer from them or your article aims to damn us and stigmatize us further. There is no middle ground. You can not do both. In this case, you chose to humiliate sufferers simply to make a political point and not only is that despicable, it is is completely unnecessary.
Shame on you. Shame on you for being ignorant and judgemental and shame on you for implying that just because someone has had a struggle with mental illness that they are somehow less of a capable human being than those that have not.
My only regret after reading such drivel, is that I no longer own a pair of pet birds so that I could print out your "publication" and line the bottom of their cage with it, but that would take time out of my day and be a monumental waste of printer ink. And, frankly, your articles aren't worth the five dollar ink cartridge replacement and I could use the five minutes it would take me to print such garbage, to do something more important than your news site, like darning a sweater out of cat hair. I would rather read the back of a cereal box. You suck....
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, April 30, 2015
The Facebook Test....
Sorry for the absence last week. I have been recovering from being under the weather. I am recovering, albeit slowly and with great determination.
_______________________
The Facebook Test...
I was minding my own business on Facebook and came across a "how OCD are you" test. I clicked it to see just what ignorant things are supposed to bother me to make me "so OCD". Ya know, because I don't already know what my OCD triggers are. And it was just as I expected. A bunch of things out of order and color coded incorrectly and dirty dishes. Because to people this is all OCD is and it is infuriating.
I took the quiz and because most of things were just asinine and about cleanliness and organization of other people's things, they don't really bother me. Apparently according to the test, I am not so OCD. Phew, what a relief! I guess I can stop blogging now and stop getting therapy because Facebook thinks I am not a severe OCD sufferer.
And friend had shared it and I don't want to be as ass but this stuff really pisses me off and it is so inaccurate. Ugh!
And then when I made a comment about how angry these things make me and how they are extremely insulting, I am told by the person that posted, that she too has OCD. And I am so "what the fuck" right now. I mean if you actually had it then why would this be acceptable in any way? How does this not piss you off because it pisses me off to no end. I was asked if I couldn't have been nicer about it, and I guess I could have been but then again sometimes I am fucking sick and tired of being nice about something that I fight to live with everyday. Sometimes I am just tired, and frustrated, and down right pissed. Yes, it is a free country and yes it is Facebook, and yes people are allowed to post whatever the hell they want. But if you are going to post such stupidity then expect for someone to call you on it. Expect someone to get pissed. Expect someone to stand up and call you on your shit because there is nothing funny or amusing about mental illness. Nothing. And my friend said something that really touched me. She said she just has learned to smile through it. And I had nothing to say about that because how many times have I plastered a fake smile over my face and just smiled through it like it wasn't bothering me? How many times have I left things go because I didn't want to upset anyone even though they were really upsetting me? How many times did I let things like these stupid and stigma producing tests go by and acted like they weren't affecting my mental illness in a negative light to others, and I was perfectly okay with it. Or even worse, maybe found it amusing? How many times have I helped to spread the stigma and bias that surrounds all mental illness because it was the easier thing to do? To not stand up. To not rock the boat. To not speak out. How many times have I done that? Too many times to count.
And I have been wrestling with being totally honest lately. I mean, I am honest to a fault but with OCD I tend to not be honest on things like Facebook when I see these tests. I let them go and say nothing. I do things like not explain my mental illness when people find out. I sometimes just go along and pretend that they know how it works and I just let it go. And that is a problem for me because I preach honesty in my blog. I say that silence is condoning the ignorance and yet here I am willingly allowing ignorance to pass before me and I am allowing myself to be afraid of other people's condemnation. Because I am a people pleaser. Because I don't want people to think badly of me or differently about me. And it has to stop.
I have to stop these tests and explain why they are bad or ignorant or both, every time I see them because it hurts us as sufferers and it promotes stigma. I have to stop being afraid of what my neighbors think, or what the people I went to school with think, or what strangers think about me simply because I take not only a stand but a passionate stand and refuse to be silent. I have to because it is not about me. Not really. It is about all of us. All of us that have this shit handed down to them everyday under the guise that OCD is amusing or fodder for jokes. I have to stand up every time because just as it is about me and you it is also about my youngest son who also has OCD and HE DESERVES BETTER. We all do and the first step is to stop condoning by being silent when we run across things making sport or are spewing ignorance about our disorder. I have to stop wrestling with how much I should say on Facebook and just take the plunge. Let the chips fall where they may and if someone doesn't like it or can't handle the truth then they can just unfriend me because if they can't handle the real me then they don't really deserve to be my "friend" anyway.
Because life is not a Facebook test. This is life and I want my life to stand for something. I want my life to help others and to maybe make life just a tad bit easier for other OCD sufferers. I want my life to help, in some small way, pave the road to a future where we are taken seriously and treated equally. Because all I have is my life and I refuse to allow fear to overcome my truth of what OCD is and is not. No matter how unpopular or uncomfortable that makes other people. Because we are all uncomfortable everyday and maybe it is time for everyone else to suck it up. Maybe it is time for the people that promote this garbage to put on their big boy pants and cowboy up like we do everyday. Because I depend on truth, we depend on truth, my son depends on truth to get better. And that means way more to me then a few people getting upset at me for being honest.
Neurotic Nelly
_______________________
The Facebook Test...
I was minding my own business on Facebook and came across a "how OCD are you" test. I clicked it to see just what ignorant things are supposed to bother me to make me "so OCD". Ya know, because I don't already know what my OCD triggers are. And it was just as I expected. A bunch of things out of order and color coded incorrectly and dirty dishes. Because to people this is all OCD is and it is infuriating.
I took the quiz and because most of things were just asinine and about cleanliness and organization of other people's things, they don't really bother me. Apparently according to the test, I am not so OCD. Phew, what a relief! I guess I can stop blogging now and stop getting therapy because Facebook thinks I am not a severe OCD sufferer.
And friend had shared it and I don't want to be as ass but this stuff really pisses me off and it is so inaccurate. Ugh!
And then when I made a comment about how angry these things make me and how they are extremely insulting, I am told by the person that posted, that she too has OCD. And I am so "what the fuck" right now. I mean if you actually had it then why would this be acceptable in any way? How does this not piss you off because it pisses me off to no end. I was asked if I couldn't have been nicer about it, and I guess I could have been but then again sometimes I am fucking sick and tired of being nice about something that I fight to live with everyday. Sometimes I am just tired, and frustrated, and down right pissed. Yes, it is a free country and yes it is Facebook, and yes people are allowed to post whatever the hell they want. But if you are going to post such stupidity then expect for someone to call you on it. Expect someone to get pissed. Expect someone to stand up and call you on your shit because there is nothing funny or amusing about mental illness. Nothing. And my friend said something that really touched me. She said she just has learned to smile through it. And I had nothing to say about that because how many times have I plastered a fake smile over my face and just smiled through it like it wasn't bothering me? How many times have I left things go because I didn't want to upset anyone even though they were really upsetting me? How many times did I let things like these stupid and stigma producing tests go by and acted like they weren't affecting my mental illness in a negative light to others, and I was perfectly okay with it. Or even worse, maybe found it amusing? How many times have I helped to spread the stigma and bias that surrounds all mental illness because it was the easier thing to do? To not stand up. To not rock the boat. To not speak out. How many times have I done that? Too many times to count.
And I have been wrestling with being totally honest lately. I mean, I am honest to a fault but with OCD I tend to not be honest on things like Facebook when I see these tests. I let them go and say nothing. I do things like not explain my mental illness when people find out. I sometimes just go along and pretend that they know how it works and I just let it go. And that is a problem for me because I preach honesty in my blog. I say that silence is condoning the ignorance and yet here I am willingly allowing ignorance to pass before me and I am allowing myself to be afraid of other people's condemnation. Because I am a people pleaser. Because I don't want people to think badly of me or differently about me. And it has to stop.
I have to stop these tests and explain why they are bad or ignorant or both, every time I see them because it hurts us as sufferers and it promotes stigma. I have to stop being afraid of what my neighbors think, or what the people I went to school with think, or what strangers think about me simply because I take not only a stand but a passionate stand and refuse to be silent. I have to because it is not about me. Not really. It is about all of us. All of us that have this shit handed down to them everyday under the guise that OCD is amusing or fodder for jokes. I have to stand up every time because just as it is about me and you it is also about my youngest son who also has OCD and HE DESERVES BETTER. We all do and the first step is to stop condoning by being silent when we run across things making sport or are spewing ignorance about our disorder. I have to stop wrestling with how much I should say on Facebook and just take the plunge. Let the chips fall where they may and if someone doesn't like it or can't handle the truth then they can just unfriend me because if they can't handle the real me then they don't really deserve to be my "friend" anyway.
Because life is not a Facebook test. This is life and I want my life to stand for something. I want my life to help others and to maybe make life just a tad bit easier for other OCD sufferers. I want my life to help, in some small way, pave the road to a future where we are taken seriously and treated equally. Because all I have is my life and I refuse to allow fear to overcome my truth of what OCD is and is not. No matter how unpopular or uncomfortable that makes other people. Because we are all uncomfortable everyday and maybe it is time for everyone else to suck it up. Maybe it is time for the people that promote this garbage to put on their big boy pants and cowboy up like we do everyday. Because I depend on truth, we depend on truth, my son depends on truth to get better. And that means way more to me then a few people getting upset at me for being honest.
Neurotic Nelly
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Excuse Me....Rant...Rant...Rant
I love how people say they have experience with mental illness and then start talking about it in a way that lets you know they haven't the first clue how devastating and demanding it is of your time, your space, what little is left of your sanity, and your life. The soul sucking hole that laps up your very thoughts and drains your emotions like a mummified vampire from the worst B rated horror movie ever created. I love it, I truly do.
I also love feeling like I need to get into a "whose mental illness is worse" pissing contest with someone who thinks because they might have had small case of the "Debbie Downers" once or whatever they claim to be the mental illness they "know" about is. And it makes me feel like yelling that mine was so bad that I almost killed myself so maybe..... just maybe.... I may know what the hell I am talking about. Because I am not talking about making excuses, or over exaggerating, or being dramatic. I am talking about thirty one years of carving out a path to walk down because each road in my life has big boulders of shit blocking every way I turn. I am talking about shit balls, here. Giant shit balls that roll down hill and threaten to smother you or crush you underneath them.
I don't need to be schooled on what is and isn't an excuse of mental illness. I am pretty sure that over three decades of dealing with it, I should at least have a bachelors degree in being mentally ill. Seeing as you only need around ten extra years of school to be a neurosurgeon, I think I have earned the "right to talk about what it is like to be mentally ill" badge from the girls scouts by now....I have several doctor's sign offs on being permanently disabled because of mine. I have being institutionalized at the age of ten at the local looney bin. I have almost being admitted again at the age of 20. I have not being able to drive, or work, or go to college. I have the fact that I no longer could go to school because of the extreme anxiety and the bullying because I would have panic attacks in class, so I dropped out. I have that I have no formal education past the 12th grade. I have battle scars just from leaving my house just to go to the fucking grocery store for God's sakes. I am actually certifiable because I literally am certified as mentally ill....but no, clearly you know more about mental illness than I. Because you have supposedly "experienced" it.
Well, I haven't "experienced" it, I fucking live it. Each and every day. And I am not bitter about it, just real. It is not some pretty package wrapped up in a crisp red bow and left on your front porch as a gift. It is not an expensive wine or an artisan cheese. It is not something you smear on an over priced gluten free cracker and choke down with a warm glass of milk as a midnight snack. You do not "experience" mental illness. It is something you deal with. It is something you struggle through. It is something that you work on. It is not a pleasure cruise to fucking Boca. It is an illness in your brain.
Excuse me, for standing up for what I know to be true from not only my experiences but also the many mental illness survivors in my family, and sadly some that did not survive it. Excuse me, for understanding the many friends and bloggers that also have gone through mental illness and taught me things about other mental illnesses I was ignorant about. Excuse me, for saying that mental illness is not an excuse but it is a reality and it needs to be talked about and understood and not vilified or stigmatized because we wear that ugly over coat of shame and guilt and stigma every damn day and maybe we don't want to wear that stagnant, moldered, trench coat of self-condemnation anymore because it isn't our shame or our guilt to be carried around but yours and ignorant people like you that sit behind a keyboard and make snap judgments and rude comments about something that you claim you may have "experienced" once in your lifetime. Excuse me, for actually knowing what I am talking about and seeing you for your inexperience of something you are so "experienced" in. Excuse me......
and fuck you....
Now please enlighten us some more on how you know about what living with mental illness is like because you have so much "experience" with it.....
Neurotic Nelly
I also love feeling like I need to get into a "whose mental illness is worse" pissing contest with someone who thinks because they might have had small case of the "Debbie Downers" once or whatever they claim to be the mental illness they "know" about is. And it makes me feel like yelling that mine was so bad that I almost killed myself so maybe..... just maybe.... I may know what the hell I am talking about. Because I am not talking about making excuses, or over exaggerating, or being dramatic. I am talking about thirty one years of carving out a path to walk down because each road in my life has big boulders of shit blocking every way I turn. I am talking about shit balls, here. Giant shit balls that roll down hill and threaten to smother you or crush you underneath them.
I don't need to be schooled on what is and isn't an excuse of mental illness. I am pretty sure that over three decades of dealing with it, I should at least have a bachelors degree in being mentally ill. Seeing as you only need around ten extra years of school to be a neurosurgeon, I think I have earned the "right to talk about what it is like to be mentally ill" badge from the girls scouts by now....I have several doctor's sign offs on being permanently disabled because of mine. I have being institutionalized at the age of ten at the local looney bin. I have almost being admitted again at the age of 20. I have not being able to drive, or work, or go to college. I have the fact that I no longer could go to school because of the extreme anxiety and the bullying because I would have panic attacks in class, so I dropped out. I have that I have no formal education past the 12th grade. I have battle scars just from leaving my house just to go to the fucking grocery store for God's sakes. I am actually certifiable because I literally am certified as mentally ill....but no, clearly you know more about mental illness than I. Because you have supposedly "experienced" it.
Well, I haven't "experienced" it, I fucking live it. Each and every day. And I am not bitter about it, just real. It is not some pretty package wrapped up in a crisp red bow and left on your front porch as a gift. It is not an expensive wine or an artisan cheese. It is not something you smear on an over priced gluten free cracker and choke down with a warm glass of milk as a midnight snack. You do not "experience" mental illness. It is something you deal with. It is something you struggle through. It is something that you work on. It is not a pleasure cruise to fucking Boca. It is an illness in your brain.
Excuse me, for standing up for what I know to be true from not only my experiences but also the many mental illness survivors in my family, and sadly some that did not survive it. Excuse me, for understanding the many friends and bloggers that also have gone through mental illness and taught me things about other mental illnesses I was ignorant about. Excuse me, for saying that mental illness is not an excuse but it is a reality and it needs to be talked about and understood and not vilified or stigmatized because we wear that ugly over coat of shame and guilt and stigma every damn day and maybe we don't want to wear that stagnant, moldered, trench coat of self-condemnation anymore because it isn't our shame or our guilt to be carried around but yours and ignorant people like you that sit behind a keyboard and make snap judgments and rude comments about something that you claim you may have "experienced" once in your lifetime. Excuse me, for actually knowing what I am talking about and seeing you for your inexperience of something you are so "experienced" in. Excuse me......
and fuck you....
Now please enlighten us some more on how you know about what living with mental illness is like because you have so much "experience" with it.....
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Just Stop It Already....RANT......RANT......
Thanksgiving was interesting. My Grandma was sick and had to go to the hospital the day before Thanksgiving. She was in the hospital up until today. She is now going to a rehabilitation to help her regain her strength. God only knows how long it will be until she gets to go home. I am worried about her which triggers my OCD medical fears about myself. We spent three days at my mom's and I helped clean my grandma's apartment after which I took a shower and then spent twenty minutes trying to remove a comb I was attempting to brush my unruly mane with, from said unruly mane. It was firmly implanted in my hair like I was born with it there. (This is why I carry my own hair comb but I forgot it this time.) Then after we returned home I started to decorate out new Christmas tree we picked up Saturday, only to somehow manage to get the string of Christmas lights entangled in my hair as well. I guess I am just having a bad hair week. Or maybe my hair has Pica or was super hungry...who knows.
The tree is decorated "Old World" style. I used to read Christmas books as a child and I always loved the illustrations with the Christmas trees that had garland and red and gold ornaments. My tree looks good but I need to get those little white candles to put on the tree. Fakes ones of course, because real ones are a fire hazard and I am extremely clumsy. I mean, I got the lights tangled in my hair, just imagine what I would be like around lit candles..
Am I happy with the tree? No because it is never perfect enough. And that is how OCD works my friends. It has to be perfect but it never quiet reaches the mark. It is something all OCD sufferers learn to live with.
Then I got on the internet to search OCD news and I ended up reading this article with the title "Khloe: I'm an OCD Freak."
It's about Klohe Kardashian ( I have no idea why I bothered to read such drivel) and her Thanksgiving table and plans. There were these pictures of a grand and intricately decorated table and here is what she says.
“A sneak peak of my craziness today. I know you see my OCD in high gear when you look at my cookie jars,”
“I have a problem... I know... but I like everything neat and in its place. This kind of stuff makes me SO happy!! #HappyThanksgiving”
Yea, because nothing says happiness like OCD. Hell, I know that my life with OCD is all shits and giggles. I couldn't be happier that I spent six hours today trying not to obsess over whether or not I have thyroid cancer because I am being triggered by holiday stress. I am so glad that Khloe Kardashian knows my pain..... I now feel complete.....*snicker*
I am so sick of hearing how liking things orderly is OCD. Sick to death of it, seriously. Stop it already! You don't have OCD because you like to line up your cookie jars a certain way. What you might have is a plethora of self importance, narcissism, delusions of grandeur, and possibly some serious self esteem issues but the one thing you do not have is OCD. You do not say that OCD makes you so happy, if you actually have it. Because if you actually had it you would understand what a fucking horrible burden having OCD is. Here's a tip, there are actual words used to describe OCD. I won't burden you with the long list of what they are but I will tell you what they aren't. They aren't words like happy, or cool, or fashionable, or fun. It's mental illness and it blows. Okay? Is that so hard for people to understand?
And further more, I really don't want my mental illness to be sullied or trivialized by some small minded idiot who only got famous because her sister is famous for a sex tape and or possibly being peed on. I am so tired of seeing everything these ridiculous self absorbed people say plastered all over the news as if they have a fucking clue what they are talking about. They don't. So please for the love of all things holy, stop it already.
I think what bothers me the most is that this year has been the hardest for me OCD wise. I have been battling OCD for as almost as long as I can remember and I have been unmedicated for over three years now, but there have been a ton of stressers this year. Deaths in my family, diagnoses of medical issues, relearning how to function on somewhat of a schedule which truth be told, has never been my strong suit. And to have to read something so asinine as my mental illness/mental hell being reduced to something as paltry as lined up cookie jars just really pisses me off. As if it would make sense out of all of this pain and frustration if I would only be famous, ridiculously rich and stupid, and just line my crockery in eye pleasing patterns. Then and only then I could be "so happy". So no, I am not really happy right now. Especially, after reading an article that calls OCD sufferers "freaks"....(Gee thanks. That really bolsters my self esteem.) Or having to read ridiculous claims made by morally inept morons as to why their Thanksgiving preparations in any way compare to the absolute hell I have been living with the last thirty one years.
I mean, I think we as sufferers of all mental illnesses deserve more respect than that. We deserve to be treated like what we have is an actual illness and isn't something to be used as a general term for something odd or quirky. Just because you are having a bad day doesn't make you " Bipolar". Feeling paranoid does not make you "Schizo". And lining your cookie jars up in a row clearly does not make you "OCD". So stop it. Just stop.
And just so you know, poorly written news article author: We are magnificent, brave, courageous, intelligent, and strong individuals. We are many things to the many people in our lives. We are important and we matter. We are not "freaks". We are human beings. So, educate yourself because smearing us with words like "freak" shows your ignorance and bias. And I don't think anyone who suffers form mental illness finds your title amusing or cute.
Neurotic Nelly
The tree is decorated "Old World" style. I used to read Christmas books as a child and I always loved the illustrations with the Christmas trees that had garland and red and gold ornaments. My tree looks good but I need to get those little white candles to put on the tree. Fakes ones of course, because real ones are a fire hazard and I am extremely clumsy. I mean, I got the lights tangled in my hair, just imagine what I would be like around lit candles..
Am I happy with the tree? No because it is never perfect enough. And that is how OCD works my friends. It has to be perfect but it never quiet reaches the mark. It is something all OCD sufferers learn to live with.
Then I got on the internet to search OCD news and I ended up reading this article with the title "Khloe: I'm an OCD Freak."
It's about Klohe Kardashian ( I have no idea why I bothered to read such drivel) and her Thanksgiving table and plans. There were these pictures of a grand and intricately decorated table and here is what she says.
“A sneak peak of my craziness today. I know you see my OCD in high gear when you look at my cookie jars,”
“I have a problem... I know... but I like everything neat and in its place. This kind of stuff makes me SO happy!! #HappyThanksgiving”
Yea, because nothing says happiness like OCD. Hell, I know that my life with OCD is all shits and giggles. I couldn't be happier that I spent six hours today trying not to obsess over whether or not I have thyroid cancer because I am being triggered by holiday stress. I am so glad that Khloe Kardashian knows my pain..... I now feel complete.....*snicker*
I am so sick of hearing how liking things orderly is OCD. Sick to death of it, seriously. Stop it already! You don't have OCD because you like to line up your cookie jars a certain way. What you might have is a plethora of self importance, narcissism, delusions of grandeur, and possibly some serious self esteem issues but the one thing you do not have is OCD. You do not say that OCD makes you so happy, if you actually have it. Because if you actually had it you would understand what a fucking horrible burden having OCD is. Here's a tip, there are actual words used to describe OCD. I won't burden you with the long list of what they are but I will tell you what they aren't. They aren't words like happy, or cool, or fashionable, or fun. It's mental illness and it blows. Okay? Is that so hard for people to understand?
And further more, I really don't want my mental illness to be sullied or trivialized by some small minded idiot who only got famous because her sister is famous for a sex tape and or possibly being peed on. I am so tired of seeing everything these ridiculous self absorbed people say plastered all over the news as if they have a fucking clue what they are talking about. They don't. So please for the love of all things holy, stop it already.
I think what bothers me the most is that this year has been the hardest for me OCD wise. I have been battling OCD for as almost as long as I can remember and I have been unmedicated for over three years now, but there have been a ton of stressers this year. Deaths in my family, diagnoses of medical issues, relearning how to function on somewhat of a schedule which truth be told, has never been my strong suit. And to have to read something so asinine as my mental illness/mental hell being reduced to something as paltry as lined up cookie jars just really pisses me off. As if it would make sense out of all of this pain and frustration if I would only be famous, ridiculously rich and stupid, and just line my crockery in eye pleasing patterns. Then and only then I could be "so happy". So no, I am not really happy right now. Especially, after reading an article that calls OCD sufferers "freaks"....(Gee thanks. That really bolsters my self esteem.) Or having to read ridiculous claims made by morally inept morons as to why their Thanksgiving preparations in any way compare to the absolute hell I have been living with the last thirty one years.
I mean, I think we as sufferers of all mental illnesses deserve more respect than that. We deserve to be treated like what we have is an actual illness and isn't something to be used as a general term for something odd or quirky. Just because you are having a bad day doesn't make you " Bipolar". Feeling paranoid does not make you "Schizo". And lining your cookie jars up in a row clearly does not make you "OCD". So stop it. Just stop.
And just so you know, poorly written news article author: We are magnificent, brave, courageous, intelligent, and strong individuals. We are many things to the many people in our lives. We are important and we matter. We are not "freaks". We are human beings. So, educate yourself because smearing us with words like "freak" shows your ignorance and bias. And I don't think anyone who suffers form mental illness finds your title amusing or cute.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Heartbroken....
Heartbroken. I am angry, sad, and lost.
I didn't personally know Robin Williams. I am not famous or in the movie industry. I am neither a comic nor a comedian. I am just a person. A regular person. An ordinary person. A person that can't yet fathom never seeing new a Robin Williams movie or hearing his comedy routines live or watching him ham it up with the latest talk show host ever again.
I loved Robin Williams. His humor, his energy, his fluidity of voice changes and characters. His references were both poignant and truthful. He had a way of making everyone feel like his best friend even if their only connection to him was watching him on the television set or viewing one of his many skillfully played characters at the movie theater. He illuminated the masses with his hyper and manic humor. He brought tears to our eyes with his heart touching roles. He shared some of his life with us. Some of the inner workings of his genius mind and he did it all while making us smile. He reminded many of us that grew up watching him, of our own beloved yet goofy family members. The crazy uncle that dances around and does funny accents and silly voices or the wacky aunt that jumps from story to story, each story being bigger and more implausible than the next. Everyone has one of those kooky relatives and Mr. Williams seemed to encompass them all but with more oomph and better fashion sense. His smile brought many of us comfort. We knew no matter how hard our day was or how sad we might be, that even the smallest of his jokes would change all of that. Even if for only a few moments, we knew that Robin Williams would make us laugh and we would feel better, and he did.
That is why so many of us were so terribly shocked that we lost him in such a profoundly devastating way. He was for many of us, a hero. Not only did he make us laugh but he was open and honest about many of his struggles. He had battled with addiction and wrestled with depression and he helped raise awareness of both of those issues every time he discussed them. He was successful even though he suffered and it made him a hero to a great many of us. He made us realize that we too could reach for our dreams even though we may have mental illness or addiction issues. For me he was more than an actor, comic, or funny man. For me and many like me, he was an inspiration.
Sometimes when others make us laugh we fail to see the pain behind their eyes. Sometimes we fail to see that laughter can hide agony and despair. I do not know why Robin Williams committed suicide but I do know how devastated his family and friends must be. I know what living with a depressed parent is like and sadly I understand suicide and the fear of it on a very real level. My mother tried to kill herself when I was ten years old. She suffers from among other things, bipolar disorder and chronic depression.
Depression isn't simply feeling sad. It isn't just being overwhelmed and lonely. Depression is a black whole that sucks up every important, valued, wonderful thing in your life and swallows it whole. It decimates and devastates. It leaves you raw and numb. It smothers your other senses so completely that it tunnels your vision until all that you can see is the pain and agony in which you have lived your life in. It is not just having a bad day. It is an exhaustion, a soul crushing exhaustion that pollutes every sense of normalcy in your world. It takes everything from you and leaves you desperate for any semblance of solace or peace. Depression isn't simply an emotion, it is an illness and like all illnesses, it can and it does kill.
I think people are surprised by his depression because he was successful and famous. Because he seemed so happy and jovial. Because he had done so many things most of us will never achieve. But that just shows how little most people know about mental illnesses such as depression. Depression doesn't discriminate. It has nothing to do with money or fame. It has nothing to do with race or social status. It has nothing to do with gender, sexual preference, or one's religious views. Depression is a mental illness and as such it can affect anyone, at anytime, anywhere.
I actually read a comment implying that if he had known the love of God this might not have happened and I was sorely disappointed by the ignorance of that statement. My mother has always loved God...she loved God while she prayed...loved God when she went to church on Sundays...and my mother still loved God just as much when she swallowed a bottle of pills...one by one while hoping to die. She never stopped loving God, she just wanted to end her misery. To imply a loss of religion is the cause of suicide is not only folly and ignorant but dangerous as well. You can not simply wash away a chemical imbalance in your brain with prayer. It does not work that way... So it, in fact, does not matter what religion he may or may not have believed in or if he had or had not known the love of God. Suicide has less to do with one's beliefs and more to do with ending one's pain.
And I am afraid that people will judge him. Some will say snide remarks and ugly comments about his life and decisions or his belief systems. They will call him weak or cowardly. They will act as if they know what was going through his mind or that they would have ended up differently but the truth is most of them have no idea what that struggle is like or how deep the pain of depression can seep into your soul. There will be internet trolls and judgy misguided people with big opinions and little ability to understand anything but their own preconceived notions of mental illness. They will try and make his battle with depression something to be looked down on or ashamed of and that is wrong. His family doesn't need judgments and ignorance, they need understanding and acceptance. He lost his battle but that does not make him weak or cowardly. I am not advocating for suicide. I believe it is devastating. It leaves a definable scar on the fabric of your family that never fully heals. However, I believe that we have to stop demonizing those that have done it and understand that they don't do it because they don't love their families, or they are weak, they do it because they truly at that time are unable to see that there is any other way to end their suffering. They do it because they suffer from a mental illness that is often times overlooked, understated, and stigmatized by the public.
If this tragedy does anything to shed light on the issues of suicide in this country, than I hope it reaches people on a very real level. I hope that it can help end the ignorance and stigma that surrounds the topic of suicide and mental illness. Robin Williams was a wonderful person, a big hearted, loving, magnificent person and he will be sorely missed as will the over 30,000 other Americans that commit suicide in this country every year. Their loss is a tragedy just as horrific and devastating as Mr. Williams's. The discussion of suicide is swept under the rug or discussed only in hushed voices. We owe it to those that have lost their battle with depression and other mental illnesses to stop sticking our heads in the sand. They deserve our attention and their pain deserves to be discussed. Their lives deserve to be talked about and their suicides deserve to be acknowledged so that we can help others before they get to this point of despair.
Suicide is preventable. There is help. There are other options, better options, and until we start being honest about suicide in this country sadly, we will continue lose more people that could have been saved.
My heart goes out to the Williams family and all of his friends, fans, and acquaintances. My heart goes out to the whole world that has lost such a bright, intelligent, and magnificent man that they will never get to know....and my heart goes out to Robin Williams because his pain must have been profound and daunting and because as in so many other cases, we as a society failed to be open about mental illness like we should be and because of that we failed to reach him in time.
Neurotic Nelly
I didn't personally know Robin Williams. I am not famous or in the movie industry. I am neither a comic nor a comedian. I am just a person. A regular person. An ordinary person. A person that can't yet fathom never seeing new a Robin Williams movie or hearing his comedy routines live or watching him ham it up with the latest talk show host ever again.
I loved Robin Williams. His humor, his energy, his fluidity of voice changes and characters. His references were both poignant and truthful. He had a way of making everyone feel like his best friend even if their only connection to him was watching him on the television set or viewing one of his many skillfully played characters at the movie theater. He illuminated the masses with his hyper and manic humor. He brought tears to our eyes with his heart touching roles. He shared some of his life with us. Some of the inner workings of his genius mind and he did it all while making us smile. He reminded many of us that grew up watching him, of our own beloved yet goofy family members. The crazy uncle that dances around and does funny accents and silly voices or the wacky aunt that jumps from story to story, each story being bigger and more implausible than the next. Everyone has one of those kooky relatives and Mr. Williams seemed to encompass them all but with more oomph and better fashion sense. His smile brought many of us comfort. We knew no matter how hard our day was or how sad we might be, that even the smallest of his jokes would change all of that. Even if for only a few moments, we knew that Robin Williams would make us laugh and we would feel better, and he did.
That is why so many of us were so terribly shocked that we lost him in such a profoundly devastating way. He was for many of us, a hero. Not only did he make us laugh but he was open and honest about many of his struggles. He had battled with addiction and wrestled with depression and he helped raise awareness of both of those issues every time he discussed them. He was successful even though he suffered and it made him a hero to a great many of us. He made us realize that we too could reach for our dreams even though we may have mental illness or addiction issues. For me he was more than an actor, comic, or funny man. For me and many like me, he was an inspiration.
Sometimes when others make us laugh we fail to see the pain behind their eyes. Sometimes we fail to see that laughter can hide agony and despair. I do not know why Robin Williams committed suicide but I do know how devastated his family and friends must be. I know what living with a depressed parent is like and sadly I understand suicide and the fear of it on a very real level. My mother tried to kill herself when I was ten years old. She suffers from among other things, bipolar disorder and chronic depression.
Depression isn't simply feeling sad. It isn't just being overwhelmed and lonely. Depression is a black whole that sucks up every important, valued, wonderful thing in your life and swallows it whole. It decimates and devastates. It leaves you raw and numb. It smothers your other senses so completely that it tunnels your vision until all that you can see is the pain and agony in which you have lived your life in. It is not just having a bad day. It is an exhaustion, a soul crushing exhaustion that pollutes every sense of normalcy in your world. It takes everything from you and leaves you desperate for any semblance of solace or peace. Depression isn't simply an emotion, it is an illness and like all illnesses, it can and it does kill.
I think people are surprised by his depression because he was successful and famous. Because he seemed so happy and jovial. Because he had done so many things most of us will never achieve. But that just shows how little most people know about mental illnesses such as depression. Depression doesn't discriminate. It has nothing to do with money or fame. It has nothing to do with race or social status. It has nothing to do with gender, sexual preference, or one's religious views. Depression is a mental illness and as such it can affect anyone, at anytime, anywhere.
I actually read a comment implying that if he had known the love of God this might not have happened and I was sorely disappointed by the ignorance of that statement. My mother has always loved God...she loved God while she prayed...loved God when she went to church on Sundays...and my mother still loved God just as much when she swallowed a bottle of pills...one by one while hoping to die. She never stopped loving God, she just wanted to end her misery. To imply a loss of religion is the cause of suicide is not only folly and ignorant but dangerous as well. You can not simply wash away a chemical imbalance in your brain with prayer. It does not work that way... So it, in fact, does not matter what religion he may or may not have believed in or if he had or had not known the love of God. Suicide has less to do with one's beliefs and more to do with ending one's pain.
And I am afraid that people will judge him. Some will say snide remarks and ugly comments about his life and decisions or his belief systems. They will call him weak or cowardly. They will act as if they know what was going through his mind or that they would have ended up differently but the truth is most of them have no idea what that struggle is like or how deep the pain of depression can seep into your soul. There will be internet trolls and judgy misguided people with big opinions and little ability to understand anything but their own preconceived notions of mental illness. They will try and make his battle with depression something to be looked down on or ashamed of and that is wrong. His family doesn't need judgments and ignorance, they need understanding and acceptance. He lost his battle but that does not make him weak or cowardly. I am not advocating for suicide. I believe it is devastating. It leaves a definable scar on the fabric of your family that never fully heals. However, I believe that we have to stop demonizing those that have done it and understand that they don't do it because they don't love their families, or they are weak, they do it because they truly at that time are unable to see that there is any other way to end their suffering. They do it because they suffer from a mental illness that is often times overlooked, understated, and stigmatized by the public.
If this tragedy does anything to shed light on the issues of suicide in this country, than I hope it reaches people on a very real level. I hope that it can help end the ignorance and stigma that surrounds the topic of suicide and mental illness. Robin Williams was a wonderful person, a big hearted, loving, magnificent person and he will be sorely missed as will the over 30,000 other Americans that commit suicide in this country every year. Their loss is a tragedy just as horrific and devastating as Mr. Williams's. The discussion of suicide is swept under the rug or discussed only in hushed voices. We owe it to those that have lost their battle with depression and other mental illnesses to stop sticking our heads in the sand. They deserve our attention and their pain deserves to be discussed. Their lives deserve to be talked about and their suicides deserve to be acknowledged so that we can help others before they get to this point of despair.
Suicide is preventable. There is help. There are other options, better options, and until we start being honest about suicide in this country sadly, we will continue lose more people that could have been saved.
My heart goes out to the Williams family and all of his friends, fans, and acquaintances. My heart goes out to the whole world that has lost such a bright, intelligent, and magnificent man that they will never get to know....and my heart goes out to Robin Williams because his pain must have been profound and daunting and because as in so many other cases, we as a society failed to be open about mental illness like we should be and because of that we failed to reach him in time.
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Medical OCD Hurts
Today I wanted to write something emphatically helpful and inspiring. I wanted to write something that opens up new communication about mental illness and how we the sufferers feel, live, and survive. Right now, I would settle just to write something that makes sense, instead I am left feeling disjointed and lost. Like a Lego house that is missing too many pieces that have fallen under the bed, behind the dresser, under the carpet never to emerge from their hiding spot until I walk in unsuspecting and impale my foot with one of the sharp little buggers. Ouch.
My missing pieces are caused from the anxiety level that I am under and I feel like I am at risk of losing my grip on to whatever shreds of sanity I have left. And it's all because of this damn wisdom tooth. What is the purpose of a wisdom tooth anyway? I mean really.
Tomorrow I have to have one of my wisdom teeth extracted. It is painful and infected. I have been chugging down these blue capsules to kill the infection every eight hours and I am so tired of it. I am tired of being in pain. Tired of being terrified the antibiotics aren't working and the infection is going to kill me. Tired of worrying about the pain I will be dealt tomorrow as they crank my tooth out with a pair of pliers. Let's face it, they are funny looking but they are still pliers. Tired of going through the whole process in my mind repeatedly. Tired of the alarm going off to tell me to take my pills three times a day. Tired of feeling like I am on the verge of yet another panic attack. Tired of talking about it over and over like a broken record. I am just plain tired.
This is how OCD works. Medical OCD. The one where you are afraid there is something horribly wrong with you and you can't shake the idea no matter how hard you try. Fear so deep that you can't think about anything else. You can taste it and it tastes like bile and yesterday's spaghetti dinner. You can feel it and it makes you tremble with uncertainty. You can hear it and it sounds like the intrusive voice that you wish to God just once it would take a fucking break. It's frustrating and exhausting and I want to scream. I want to rattle the cages OCD has locked me in my whole life. I want to rage against my mind. I want...... I want to take a freaking nap. I haven't been sleeping well lately.
Medical OCD is one of the symptoms of OCD that I have. It has been a struggle for me. I have learned a few things on combating it. An example is what I thought to be a mole on my leg. It appeared after I cut myself shaving. My OCD turned this into skin cancer. Makes no sense because I avoid the sun as a redhead lest I spontaneously combust. But there it was, my medical OCD telling me my days were numbered. The pain of fearing of leaving my children left me immobile. I spent nights crying myself to sleep in a panic. Knowing that what I feared was irrational but at the same time compelling and filling my mind with various ways of disaster. I googled my symptoms and became even more afraid. Googling symptoms rarely leads to positive outcomes. Especially for me. I made a doctors visit only to find out that my fear was a waste of time because it was a protruding scar. It wasn't even a mole for God's sake. I wasted all of that energy and fear on nothing. I could have used that energy with my kids. I could have cleaned more. I could have played with them more. I could have actually gotten a better nights sleep. Minutes of my life that I can not get back. If you multiply that by as many episodes of medical OCD I have endured it would add up to days, months, years even that I can not get back. So much pain and so much time wasted. And that is how it works. It takes your fear and ramps up your anxiety. It tells you lies and blurs the truth. It makes you doubt and exhausts you to the point of utter and complete panic. Others look at this as you being a hypochondriac. They may ridicule you and wipe it away as the ravings of a mad person. They may get angry because they do not know how to help you and you have no answers on what to tell them to do. It's highly frustrating to both parties involved. Make no mistake the fear is real. The anxiety is as solid as you or I. It is real to the sufferer. It is real to us and it hurts. It scares us and it hurts. It frustrates us and it hurts. It makes us unable to function and it hurts. It slowly steals moments away from our lives and it hurts.We do not feel this way because we want to. We do not have these fears because we are weak or ignorant. It is simply a symptom of something much bigger going on in the background. It is a symptom of OCD.
Tomorrow will hurt physically and emotionally. I will get over it. I will be very scared and possibly have a panic attack. I will heal. I may even shed some tears tonight before I fall asleep. I will be fine after the deed is done and the anxiety and OCD ebbs away. There is safety in knowing that this too shall pass. There is hope in knowing it is not a permanent state of fear afterwards.
Neurotic Nelly
My missing pieces are caused from the anxiety level that I am under and I feel like I am at risk of losing my grip on to whatever shreds of sanity I have left. And it's all because of this damn wisdom tooth. What is the purpose of a wisdom tooth anyway? I mean really.
Tomorrow I have to have one of my wisdom teeth extracted. It is painful and infected. I have been chugging down these blue capsules to kill the infection every eight hours and I am so tired of it. I am tired of being in pain. Tired of being terrified the antibiotics aren't working and the infection is going to kill me. Tired of worrying about the pain I will be dealt tomorrow as they crank my tooth out with a pair of pliers. Let's face it, they are funny looking but they are still pliers. Tired of going through the whole process in my mind repeatedly. Tired of the alarm going off to tell me to take my pills three times a day. Tired of feeling like I am on the verge of yet another panic attack. Tired of talking about it over and over like a broken record. I am just plain tired.
This is how OCD works. Medical OCD. The one where you are afraid there is something horribly wrong with you and you can't shake the idea no matter how hard you try. Fear so deep that you can't think about anything else. You can taste it and it tastes like bile and yesterday's spaghetti dinner. You can feel it and it makes you tremble with uncertainty. You can hear it and it sounds like the intrusive voice that you wish to God just once it would take a fucking break. It's frustrating and exhausting and I want to scream. I want to rattle the cages OCD has locked me in my whole life. I want to rage against my mind. I want...... I want to take a freaking nap. I haven't been sleeping well lately.
Medical OCD is one of the symptoms of OCD that I have. It has been a struggle for me. I have learned a few things on combating it. An example is what I thought to be a mole on my leg. It appeared after I cut myself shaving. My OCD turned this into skin cancer. Makes no sense because I avoid the sun as a redhead lest I spontaneously combust. But there it was, my medical OCD telling me my days were numbered. The pain of fearing of leaving my children left me immobile. I spent nights crying myself to sleep in a panic. Knowing that what I feared was irrational but at the same time compelling and filling my mind with various ways of disaster. I googled my symptoms and became even more afraid. Googling symptoms rarely leads to positive outcomes. Especially for me. I made a doctors visit only to find out that my fear was a waste of time because it was a protruding scar. It wasn't even a mole for God's sake. I wasted all of that energy and fear on nothing. I could have used that energy with my kids. I could have cleaned more. I could have played with them more. I could have actually gotten a better nights sleep. Minutes of my life that I can not get back. If you multiply that by as many episodes of medical OCD I have endured it would add up to days, months, years even that I can not get back. So much pain and so much time wasted. And that is how it works. It takes your fear and ramps up your anxiety. It tells you lies and blurs the truth. It makes you doubt and exhausts you to the point of utter and complete panic. Others look at this as you being a hypochondriac. They may ridicule you and wipe it away as the ravings of a mad person. They may get angry because they do not know how to help you and you have no answers on what to tell them to do. It's highly frustrating to both parties involved. Make no mistake the fear is real. The anxiety is as solid as you or I. It is real to the sufferer. It is real to us and it hurts. It scares us and it hurts. It frustrates us and it hurts. It makes us unable to function and it hurts. It slowly steals moments away from our lives and it hurts.We do not feel this way because we want to. We do not have these fears because we are weak or ignorant. It is simply a symptom of something much bigger going on in the background. It is a symptom of OCD.
Tomorrow will hurt physically and emotionally. I will get over it. I will be very scared and possibly have a panic attack. I will heal. I may even shed some tears tonight before I fall asleep. I will be fine after the deed is done and the anxiety and OCD ebbs away. There is safety in knowing that this too shall pass. There is hope in knowing it is not a permanent state of fear afterwards.
Neurotic Nelly
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Letting Go
I overheard a quote once that said "Hate is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."
I always liked that quote and still I drank my poison down. It tasted bitter like whiskey and cigarettes, burned match tops and rancid pool water. It choked me and set up residence in my bloodstream. Like any aggressive infection it spread into other parts of my life. It leaked into my relationships, my dreams, my self esteem. It haunted me like an ancestor's ghost. Stalked me like a dark shadow waiting to pounce. Stifled my other emotions. Raged like the angry waves after a storm and ravished my every thought and notion.
It was a fever I could not break. A wall I could not tear down. A memory I could not shatter no matter how hard I tried. I felt like hollowed bones buried in hallowed ground. I was unable to be free of the rage and anger and it made me hate.
I was angry because I was afflicted. I raged because I could not be normal. I denied my issues and tried to stuff them back down. Mental illness does not go away just because you refuse to accept that you have one. I learned this the hard way and as such I hated it, hated my life, and worse yet hated myself for not being like everyone else. Accusatory glances were thrown in my direction and they all came from the mirror. I self hated so much it became a habit. I would blame myself for things that I had no part of. I would say derogatory things to myself. I put myself down on a daily basis. I was so angry that finally I was unable to function anymore. Anger and rage are exhausting. It takes a lot of energy to keep up the rage and hatred. Like a child that falls asleep after throwing a huge fit complete with screaming, kicking, and crying. The energy is drained and you no longer are able to sustain. My anger and hatred were for all intensive purposes me throwing a major fit. Raging against the machine of my mind, raging against the ocean of negative thoughts, raging against the fact I would never be normal.
It was a blow to my psyche. I had to accept the inevitable. I am altered. I am different. I am sometimes broken. It took me a long time to be able to accept what so blatantly was staring me in the face. Once the hate, anger, and rage subsided I was able to have a moment of clarity. Clarity is always a good friend.
What I know about life is limited. Limited by the fact that I do not and am not able to see the world through rose colored glasses. I see things in a different way because my mind is different. What isn't limited is that I feel things in a more sensitive way. I am sensitive to other's pain and suffering. Sensitive to praise and acceptance. Sensitive to all the emotions around me. I not only see things differently but I feel them differently. I feel them more intensely. That doesn't mean that I am stupid or weak.
It took me years to realize that having a mental illness does not mean that I am weak. [tweet this]. It does not mean that I am ugly. It does not make me stupid, crazy, or unlovable. It simply sets me apart from the rest of society. It makes me different. It makes me unable to do some things but at the same time it has made me try things I never would have otherwise.
If I had never had mental illness, I would not be exactly where I am today. I would not have the passion to reach out to others that suffer from mental illness. I would not be blogging about mental illness or creating google groups for it. I would not read about it's issues and what is going on the mental illness community. I am sure I would have a passion for something else, but right now because of my past issues, I have this passion. It's a beautiful thing to struggle and come out on the other side. Once I put down the anger, hatred, and self blame I realized that although my life may not be what I had envisioned, it could still be good. It could be better than good, it could be remarkable. My life is remarkable to me. I don't have to be like anyone else or think like anyone else to be happy. I can be happy just being me. I still have hard days. My mental illness will never go away. It is always going to be with me. I can sometimes feel broken, but I realize that I am not as fragile as I once was. I realize that I am exactly where I am supposed to be and doing exactly what I am supposed to do. I let go of my anger and I gained something much more important back, I gained myself back. I gained my life back. I gained an understanding of my mental illness and an acceptance of it. As I learned to let go I learned to accept. Accept not just what I have but accept who I am as a person, a mother, a friend, and a woman who suffers from mental illness.
Neurotic Nelly
I always liked that quote and still I drank my poison down. It tasted bitter like whiskey and cigarettes, burned match tops and rancid pool water. It choked me and set up residence in my bloodstream. Like any aggressive infection it spread into other parts of my life. It leaked into my relationships, my dreams, my self esteem. It haunted me like an ancestor's ghost. Stalked me like a dark shadow waiting to pounce. Stifled my other emotions. Raged like the angry waves after a storm and ravished my every thought and notion.
It was a fever I could not break. A wall I could not tear down. A memory I could not shatter no matter how hard I tried. I felt like hollowed bones buried in hallowed ground. I was unable to be free of the rage and anger and it made me hate.
I was angry because I was afflicted. I raged because I could not be normal. I denied my issues and tried to stuff them back down. Mental illness does not go away just because you refuse to accept that you have one. I learned this the hard way and as such I hated it, hated my life, and worse yet hated myself for not being like everyone else. Accusatory glances were thrown in my direction and they all came from the mirror. I self hated so much it became a habit. I would blame myself for things that I had no part of. I would say derogatory things to myself. I put myself down on a daily basis. I was so angry that finally I was unable to function anymore. Anger and rage are exhausting. It takes a lot of energy to keep up the rage and hatred. Like a child that falls asleep after throwing a huge fit complete with screaming, kicking, and crying. The energy is drained and you no longer are able to sustain. My anger and hatred were for all intensive purposes me throwing a major fit. Raging against the machine of my mind, raging against the ocean of negative thoughts, raging against the fact I would never be normal.
It was a blow to my psyche. I had to accept the inevitable. I am altered. I am different. I am sometimes broken. It took me a long time to be able to accept what so blatantly was staring me in the face. Once the hate, anger, and rage subsided I was able to have a moment of clarity. Clarity is always a good friend.
What I know about life is limited. Limited by the fact that I do not and am not able to see the world through rose colored glasses. I see things in a different way because my mind is different. What isn't limited is that I feel things in a more sensitive way. I am sensitive to other's pain and suffering. Sensitive to praise and acceptance. Sensitive to all the emotions around me. I not only see things differently but I feel them differently. I feel them more intensely. That doesn't mean that I am stupid or weak.
It took me years to realize that having a mental illness does not mean that I am weak. [tweet this]. It does not mean that I am ugly. It does not make me stupid, crazy, or unlovable. It simply sets me apart from the rest of society. It makes me different. It makes me unable to do some things but at the same time it has made me try things I never would have otherwise.
If I had never had mental illness, I would not be exactly where I am today. I would not have the passion to reach out to others that suffer from mental illness. I would not be blogging about mental illness or creating google groups for it. I would not read about it's issues and what is going on the mental illness community. I am sure I would have a passion for something else, but right now because of my past issues, I have this passion. It's a beautiful thing to struggle and come out on the other side. Once I put down the anger, hatred, and self blame I realized that although my life may not be what I had envisioned, it could still be good. It could be better than good, it could be remarkable. My life is remarkable to me. I don't have to be like anyone else or think like anyone else to be happy. I can be happy just being me. I still have hard days. My mental illness will never go away. It is always going to be with me. I can sometimes feel broken, but I realize that I am not as fragile as I once was. I realize that I am exactly where I am supposed to be and doing exactly what I am supposed to do. I let go of my anger and I gained something much more important back, I gained myself back. I gained my life back. I gained an understanding of my mental illness and an acceptance of it. As I learned to let go I learned to accept. Accept not just what I have but accept who I am as a person, a mother, a friend, and a woman who suffers from mental illness.
Neurotic Nelly
Saturday, April 13, 2013
The Nature Of The Beast
Many people are unsure of how OCD works. I thought I would dedicate this post to explain how OCD controls a persons life. It is after all a beast that lives inside your mind. It sounds crazy, but for me OCD is like a separate entity that lives inside my head. It has no moral values, it tells me and shows me things I find disturbing and is totally against my personality.
Many people with OCD are aware that there is a spectrum of severity. Some people only have obsessions. That would be the dwelling of issues or intrusive thoughts and images. Many only have compulsions That is the physical things we do to prevent or lessen the anxiety that comes with being obsessive compulsive. And then many of us have both the obsessions and compulsions. Much like bipolar disorder where some are only manic, some are only depressive, and some have both symptoms.
There are things we just don't talk about. They sound crazy and in most cases it is the taboo subject that we sweep under the rug. If we don't admit it than no one has to know just how "crazy" we are.
The real reason we compulse is to keep the anxiety at bay. No one thinks to ask what the anxiety comes from, but if they did most of us would not tell you anyway. I believe in total honesty, so I am going to explain it to you. The anxiety comes from the intrusive thoughts. It tell us such things as if you don't touch the doorknob twelve times you are going to die in an explosion...ect. The real problem with this is, although you know it is not true, doubt creeps up in your mind. If I only have to do this I can be safe or my loved ones will be safe. Then you do it. Now, OCD says wait you didn't touch it right, do it again. You can do it over and over again, never finding relief.
If you do find relief it is fleeting and you will have to touch something else, or wash something else, or count something else. Whatever your compulsions are you will do them. Therapists and Psychiatrists tend to call these compulsions, rituals.To a great affect they are rituals. We do them almost lovingly to get them right the first time, that way we do not have to keep repeating them over and over. It seems silly to be so careful with them because we will have to do them again anyway.
Compulsions are like drugs. A drug addict will do the first set of drugs to forget whatever causes them to use. To find relief. Compulsions work much the same way. As the drug wears of the addict is consumed with ways to feel the relief again. They will find ways to get more drugs to forget. They eventually, end up as full blown addicts that only think about their next fix and will do anything to get it. Compulsions like the drugs are fleeting. The feeling of safety will wear off and we must compulse again and again. It is a never ending cycle. Soon your life revolves around your compulsions. Leaving the house becomes impossible. Your days consist of letting your OCD control your every move.
It is very painful and humiliating. When your OCD is in control of your life, you cease to exist in the way you want to. You are no longer able to make appointments on time, you are no longer able to do what you want to do. It is all to feed the beast in your mind. It preys on your fear. Every time we compulse it is feeding the OCD.
At some point in my childhood my compulsions stopped. I became more obsessional rather than compulsive. I am not sure why. I don't really remember my obsessions back then, but my mother has stated I was morbid and was constantly talking about death. Then I was compulsive again at the age of fourteen. Again, I am not sure what made my OCD change symptoms, but it did and now I was faced with how to hide the compulsions from friends so I didn't look crazy or weird.
Unfortunately at this time there was not a lot of CBT programs around and certainly not anywhere near where I lived. I ended up getting the workbook and learning to do CBT on my own. With hard work I have stopped the compulsions. I am now back to the obsessions and I mostly ignore them. I have my own personal way of talking back to them in my head. I do occasionally slip up. I am doing my best not to give in. It is my personal belief that anytime you give in to the compulsions or obsessions you are feeding the beast, and I am not willing to give OCD anymore of my life. [tweet this]. It has taken too much already. There is hope for people like us. Take the anger of having OCD and turn it into fighting the disorder. There are therapies and programs that can help us deal with our issues.
It is the nature of the beast to take and take and take. It is our mission not to give anymore to it. I can do it. You can do it. We can do it.
Neurotic Nelly
Many people with OCD are aware that there is a spectrum of severity. Some people only have obsessions. That would be the dwelling of issues or intrusive thoughts and images. Many only have compulsions That is the physical things we do to prevent or lessen the anxiety that comes with being obsessive compulsive. And then many of us have both the obsessions and compulsions. Much like bipolar disorder where some are only manic, some are only depressive, and some have both symptoms.
There are things we just don't talk about. They sound crazy and in most cases it is the taboo subject that we sweep under the rug. If we don't admit it than no one has to know just how "crazy" we are.
The real reason we compulse is to keep the anxiety at bay. No one thinks to ask what the anxiety comes from, but if they did most of us would not tell you anyway. I believe in total honesty, so I am going to explain it to you. The anxiety comes from the intrusive thoughts. It tell us such things as if you don't touch the doorknob twelve times you are going to die in an explosion...ect. The real problem with this is, although you know it is not true, doubt creeps up in your mind. If I only have to do this I can be safe or my loved ones will be safe. Then you do it. Now, OCD says wait you didn't touch it right, do it again. You can do it over and over again, never finding relief.
If you do find relief it is fleeting and you will have to touch something else, or wash something else, or count something else. Whatever your compulsions are you will do them. Therapists and Psychiatrists tend to call these compulsions, rituals.To a great affect they are rituals. We do them almost lovingly to get them right the first time, that way we do not have to keep repeating them over and over. It seems silly to be so careful with them because we will have to do them again anyway.
Compulsions are like drugs. A drug addict will do the first set of drugs to forget whatever causes them to use. To find relief. Compulsions work much the same way. As the drug wears of the addict is consumed with ways to feel the relief again. They will find ways to get more drugs to forget. They eventually, end up as full blown addicts that only think about their next fix and will do anything to get it. Compulsions like the drugs are fleeting. The feeling of safety will wear off and we must compulse again and again. It is a never ending cycle. Soon your life revolves around your compulsions. Leaving the house becomes impossible. Your days consist of letting your OCD control your every move.
It is very painful and humiliating. When your OCD is in control of your life, you cease to exist in the way you want to. You are no longer able to make appointments on time, you are no longer able to do what you want to do. It is all to feed the beast in your mind. It preys on your fear. Every time we compulse it is feeding the OCD.
At some point in my childhood my compulsions stopped. I became more obsessional rather than compulsive. I am not sure why. I don't really remember my obsessions back then, but my mother has stated I was morbid and was constantly talking about death. Then I was compulsive again at the age of fourteen. Again, I am not sure what made my OCD change symptoms, but it did and now I was faced with how to hide the compulsions from friends so I didn't look crazy or weird.
Unfortunately at this time there was not a lot of CBT programs around and certainly not anywhere near where I lived. I ended up getting the workbook and learning to do CBT on my own. With hard work I have stopped the compulsions. I am now back to the obsessions and I mostly ignore them. I have my own personal way of talking back to them in my head. I do occasionally slip up. I am doing my best not to give in. It is my personal belief that anytime you give in to the compulsions or obsessions you are feeding the beast, and I am not willing to give OCD anymore of my life. [tweet this]. It has taken too much already. There is hope for people like us. Take the anger of having OCD and turn it into fighting the disorder. There are therapies and programs that can help us deal with our issues.
It is the nature of the beast to take and take and take. It is our mission not to give anymore to it. I can do it. You can do it. We can do it.
Neurotic Nelly
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Stressed
Stress is a constant in our lives. It is sweaty palms and feeling faint. Tightness is your chest and shortness of breath. The world spinning around and feeling drunk. Nausea and physical pain. It is panic attacks and depression. It is falling down the rabbit hole head first and ending up in wonderland. Except instead of happy bunnies and mad hatters drinking tea you are met with mad bill collectors and cranky telephone salesmen demanding information and explanations. Instead of potions that make you small and cupcakes to make you big, you are left with bills that make your wallet small and cupcakes you can't afford. Stress is the red queen and she wants to lop off your head. She wants your time, your money, and your fear. She revels in being sadistic and mean. She wants to harass and badger you to death. She sucks. I am really tired of stress.
Sitting here watching bad reality t.v. like Operation Repo, I have decided that I would like to repossess some of my sanity. Not all of it mind you, as I never had all of my sanity. Just the amount I used to have before I started to know stress at such a familiar level. I would like to lighten the load a bit. I have no idea how to do this as of yet. I am just trying to stay positive. Sometimes I find being positive almost impossible but I keep trying. I try because I want to be anything but sad and depressed. I try because I want to set a positive role model for my children. I try because I truly believe it will get better in time and with a lot of work. In a world of Alice's and red queens, we owe to ourselves to keep trying. To keep getting up in the morning and face the day no matter how stressed out we are. It's hard. It stinks, but it is necessary. Whether, it is stress because of bills, medical concerns, worries, family issues, or all of the above we can prevail. We can take back some of our sanity one grain at a time.
So my blog today is a message to the stressed. We can do this. We can get up and face the day.Hard as it may be. We are worth it.
And on a side note I would like to wish George ST. Pierre good luck in his fight tonight. I do not know him personally but he is my favorite MMA fighter.
Sitting here watching bad reality t.v. like Operation Repo, I have decided that I would like to repossess some of my sanity. Not all of it mind you, as I never had all of my sanity. Just the amount I used to have before I started to know stress at such a familiar level. I would like to lighten the load a bit. I have no idea how to do this as of yet. I am just trying to stay positive. Sometimes I find being positive almost impossible but I keep trying. I try because I want to be anything but sad and depressed. I try because I want to set a positive role model for my children. I try because I truly believe it will get better in time and with a lot of work. In a world of Alice's and red queens, we owe to ourselves to keep trying. To keep getting up in the morning and face the day no matter how stressed out we are. It's hard. It stinks, but it is necessary. Whether, it is stress because of bills, medical concerns, worries, family issues, or all of the above we can prevail. We can take back some of our sanity one grain at a time.
So my blog today is a message to the stressed. We can do this. We can get up and face the day.Hard as it may be. We are worth it.
And on a side note I would like to wish George ST. Pierre good luck in his fight tonight. I do not know him personally but he is my favorite MMA fighter.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
It hurts
This week was bad. The pain has gotten better but depression has crept up on me. It has washed over me like a wave of fire licking at my wounds. Cauterizing and burning them. I am angry, frustrated, hurt, and devastated. It is not because of any mental issues. It is because I have been in so much physical pain. The pains before the surgery, after surgery, the fall, the bruises and broken finger, and another very painful problem that I am not going to go into. It is not just one thing after another. The pain has been overlapping the situations. I have been in agony. My nights consisted of pain pills and crying myself to sleep. It is frustrating to my family to watch me be in so much pain. It is unacceptable to me to make them miserable. I am frustrated that I can not do the things I used to do everyday. Pain has stolen away the only things I can do.Things that make me feel useful and important. Pain has stolen what little my mental illness hasn't taken away. Pain has entered my sanctuary and devastated it. I am angry that I am helpless. If I could curl up in the fetal position and cry I would, but I can't even manage to do that. I am a positive person. I believe that I am tested and that I learn from pain. I ,however, have no idea what this is supposed to be teaching me. I feel stupid and I am annoyed. I have to have help doing the simplest tasks and it irritates me. I hate the feeling of being weak and vulnerable. I am so tired. I have listened to my music to help but it fails to lift my spirits. The only thing that has helped is knowing that none of these things are permanent and it is just a temporary situation. I told my husband yesterday the only thing that keeps me from yelling out in pain is I am afraid I will never be able to stop. I have cried and have not been able to stop. Why should yelling be any different. I can't remeber what it was like a month ago when I had no pain. I know it existed but I can't really remember it in detail. I have stopped talking to my friends. It is too much to listen to their lives and not be annoyed. It is too much to concentrate. I am just trying to hold onto the walls and prepare to go down the rabbit whole again. I am thankful that these pains are temporary but now I have an understanding of how life is with chronic pain. I now get how depression affects those that suffer from it. I now see. Now that the pain is getting much better I am dealing with the blah feeling. I am sure the depression will lessen but I am hoping it will go away quickly. I am not a depressed person regularly. I am just going to fake it until I make it. I am going to force myself to sing loudly with the music. I am going to call my friends and tell them what has been going on. They are my friends ,after all, and I have always been there for them. They have always been there for me.I don't know why I feel this need to suffer and not talk to them. It's silly. And they would be pissed if they knew that I was hurting and didn't tell them. I have amazing friends. I also have an amazing husband. He has been helping me out and been there for me. I know it must be hard and frustrating. I am so thankful for him. I am thankful for my family and my friends. I am thankful for my blog readers who read my blog. I am thankful that my pain is less and temporary. I am thankful for my life even though I am currently feeling less than productive. This too shall pass and I am going to be back to my nerdy, crazy, regular self in no time.
Neurotic Nelly
Neurotic Nelly
Monday, February 25, 2013
Beautiful
People come in many shapes and sizes. We have different cultures. Different skin tones. Different languages. Different personalities. Different ancestries. The only constant in all of us is our differences. Some of us are well. Some of us are not. Some of us are strong. Some of us are followers. Some of us are funny. Some of us are more serious. All of us deserve respect and understanding. We are all beautiful.
If beauty is just in the eye of the beholder than I must have huge hands. I see beauty in everyone. Pain that makes us struggle is beautiful. It makes us who we are. Strong unbending warriors. Beautiful in our strength.
Compassion is beautiful. It makes us strive to help the broken. To help the fallen. The injured souls.
Anger is beautiful. It makes us stand up and say I will not accept this. I deserve better treatment. Or this other person does not deserve your mistreatment. It inspires us to change the situation. It inspires us to change.
Sadness is beautiful. It makes us hold onto our loved ones more tightly. It makes us search out how to be happy.
Truth is beautiful. It makes us look at ourselves and the world around us and admit that things are not perfect. That life is an imperfect glorious experience.
Beauty is not what we look like or where we come from. Beauty is how we treat others. How we offer a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on. Beauty is standing up for those in need. Beauty is ending the stigma of mental illness. Beauty is a smile. It is a touch. It is comforting words. It is wiping away a child's tears. It is offering a a glass of water to the thirsty. Advice to the masses asking for help. It is accepting that you are who you are for a reason. Beauty is hope. Hope for a better day. Hope for change. Hope for others. Beauty is love. Loving your family. Loving your friends. Loving yourself even as broken as you are. Beauty is falling down to your knees in despair and getting back up. Beauty is in a child's laughter. A old man's poems. A mother's lullabies. Beauty is in a gentle warm breeze. In a moment of silence in the middle of a field. Beauty is in everything that we experience. Beauty is in our differences. Our beliefs. Our reaching out to be better people. In reaching for our dreams. In reaching out to help lift those that need to be lifted. Beauty is the seasons. Beauty is the trees, the water and everything in between. Beauty is in all of us and everything around us. We are all beautiful.
Neurotic Nelly
If beauty is just in the eye of the beholder than I must have huge hands. I see beauty in everyone. Pain that makes us struggle is beautiful. It makes us who we are. Strong unbending warriors. Beautiful in our strength.
Compassion is beautiful. It makes us strive to help the broken. To help the fallen. The injured souls.
Anger is beautiful. It makes us stand up and say I will not accept this. I deserve better treatment. Or this other person does not deserve your mistreatment. It inspires us to change the situation. It inspires us to change.
Sadness is beautiful. It makes us hold onto our loved ones more tightly. It makes us search out how to be happy.
Truth is beautiful. It makes us look at ourselves and the world around us and admit that things are not perfect. That life is an imperfect glorious experience.
Beauty is not what we look like or where we come from. Beauty is how we treat others. How we offer a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on. Beauty is standing up for those in need. Beauty is ending the stigma of mental illness. Beauty is a smile. It is a touch. It is comforting words. It is wiping away a child's tears. It is offering a a glass of water to the thirsty. Advice to the masses asking for help. It is accepting that you are who you are for a reason. Beauty is hope. Hope for a better day. Hope for change. Hope for others. Beauty is love. Loving your family. Loving your friends. Loving yourself even as broken as you are. Beauty is falling down to your knees in despair and getting back up. Beauty is in a child's laughter. A old man's poems. A mother's lullabies. Beauty is in a gentle warm breeze. In a moment of silence in the middle of a field. Beauty is in everything that we experience. Beauty is in our differences. Our beliefs. Our reaching out to be better people. In reaching for our dreams. In reaching out to help lift those that need to be lifted. Beauty is the seasons. Beauty is the trees, the water and everything in between. Beauty is in all of us and everything around us. We are all beautiful.
Neurotic Nelly
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