Today...

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

We Are Worth It.....

So, after my last post things started looking up. First of all, I got some much needed support and comments on my google+ page in my blog comment section. You guys are amazing and thank you so much.

Then I read this post from an incredible blogger http://judyjourny.blogspot.com/2014/12/thoughts-on-approaching-new-year.html. Her last few lines hit me in the gut and made me realize that even though I am weathering a bad storm, I have been here before. And just like last time, I will get through this too. Sometimes, you just need to be reminded of how far you have come. Especially, when setbacks rear their ugly heads.

Then this morning I read some stories that made me sad and well, angry. And I was reminded why I started this blog almost two years ago. Through my ups and downs, I started as a scared but yet hopeful mental illness blogger just praying that there were other people like me out in there in the world. Never thinking that that those people understood me better sometimes, than I even understood myself. And it makes sense to me because although we may all have different mental illnesses, pain is universal. And the understanding of that pain and the compassion we show each other is also universal. But even more than that, LOVE is universal.

All of us walk down winding blinding paths. Sometimes the fog rolls in and we become unable to see. We become blinded to all that we offer the world. The negative thoughts set in and we lose the ability to not only see the love we get but also the ability to love ourselves. We start to believe that we don't matter. But the funny thing about fog, is even in the thickest darkest hours eventually the fog lifts. And we can see the path again. Clear not for the first time but clear enough to pass. And that is all life is, a couple of steps at a time. Helping those you meet along the way. Understanding pain, having compassion, and most of all offering Love. Not just for others but for yourself as well, because dammit, we are worth it. (Even if we sometimes think we aren't)

Then this song came on the radio and I just knew that this was what my post needed to be about.




And even though this is a love song and it is about a relationship, I kind of took it to mean something totally different. It made me think of us, all of us dealing with mental illness and the relationships we have with our own selves. And how much we need to support each other because who understands us better than we do? And how many times has it been just one kind word or sympathetic smile that made you turn from suicidal thoughts and made you hold on for just one more day. One more day is all it takes. A couple of steps at a time.

The lyrics touched me and it made me realize that I am strong and it is because we all are strong. That even in the darkest of times, I can never give up on myself and I can not give up on my mental illness community either. We are all in this together. What I do affects others and I need to make sure that everyone knows that that they belong on this earth. That they have a place here. That they are many things in this life but alone is never one of those things. We are strong. We are tough. We are magnificent. I refuse to give up and I hope that you refuse as well.

As the song says:

When I look into your eyes
It's like watching the night sky
Or a beautiful sunrise
Well, there's so much they hold
And just like them old stars
I see that you've come so far
To be right where you are
How old is your soul?

I won't give up on us.
 Even if the skies get rough.
 I am giving you all my love.
 I'm still looking up.

And even the stars, they burn. 
Some even fall to the earth.
 We got a lot to learn.
 God, knows we are worth it.
 No I won't give up.

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make
Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
The tools and gifts we got, yeah, we got a lot at stake
And in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend
For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn
We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in
I had to learn what I've got, and what I'm not, and who I am.

I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up, still looking up.

Well, I won't give up on us (no I'm not giving up)
God knows I'm tough enough (I am tough, I am loved)
We've got a lot to learn (we're alive, we are loved)
God knows we're worth it (and we're worth it)

I won't give up on us
Even if the skies get rough
I'm giving you all my love
I'm still looking up

We are still losing good people out there and this has to change. Stigma has to end and compassion has to grow. And the only way to do that is to live for those that could not hold on and fight for those that are not able to speak out from fear. We have to hold on not just for ourselves but for each other. Because simply put, we are all important. We all matter. All lives matter...Everyone. And God knows we are worth it. I am worth it and just as importantly YOU are worth it too.


Neurotic Nelly

Sooooo Overrated......

I am tired. So very tired. I have been so busy, I am not even sure what day it is. It is Tuesday right? I hope so, otherwise I have written on the wrong day.....again. This online school stuff with my oldest takes all day and it leaves me with virtually no time to clean my house like I need to. It is slowly driving me insane. This must be what is like to be a teacher. We don't pay them enough...they need more incentives because this shit is hard. I have to do math now......math!!!! Ugh.

I was trying to decide what to write about today, and I would like to write something informative but I am distracted by the fact that my 22 lb orange tabby smells like he has rolled in the litter box again. He hasn't because he is too fat to do so but I am wracking my brain on how he could clean himself every second of everyday and yet he still smells so horrid. I am going to have to give him a bath. As in, a real bath with actual water. I don't think this is going to be pleasant for either one of us. In fact, I am writing now because I am somewhat concerned that I won't be physically able to type after I do bathe my fat fur baby. I like my arms to be scratch free but I like my house not to reek of stinky cat more....If you don't hear from me on Thursday than you know my cat was extremely displeased and went all Cujo on me. Yikes.

Okay enough of my crazy everyday life problems. Seriously, I have no idea why I felt the need to write all of that. I apologize for making you read such drivel but that is what was on my OCD mind and I always like to write about whatever nutso thing is going through my head when I sit down to blog, God help us all...On to today's post.
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I was reading some posts today and I ran across the topic of self esteem. I think most people suffer from self esteem issues in their life times. I mean, if they don't then they are seriously lucky and should probably play the slot machines in Vegas. Self esteem issues seem to be a right of passage for most of us. It is even more of an issue for people that suffer from mental illness.

We suffer and because we suffer, we often times feel bad about ourselves. If it isn't the emotional turmoil we deal with on a daily basis, than it is the negative voice that tells us how worthless we think we are. It tells us how broken we are. How unlike everyone else we seem to be. We try and ignore it but it is hard to ignore a voice that lives in your own head. It isn't as if you can simply out run your own mind.

And like most people with low self esteem, we end up doing things that we feel even worse about later. We often end up being over sexualized so we can feel like we are desired. We usually feel like crap afterwards but in a rush to feel accepted, we often will go through demeaning things just to be "liked" no matter how fleeting that feeling may be. We can end up trying "illegal substances" or drinking alcohol too much. We end up in bad relationships and tend to put up with other people's abuse because we deep down feel that it is what we deserve. We sadly, end up being taken advantage of or manipulated more often than we realize. Why?

Because we want to be loved. We want to feel less alone. We want to finally fit in. We yearn to be acknowledged and accepted. We struggle to fill this hole that lives inside us, without ever realizing that we need to fill that hole not with others opinions of us but with ourselves. To put it simply, we look to be accepted because often times we struggle with accepting ourselves and it is painful. We know that we are different and we place blame on ourselves for that. It is a form of self destruction even though we don't always see that is what we are doing.

It takes a lot of years to reach the conclusion that the only opinion that really changes your life, is the opinion you have about your own self. If you call yourself stupid or worthless than you never see that you are in fact, neither of those things. We develop habits of putting ourselves down.

Much like an abusive relationship, we slowly grind our own self esteem down further. It is like an abusive relationship because it is, in fact, an abusive relationship. We are in an abusive relationship with ourselves. We punish ourselves. We degrade ourselves and we don't even realize we are doing it.

The truth is, that we are different. That we feel things in a different way than others. That we struggle. That we have issues but none of that makes us bad or worthless. If anything it makes us stronger than the average person. It makes us wiser and more compassionate. We beat ourselves up for things that we can not help and that is rather pointless, now isn't it. There are things we can change about ourselves and there are things that we can't but that in no way makes us broken. It in no way makes us less than. It simply makes us....well us.  And frankly, whether we know it or not, we are truly magnificent and wonderful people. We just have to realize that we are worth more than we give ourselves credit for and stop letting others dictate how much love we deserve. If we can learn to love ourselves first, then their opinions don't mean Jack. And Jack is sooooo overrated anyways. We deserve better than being someone's after thought or someone else's entertainment. We deserve to love ourselves.


Neurotic Nelly

She Believes I Can.......

On a day that we celebrate Dads, I would like to write a post celebrating my mom. Weird I know but my biological father has never been in the picture and the most hardships of raising me for many years, solely fell to my mother. I can not imagine the frustration, the agony, the devastation she must have went through....raising me. A good kid. A smart kid. A sensitive kid who suffered from severe OCD. It was hard to deal with, especially in a time when OCD was not well known or diagnosed. As a parent I can now understand more the trials she went through with me because no loving parent wants to watch their children suffer and I suffered everyday.

It is like having an invisible beast living inside your head. The fear and anxiety it drums up are insurmountable. We know, as the sufferer, that what we are afraid of makes no sense and yet the fear is so very real. Palpable. Tactile. You can almost taste it. You can feel it physically and we know that is not possible but yet here it is. Making us feel like our skin is covered in it or worse.

As I got older the symptoms changed from the usual ones associated with OCD to more terrifying and more hard to understand pureO symptoms. What must have it been like for her to watch me turn from touching doorknobs twenty four times a day to me jamming my fingers in my ears with tears in my eyes asking her why I should continue on living when my life was pure hell? It must have been totally devastating. I can not imagine what it was like for her to watch her child be in so much pain.

And although I got therapy, there was no CBT at that time. Very little understanding of treatments for OCD except  drug trials and therapies that often times didn't work. I kept wondering when I would get over this curse. This hell I called a mental disorder. This life altering, painful, life stealing mental illness that was slowly sucking away everything good in my life.

School became almost impossible. Some days I would make it to the car. Some days even to the school building. Some days I even made it inside only to have a panic attack and go home after lunch. And those were the good days. The days when I wasn't washing my hands till they bled or praying to God to fix me while rocking back and forth on the floor in desperation. I just wanted to be normal like the other kids. Why did I have to live like this? What could I have done to deserve being punished by my own mind this badly? How was this fair?

Having no CBT meant I had to do my own form of it. Baptism by fire, so to speak. We did all of the things I was afraid of. We even went to the school and I made myself go, even if I had to leave. Even if other kids didn't understand what was wrong with me. Even if I seemed like the oddity, the weirdo, the freak. I played normal well a lot of the time so some days it worked and some days it didn't. My poor mother would wait for me in the parking lot and watch me walk up to the doors. She would wait and pray that I could go inside the building but she would be there to pick up the pieces if I couldn't. She would be there to calm me when I would blame myself for failing to do yet another normal thing other people could do. She would be there to hold my hand. Wipe away my tears. Remind me that tomorrow was another day and we would try again.

God knows how many times I would ask her if I was still a good person, a worthy person, a lovable person. If I were worth all of this struggle and complication. How many times my OCD made me seek reassurances that I would be okay, that she would be okay, that she would not die from lupus when I was at school, or that the car wouldn't crash and kill us both when we were going to the store. Silly fears that to others seem unimportant, became breath stopping, heart pounding realities for me. How many times did I repeat my fears (and there were so many) to her over and over again. Ask and repeat, ask and repeat, ask and repeat....then came the medications and all of the issues that came with side effects. Drowsiness, mania, loss of hair and nails breakage to the quick, stomach pains, rashes, sometimes confusion. Many medications over the years with little to no success. That must have been hard for her as well. Always she was there to offer support. Never reprimanding me for being repetitive or scared. For being what I felt was broken. She never yelled at me or chastised me even on the most frustrating of days or the the most painful of nights. And looking back she must have cried, she must have been utterly dumbfounded and devastated. But I never knew, she never let me know....

As I grew I began to realize that my OCD was not going to go away. I would always live with it. I would not ,in fact, ever be like the other kids in my school I admired so much for their ability to do the normalist of tasks, without fear. Without that overwhelming sense of dread. This was me and this was going to be my life whether I liked it or not. Whether I was prepared to deal with it or not. I would always be a good person, a smart person, a sensitive person but also a person with severe OCD.  And I was blessed at the same time. Because although, I was always going to have to deal with fears and anxiety and intrusive thoughts, my mother was there to help me. To make sure that I knew I was worthy. I mattered. I had a place in this word, even when I was younger and I wasn't sure of that fact.

I always knew that my mother was a great mom, but I am not sure I understood just how great until I became a parent myself and was able to look at it through new eyes. The eyes of someone who would do absolutely anything to help their child and to take away any pain that they go through. I can now see how difficult and heartbreaking it must have been to not be able to remove my pain or even lessen it like a parent would wish to. I marvel at her strength and her love. I am humbled by her persistence. I am thankful that she is my mother because quiet honestly I am not sure I would have made it without her by my side.

I am not sure why I wrote this, except to say to those of you out there struggling with this disorder, it can be done. You can learn to live with it. It is hard but it is worth it. You can live a life with OCD and not just a life but a good one. Maybe you wont be like other people but you will be you and you are worthy of happiness and love. You do matter in this world. You are important and you do belong.

I guess I wrote this to honor my mom who has been my champion all of my life and to thank her. To thank her for inspiring me to keep trying even when it seemed impossible to try. For always being there for me to talk to and to offer me support. For always believing in me and remaining positive when I was not so positive about myself. She believes that I can use my hardships and pain from my OCD for good. That my blog can be helpful to others. I hope so. I hope it can shed some light on not just OCD but mental illness as a whole. I know that I try because she believes I can. Just like she always has.

The Author......

Sorry I have been sporadic on my blogging lately. Life has been giving me some fumbles and some great days as well but all of them have been rather busy. Thankfully my kids will be out for summer break soon so my schedule should start to go back to normal.

I was remembering my great grandfather the other day. He died when I was rather young but what I remember about him was his quiet demeanor. His strong meaty hands. His bald head, plaid shirts, and glasses. I remember he was not one to love nonsense and since I was a rather bubbly hyper little girl it must have been tiring when I came to visit. He was nice but I remember being intimidated by him because he didn't say a whole lot. He had had throat cancer and although they had cured it, he still didn't talk too much.

Growing up I always thought of him as strong. He was a farmer since childhood. He raised three great kids and had many jobs. He was the one who found his brother after his brother had killed himself. His real mother died early in his life. His life had been hard and yet he had made the most of it. He took care of his family but he was the type of father that was strict and demanded respect. Not necessarily a bad thing just different than what I was used to. He was a family man and he was a good man.

Living the way he did in the time that he did he was forced to quit school after third grade. He was needed to help provide for his family and so this interesting, strong, and definable man was unable to read or write. He could sign his name and write a few small words but he was unable to read the newspaper, or a book, or even a pamphlet.

My grandma was telling me a story the other day, about how he had gone to church and got saved. He had started going to Sunday school and at one visit they asked him to read a page from the Bible. He became so embarrassed that he left and  never went back again.

And it made me sad to hear this. First of all I am a very literary type person. I love to read. I love to write. Language arts has always been my best and most favorite subject. I can not imagine how it would be to not know how to read.

And it also made me realize something. Everyone has something they feel ashamed of. Whether it be something like not being able to read or something like mental illness. We all have something we are embarrassed about. Even if we don't openly talk about it.

My great grandfather was not one to discuss his lack of literacy and in fact, I didn't even realize that he couldn't read. It wasn't his fault that he had to quit school at such a young age. It wasn't anything to be embarrassed about really, in that generation many people couldn't read. In fact that is why in the eighties, this country started a huge adult literacy program. But he was a proud man and he didn't want to be looked at like he was stupid or ignorant.

I may not have known my great grandfather as well as I would have liked but I do know we have some things in common. I too know what it is like to be embarrassed about something that isn't really my fault. I too know what it is like to feel the need to hide the things I perceive to be wrong with me. I also know what stigma is like, even if we were stigmatized for separate reasons.

It pains me to think that there was something that made him feel less of a person. I know exactly what that feels like. And maybe in honor of his memory I can choose to look at myself in a different light. I can refuse to let the things I am embarrassed about keep me from doing the things I want to do. I can be open about them because I know that I am not alone just as he was not alone in his. I can choose to not look at my dysfunctions and disorders as a negative and just look at them as they are. They are a part of me and a part of what makes me who I am today. Maybe I can look at my strong, wonderful, enigma of a great grandfather and see that one of the things that makes him seem more human to me is that he wasn't perfect and maybe if I am open and share mine as well, I can be more relatable. I can be seen as more human through my faults. Because I am human and all that being human entails. I can embrace my faults and shed the shame that tends to come with them. After all, no one deserves to go through their whole life feeling less than, simply because their lives dealt them a hand with a couple of crappy cards in it. It doesn't mean that we can't accomplish things or have to hide from our own imperfections.

It occurs to me that we are the authors of our own lives. We don't have much control over what life throws at us but we do have control over how we choose to deal with it. We have control over how we choose to look at the hands we have been dealt. We have control over whether we are going to let shame and embarrassment rule over our lives like evil dictators. Dictating what we think we can or can't do.

We write the stories of our own lives and we have the ability to change our own plots, our own character summaries, our own titles. Do we want our titles to say defeated, afraid, and ashamed or do we want our lives to have titles like strong, resilient, and unstoppable.

In reality, it doesn't matter if we falter. It happens. It doesn't matter if we are sometimes unsure of our next step. It doesn't matter if we get scared that we may take a misstep. It doesn't even really matter if we can read the stories that we have written. What matters is that we live them and that we try our hardest to be proud that we do.


Today, my title is going to be Acceptance, because I refuse to be ashamed of something I can't help or embarrassed because I fail at something other's don't. I want to be proud that I tried and trying is everything. Never give up. Never surrender. We can do this and we can do this well. We are more than just victims of our lives, we are the authors of them. We can't rewrite history but we can write the future from here on in.

Neurotic Nelly

What If We Could...

I was thinking the other day. I know scary right?

I am a lot of things. A woman. A red head. A mother. A wife. But first and foremost, I am a Texan. It's not my fault that I place being a Texan as my identity. It ,like so many of us children born and raised in Texas, has been ingrained in me since my very first days. Even in school we were taught for the first five years in history class all about Texas. Until we all knew everything about Texas's past and it becomes a sense of belonging, a sense of pride. It is almost a brain washing to some extent. Want proof?

Ask a Texan, any Texan, what the state flower is, the state bird, the first and only president of Texas, and or the state capital.  They can name them off from memory without hesitation. Start to sing "Deep in the heart of Texas" out loud in Texas and watch how everyone stops and finishes it with you regardless of what they were doing before you started singing it. Ask what the state rose is or how long their family has been in Texas. All of us know when our families first became Texans. My family has been in Texas for almost two hundred years. Yea, really, I am just that Texan. ( Except I moved and married a wonderful but ever deemed "Yankee" so my children are only half Texan even though they have never set foot in that state) It is treated as not just a place but also a pedigree.And even though we have a pride of being from the deep south we have even more pride of being specifically from Texas. We have to be, it was taught to us to be that way from our parents, and them from theirs, and so on and so on. It becomes more than just a place that we are from and becomes part of who we are.

Ask a Texan what is the greatest state in America. Ask a Texan if they are a Texan ( HINT: you wont have to, we tell everyone we are a Texan in the first five seconds of any conversation when we are out of state) And even though we have many military members that serve America you can bet that most of them identify as being Texan before they identify as being American. Not that they don't love America with every waking breath, it's just that they love Texas more. We are a proud people and that is why every ten years or so there is the same talk of succession. Not that it will ever happen, not even sure we actually want it to, but we Texans just like to get all riled up at the possibility. It was taught to us to love God first, Texas second, and then America. That may seem wrong in some people's eyes but it is a tradition that has been passed down for hundreds of years and will probably continue for hundreds more.

It becomes something to belong to. If I see a license plate of Texas where I live, I feel the need to wave to the driver. Because even though I do not know them personally, I feel as if we are some how connected. Like we have something very important in common. We are Texans and we are brethren. Not from genetics but from location. We are tied together from our experience of simply being from the great state of Texas.

Now you may say, we get it Nelly, you love Texas but what the hell does this have to do with mental illness?

So glad you asked.

It got me thinking. The reason we are so proud of Texas is because it was ingrained in us to believe such. What if we took that same teaching methods and turned it to a belief system that is positive for future generations. What if we taught small children that beautiful doesn't have a size or a color or a religion? What if we taught that beauty is on the inside? What if we could give these children a reason to feel that they are worthy ,beautiful, important individuals that belong in our society? Would fourteen year old girls that weigh eighty five pounds still post selfies on facebook claiming that they look fat? I mean if they believe that weight doesn't depict beauty, would they be so hard on themselves? Would at risk youths still join gangs because they want to belong to something other than the only painful existence that they have ever known, if they already felt they had a place in today's society to belong to that didn't end up in violence, prison, or premature death? Would there be so much bullying if children were reinforced with the idea that different is a good thing and not everyone should try and be similar? Would there be so many suicides if people that suffer or feel lost and hopeless felt that they were not alone and that what they felt and had to say was valid to the rest of the world?

Would people like us, that suffer from mental illness have to be afraid of stigma if stigma was erased and replaced by compassion? What if we could eradicate discrimination in all of it's forms?

After all children are born free of such things. Stigma discrimination, self hate, and even pride are things that are taught and learned not genetically predisposed.

What if we could somehow take all of the things that make us broken adults and teach our children and their children that it doesn't have to viewed in a negative way? That people are human first and individuals second. That we all fundamentally desire the same things. Love, acceptance, respect, hope, friendship, and happiness. What if we could give them the sense that they belong to this world no matter what life has burdened them with, no matter what they look like, what family situation the are in, what belief system they have, the color of their skin, or the struggles they may encounter? That they are beautiful unique worthy beings that have the power to change the world with one simple sentence, "I love you."

What if we could teach love and a sense of belonging the way Texas teaches it's children to love and feel a sense of belonging to Texas? How different would our world be? How different would our children's lives be? Could we make our fractured children become whole if they were taught to love rather than ostracize? Have compassion instead of annoyance? To believe that they are worth more than what ridiculous unrealistic magazine articles and misguided self beliefs say they are? To believe that they matter because every person in this world matters and has the right to know that they do. They belong, you belong, I belong, we all belong and we are all important.


Just a thought....
Neurotic Nelly

She Could Fly...

Sunday was a sad day for me. I have been trying to figure out how to deal with this issue. How to get out my pain. How to honor someone who meant a great deal to me. You see, Sunday my Aunt died.

To start her story I have to go back to a time when not a whole lot was known about birth defects. My Aunt was born with Cerebral Palsy. Unable to speak, walk, or have full use of her hands. Unable to do many of the things most of us take for granted everyday.  Her family was told that they didn't know how long she would live. As it turned out my Aunt proved their assumptions wrong. She not only lived, she lived happily, strong, and full of laughter for fifty nine years.

Looking back in my memories of her, I can remember many things. I remember her struggles to use her hands. Her struggles to point to a board that had words on it to say what she wanted. Her struggles to go out and not be stared at. But I also remember something else. Aunt Debbie's strength.

She wasn't just a person with a disability, she was a whirlwind of laughter and joy. She had the brightest smile. A great sense of humor. She loved animals and children. She loved music and bowling. She loved life and when I think of Debbie I can hear her laughter in my head. She had quite possibly, the biggest most fullest laugh that I have ever heard. One of those infectious laughs that once you heard it you started to laugh as well. She was like that. Infectious with her joy.

She faced obstacles and judgments I am sure. I am sure she was stared at and possibly even pitied by those that didn't know better. What those people failed to understand is that Aunt Debbie wasn't someone to pity, she was someone to look up to. She was able to look at life in a way that most of us never do. She was able to see joy in the little things. The things we take for granted everyday. A child's laughter, a small breeze, a butterfly landing on your shoulder. Things we overlook because we are to busy trying to achieve whatever we think is so important that we fail to see that the big achievements aren't what makes us who we are. What makes you who you are, what  is important are the little things you do in life. The things you take time out for. The things you really look at and appreciate. Aunt Debbie was more aware of this world than we ever gave ourselves the chance to be, because we surround ourselves with excuses not to. We are too busy, we will do it tomorrow, we will procrastinate and look at that sunset later on, when we have more time. She didn't hesitate or procrastinate. She took joy in every moment.

One of the biggest most vivid memories I have of my Aunt was the first time I saw her participate in the Special Olympics. She and another woman were in the wheelchair race. I am sure she had been told many times that she would never walk. That she would never be able to to run. That racing would be something she would never achieve. Instead of listening to that, instead of giving up, she raced. She was laughing all the way to finish line. She was beautiful and graceful as she glided down the race track as fast as her wheels would carry her. I think that is when I first realized what a strong woman she was. That she ignored what people said she was capable of and not capable of and just did what she wanted to do. She did what she wanted. She believed in herself.

I don't remember the whole day or every course that she participated in. What I do remember is that race. Her race. That was the moment I realized with the wind blowing through her hair and the smile beaming on her face that a  girl in a wheelchair didn't have to be able to run to fly.  She only had to believe in herself, spread her wings, and laugh all the way down the race track. That is when I realized my Aunt wasn't special because she was disabled, she was special because she refused to let it stop her from living the life she wanted. In my small child's brain I saw her for the first time, as not just someone who had to work three times as hard to do the things everyone else takes for granted but that my Aunt did something no one else knew how to do. She knew how to live unedited. She knew how to give everything she had. She knew how to fly. And I was certain as she flew down that race track that she was a miracle. A miracle person that had a superpower. She was strong, funny, beautiful, and she could fly right in the face of everything others had said she would never be able to do. Her superpower was faith in herself. Stubbornness in what she wanted, and strength in her ability to live happily no matter the obstacles she encountered. She did those things regardless and she did them with a flare that showed just what an amazing person she was. Although I am sure she never really knew it, my Aunt Debbie was in many ways after that day, my hero. A humble hero that never knew how that one race changed my outlook on things.

To say everything that spending time with my Aunt taught me would take hours, days, months, years even but I will leave you with a few things that she taught me without ever uttering a word. Things I think, have helped me to grow not only as a person but a person that struggles with a mental illness. Things that she obviously knew and things that we all tend to take for granted or simply don't take time out for because we always expect them to be waiting for us tomorrow.

Life is precious. How you treat others in the face of adversity is what defines you as a person. Hardships and struggles are a part of life but there is always tomorrow and tomorrow can always be better. Believe in yourself. Be stubborn and never give up. Love with all of your heart. Take pleasures in the small tings in life. Admire the butterflies, smell the roses, listen to the sound of your loved one's laughter and laugh with them. Love deeply, Smile freely, and Laugh often. Be proud of all you have accomplished. Look for tomorrow but always be present in today. Go bowling. Do things that make you happy. Never allow your disability to make you give up. And maybe most importantly......Never let anyone tell you that you can't fly.

Rest in peace Aunt Debbie. I will always remember you and all of the laughter you brought to my life. And when I think of you I will always see you as you were that day with the wind blowing through your hair and the smile on your face...and I know that is an accurate depiction because I know that now you don't need the racetrack anymore, you fly with the angels.


Neurotic Nelly

Take That OCD!

It's a holiday and as such I want to go away from my extremely painful post of Tuesday and write about something that has me feeling p.r.e.t.t.y good!

Having OCD is very hard. I have severe issues with certain things and one of those issues is Christmas trees. If some of you remember last year around this time, I wrote of how I hate the fact that I can not allow anyone to participate in the decorating of the tree. I mean, I try but as soon as the kids put a bulb on the tree I have to move it where I think it should go after they leave the room. I have these ridiculous rules that I have to follow on my Christmas trees. No colored lights. No tinsel. No bulbs too close together. At least three strands of lights...ect. It is a strict procedure and like anything else OCD, it has to be perfect, at least to my standards. My ridiculous standards....I so wish I were joking. 

Decorating of the Christmas tree is fun for me but also a form of torture for my family. My husband jokes that he is just there to put the tree in the stand and move it to where I want it. It never occurred to me how bad I am about it until last year. Last year one of my kids asked  me for something and before I could answer my husband told him, " The best thing to do is leave mommy alone when she fixes the tree. No one wants to bother Mommy right now, trust me." If it hadn't hit home yet how bad the need to fix the damn tree over and over and over had gotten I saw pictures of my best friend's Christmas tree on facebook. She has three rough and tumble kids. Her tree had paper ornaments her kids had made. It swelled with colored lights, shiny baubles, and crazy glitter cut out snowflakes. It was a testament to her love for her children. Her proudness of being a mother. Her family crest in pine needles and tinsel. My OCD hated the tree but something inside me broke. Why can't I be like that? I was so completely heartbroken. Her tree was glorious. Her tree wasn't beautiful because it was perfect like mine, it was beautiful because her children enjoyed decorating it. It was as if her tree spoke of love and family and mine was a hollow shell of what Christmas is supposed to be. Mine was perfect and beautiful and perfectly devoid of all things family. My tree was no more full of love than the beautiful tree display at the department store. It looked like Martha Stewart but now somehow felt shallow and empty. It hit me. My kids have no memories of decorating the tree. Because I can't let them. I can't even let them put the ornaments ,I love so dearly, they make at school on it. What kind of mother is that? Just what am I allowing  my OCD  to say to my children? "Sorry, honey Mommy can't put your beautiful paper angel you made in class today on the tree because there is only one of them and Mommy needs there to be two so it is even?" That's just horrible! It is so bad my family calls me the Christmas tree Nazi behind my back....and what's worse, they aren't wrong. I actually coined that phrase. I am rigid and fevered when it comes to the tree. I used to love decorating the tree but that day I realized how I had stolen the things that matters most about Christmas away from my kids, participation, tradition, and in a small way acceptance.

Later on when I was in the car with my Dad, I confessed that I was afraid I may never be able to give my children the ability to join in on the Christmas tree decorating and how I felt like a complete failure as a mother because of it. He told me of how his parents made hot chocolate, played Christmas songs, and had him decorate the tree. Specifically, they would have him put up a paper chain garland he made in kindergarten. They did this every year until he went to college and then they had him take it with him. It was a memento, a physical representation of memories. Wonderful heart warming memories that he can recall at any time. What memories have I given my children for Christmas? That mommy is constantly focused and manic about stupid glass ornaments and colored lights?

 I sat in the car just dumbfounded.  I have to stop. I have to find a way to get around this damn OCD. Okay, I get that it affects me. I get that it affects my family and everything that I do but I will be good and damned before I let it steal happiness from my children like a thief in the night. That is totally unacceptable to me.

So I thought about it and stressed and fretted until an idea popped into my head. This year I will decorate a Christmas tree as always, but I will have the kids decorate their own tree! We can use the fake tree in the basement. I will let them make their own ornaments! I will invite my Dad over to help since he knows how this is SUPPOSED to go. I will make hot chocolate and play Christmas music and take pictures. 

We made salt dough ornaments and ornaments from clothes pins. We made Santa's out of hand prints. We made the topper from a milk carton, foil, and sequins. I used stuff the kids made from school as well, because they deserve to be on the tree. My children deserve to feel accepted and heard and shown that they are loved. They deserve to know that what they create is beautiful no matter how messy or uneven their creations are. Mostly, they need to know that I absolutely love their creations even though my OCD makes it hard for me to put it on the Christmas tree.

I am not going to say it was easy. I made a promise out loud that I would release control of this project. The ornaments would be their's to decorate however they wanted. They could put the decorations on the tree wherever they felt they should go.I was not going to interfere or move things around.

Although,

I may have "fixed" the face of the snowman when the paint from the hat ran onto his face. I realized what I did and I did not allow myself to "fix" anything else.

When the kids wanted to make cyclops reindeer I may have had a moment of panic. My youngest wanted to make the reindeer have one huge eye and one tiny eye. My hands got sweaty. My heart raced. I said no. But then I asked my husband if I was doing okay and he reminded me that these are the kids ornaments and not mine. They don't have to be perfect.....I took a few breaths and relented. Yes, they could put weird eyes on the reindeer. Yes it could be a cyclops. And yes, a pirate Rudolph would be just fine. No better than fine, it would be marvelous!

When the hubby brought home colored lights I thought I was going to physically faint. I seriously had no idea how I was going to get used to this idea and yet have no control. Again he reminded me and I agreed that this is the boy's Christmas tree and since I had all but banned colored lights from my home, this should be what they get. They should be allowed to have everything my OCD has denied them.  I put up the tree three days ago and put on the lights so they could look at them and be ready to decorate today. It took two days before I started to not mind them so much. I think they are actually not to bad now.

Then it was decorating time and it was great to watch them have fun. The hot chocolate was a no go for me because I was recently diagnosed as diabetic and everyone else was too full to want any. My phone died in the middle of taking the pictures. The music died with my phone but the kids played Christmas songs on youtube to make up for it.  I felt so proud of them and me too. They had  great fun and I was so amazingly happy to watch them make positive memories doing what they should have been allowed to do all along. Enjoy the whole production of Christmas and revel in the love of our family. So this is going to be our new tradition every year. We will have two Christmas trees! We will have both Martha Stewart and Handmade Christmas decorations. We will make a batch of new ornaments to put on their tree every year and my Dad will be there too.

And even though the night didn't go exactly as planned it was wonderful. Even though I got kidded that I might "rearrange" the ornaments that are bunched together and I had a small moment of panic, I felt less like an OCD sufferer and more like a regular mom. I even promised out loud not to move anything and I won't.  This Christmas tree is a messy, unorganized, uneven, glorious perfection. It is the most beautiful tree I have ever seen. And although, I can see the imperfections, I wouldn't change a thing. 

 I can see the three Christmas balls so close together....but I am not even bothered by it.....

Nor the fact that this snowman is backwards....

Nor the fact that these two salt dough ornaments are side by side on the same branch...

This tree is the best most beautiful, imperfectly, perfect thing in the whole wide world and I absolutely love it.

Take that OCD!

Neurotic Nelly

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

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

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

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

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

The smell of puppies breath...

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

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

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

Seeing your child's first smile....

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

Neurotic Nelly

Congratulations To My Dear Friend

Today I am discussing something a little different. Today I want to extend my warm wishes to my friend Noel who is getting married tomorrow.

Noel is my dear friend who has become like a sister to me. Her children are my nieces and nephew. Her sister is like my other sister. She has supported me in my darkest hours and been my sounding board for all  my "crazy" issues. She was the one who I first asked about writing a mental illness blog and her excitement for me to do so helped give me the courage to step out of my comfort zone and try something new. So really because of her support I am able to write. This blog is because of the support of loved ones and very much because of her. She is a supportive, sweet, funny, terrific person and I am so blessed to have her in my life.

We live in different states. I am not able to go to her wedding tomorrow. We live over 1500 miles away from each other but talk on the phone two to three times a day. We are always there for each other. We talk about life, our kids, movies, books that we have read, our husbands, our mental illnesses, and just about anything in general. Believe it or not she and I have only physically met once. I am her family and she is mine. You see, she lost her mother recently. I was there for her on the phone and we have laughed together, cried together, and shared the hardest of times together. We make time for each other to show that we are a patchwork family but a strong and loving family none the less.  Her sister usually reads the Christmas Story to her kids on Christmas Eve. They always put me on speaker phone so I can hear her read and hear the kid's excited reactions. Last year I had company over at the time they usually read it. I was bummed because it is part of what makes us feel like a family. So they went and made me cry  because they decided to record and put it on you tube for me  just so I didn't miss out. This is the kind of wonderful caring people that I have in my life and I am so thankful.

And with that I want to take a moment to tell my dear friend how much I love her. How she means the world to me. How without her my life would have less happiness and less laughter. Tomorrow is going to be wonderful. Everything is going to exactly as planned. She is going to be the beautiful bride that I know she is. Her husband to be is very lucky to have such a caring amazing woman in his life. And even though I can not be there I am there in spirit. I also know she will be missing her mother on her big day. There are somethings in life that a daughter really wants to share with her mother. Picking out wedding dresses, picking out the flours and cake, being there to help you get ready before you walk down the isle and being there as you say your vows. I believe that her mother will be there. I actually believe her mother has been with her on every step of the way. I believe that she has always been there. Every breeze is your mother's well wishes. Every sprinkle of rain is your mother's tears of joy. Every bird singing is a sign that your mother is with you standing right beside you. Walking beside you and holding your hand.

I will be standing beside you in my heart and I wish you joy and happiness in your marriage. I pray that you and husband are not just lovers, partners, and parents but also the best of friends. I pray that you have a long and happy life together not as two people separately but together as one. I am so proud of you and I am terribly excited for your new journey in life. May you have many years of joy, support, understanding, love, strength, laughter, and happiness.

With all my love.
Neurotic Nelly

Pages

Nature is strong, beautiful, delicate, and complicated. It can be calm and soothing like the gentle patter of rain drops on the earth. Quenching the parched grounds and giving life to the yellowed grass. It can calm your soul and create a feeling of peace. Then she can come back around and knock you on your butt. Huge storms, strong winds, lightening crashing to the trees and rooftops. She is definitely a force of change.

Change is scary. It is hard. The unknown can be very uncomfortable. The stress of doing something different, living somewhere different. The thought that the future is uncertain. It doesn't mean that what has yet to come is bad. It is just different. And what do we do with that knowledge? Do we run and hide or do we go out to face it with the sun shining in our face? Do we face the storms of rolling uncertainty or do we jump ship and abandon all notions of waiting to find out?

There are stories for each and every one of us. Dreams and hopes, pain and strength. Every one of us has overcome adversity or struggles. Each one of us has had good times and bad times. We all have beliefs and opinions. We are all books that have yet to be finished. We write our own lives on our own pages.
When we encounter change we decide how it plays out. How we deal or don't deal with it. We are all so different and yet so very alike.

I have often wondered what life is like  for the normal person. What is their struggle? What do they do when they go home at the end of a very long hard day? Do they sit in their favorite chair and put their feet up? Do they watch t.v. or snuggle down with a good book?

I am guilty of believing that my issues are harder than theirs. I am guilty of thinking that their lives are somehow easier than mine. On reflection, I realize I have no right to believe that. Everyone has their own hurdles. Their own vices. I am not any better or any worse. My life is not harder just different issues to deal with. And as I come to understand this I realize that I have done a disservice to both them and myself. I get so wrapped up in my own suffering that I have failed to see that they may be suffering as well.  I have failed to see that everyone has something that has caused them pain. Everyone has a story and their story is equally important.

I want to educate the public. I want to reach out to the masses and show them that mental illness is not scary or dangerous. In that I have to realize that I also have to show them that we all share the same pain. A normal person isn't having a better life. They are having a different one. I am not having more pain than a normal person, my pain just is more evident because I can not hide it the way a normal person does.
Maybe if I can reach out to them I can get them to see that we are not so different. That we feel the same pain when we experience loss or anger. That we feel the same despair when something is totally going wrong. The only difference is that we are not able to turn off the emotional faucet. It just continues to run until it overflows everything in our lives.

We may hear voices, we may have anxiety, we may have depression, we may be manic or hyper. All of these things do not only belong to us. They are human emotions and therefore we as humans all suffer from them. We are not so different, we are just honest about it. If you took the time to really search yourself you might find that you have had these experiences too. You might find that you are a little less scared of us. That you are a little more understanding of what our daily lives are alike. You might find new words to write on your pages. Instead of crazy write illness. Instead of fear write acceptance. Instead of discrimination write love. Instead of weakness write strength. Write beautiful. Write same. Because we are all different but yet very much the same.

Neurotic Nelly

Love

We as people are in love with the thought of being in love. That is why we read romance novels. That is why we adore love stories. That is why love ballads are popular. Why there are hundreds of videos on youtube showing our favorites kiss scenes form movies and tv shows. We as individuals live to love. We long to be loved. Love is amazing and makes you feel slightly insane with the joy of it. When it is good it is terrific and when it is bad it is awful.
Finding love is simple enough. Finding the right love is much harder. Loving can only be real love if you love yourself. Loving yourself enough to know that if it's a bad relationship you need to let it go. Loving yourself enough to know that you deserve respect and honesty.
To be treated well you have to first realize that you are worthy to be treated well. Most of us have no idea that what we accept in relationships is how we feel we should be treated. My first marriage was a disaster  I felt I deserved the crap that he pushed on me. I deserved to be talked down too. I deserved to be told I was nothing. I was too fat and then too skinny. I was too dumb but used to many big words. I deserved to be cheated on and lied too. And I believed him.
After the divorce I realized the crap I put up with. I realized I had never learned to love myself and so I let others treat me the way I saw myself. I wasn't in love I was just in love with the thought of love.
I do not let others treat me that way anymore. I have real love now. I am thankful for the experience that showed me what I was doing to myself. What I allowed others to do to me.
I love me. I accept me. I don't need anyone to validate that. I don't need anyone to tell me what to think or how I should feel. I expect to be treated with the dignity and respect I deserve. I will not waste my time on those that can not or will not take the time to see me for who I am. I am not their mother's and I do not have time to teach them how to behave. I choose who I spend my time with. I choose who I talk to. I get to choose because it is my life and I am in control of myself. It is very freeing to realize that.
Abuse is invisible at first. It slowly creeps up on you until you are in the middle of it. You get so tangled up in it that you do not realize that is the life you are living. Your self esteem is washed away and you begin to doubt yourself and hate yourself at the same time. Real love is many things but it is never abusive. No one deserves to be treated that way.
                                        Neurotic Nelly

The Story of US

This is My truth. So this is your truth and this is the story of us.You were always two years older than me. Smarter than me, stronger than me, better than me, you always had it all figured out. And I always looked up to you. I learned from you.You had the prettier darker red hair. The first to get a perm. To drive. To wear makeup. To get boyfriends. The first to become a woman. And I always looked up to you. I learned from you.
We used to dance in circles singing silly songs. Dresses blowing in the breeze and our pony tails coming undone. Secret whispers in each others ears. Jumping in rain puddles and climbing trees. Playing dolls and coloring in coloring books. Sunburns and cold vinegar baths. Eating pickles and drinking the juice till our stomachs turned sour. Dreams, hopes, and secrets we shared. I wish we could go back to before the ground crumbled beneath our feet and we tumbled down to the earth like discarded rag dolls. Before we grew up. Before damage was brought upon us and we faltered. Before you flirted with the demon that plagues you. Before the sporadic phone calls with you taking a hit and talking rapidly hoping for me to judge so you could have a reason to turn away from me. But I never judged. I refuse to judge you. I have made mistakes too even if I never went down the road you did. And I always looked up to you. I learned from you.
I always wonder if my face is yours still. Maybe our eyes are still the same. Maybe today you will answer my phone call or texts. Maybe today I can feel whole again like when we were kids. Like when we sisters and not strangers. I can still see us dressing up in Mom's closet. Trying so hard to be adults. What did we trade being a kid for? Months worrying if you are ok. Are you still clean? Are you hungry? Has the demon come back to finally claim you? One more false promise of a few hours to forget your pain.
I never know where you are so I dream of us when time was kind and we were each other's everything. We were two halves of a whole. Now what am I? Doomed to walk around like I have lost something that I can not find. I have somehow lost you, and I never meant too. I have misplaced you and left you on the dresser like a painted knick-knack somewhere. Or maybe you have misplaced me. Maybe we have misplaced each other. It doesn't matter.
What matters is that one day the demons will come to claim you if you flirt with them anymore. That all of my understanding and non judgments can not change that. That you are trapped in a prison of your past and you are living in your own hell. You live so very far away and even if you were standing beside me you would still be to far to reach.That one day I will get the call from someone I don't know, and be told  that you have gone forever. That a gaping hollow whole will open up and I will never be able to fill it. I will never be the same. That I will never get over loosing you. That I will hear your voice when I talk and be unable to speak again. Because we have always sounded the same. I will never be able to face the mirror again. Because we have always been so similar. Because I didn't have the courage to beg you to stop loudly enough. Because I was afraid you would turn me away. Because I want to yell at you and beg you not to leave me alone. Not like this. Because I am trying to be you and be strong. Because I am trying to be you and be smart and better. Because I always looked up to you. I learned from you. Because I love you. Because I miss you. Because I will have no one to share a sister's secrets with. Because all I have left are fragile bits of memories. That I clutch them so tight I risk breaking them.They are fragile shards of glass and they cut me every time I look at them. The pain cuts me and I weep. And I always looked up to you. I always learned from you. And I always loved you.
                                          Neurotic Nelly

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