We the walking wounded, the broken, the unhinged....we the forgotten, misunderstood, the ignored....we the sufferers, we are so much more than we give ourselves credit for.
We are human and as such are certainly not perfect and yet we blame ourselves for not being exactly that. We degrade ourselves for having mental illness, for our issues, and for the things we can not do.
We struggle to revel in what we can do, as if it weren't good enough. I am unable to work because of my mental illness but instead of beating myself up over it I choose to look at the things I am doing. I am still capable of other things. I just need to remember to celebrate my wins. Maybe I didn't get up enough energy to do all of the things around the house I wanted to but I did get out of bed. I did go for a walk. I did go outside and breathe in the sunlight. I let it anoint me with it's warmth. I let the breeze blow across my face. I let it dance in my hair and I allowed myself to remember that I am alive. I am not what my mind tells me I am. I am worthy. I am whole. I am just as important as everyone else.
It's okay not to be okay all of the time. It is fine as long as you keep trying to do what you can. As long as you hold onto your support groups. As longs as you are doing what you are supposed to be doing. There are no easy fixes to mental illness. Some days are going to be harder than you could ever imagine but some days will be easier. Some days will be not even an issue. Hang in there. You can do this.
Go outside and close your eyes. Hear the birds. Feel the sun on your face. Let the world surround you with it's noise. Let the light braze your skin. Breathe the world around you in. You are right where you are supposed to be at this moment. You are who you are supposed to be. You are strong. You are unique. You are a fighter. You can do this.
It is okay if you don't win every battle. It is fine if you can't do everything. No one wins everything and does everything they think they should. That is just a standard we hold to ourselves so that we can blame ourselves for not meeting an impossible standard. We are better than that and we are worth more than we give ourselves credit for.
I hope that you are remaining positive. I hope that you are celebrating you wins. I hope that when you look in the mirror you say only good things about yourself. I hope that you start to realize what a magnificent, unique, important person you all are to this world. Remember that.
Always, Neurotic Nelly
Showing posts with label neurotic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neurotic. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
Dear Katie Hopkins.....(reponse rant)
Dear Katie Hopkins,
In response to your article here, I would like to enlighten you a tad bit.
I am one in four.
The fact that I am willing to publicly say that I suffer from a mental illness is in huge amount to the people that have come before me. People that were braver than I am. People that even though they knew they would be ostracized and persecuted, still refused to be kept silent.
You see, stigma has always been an issue for us. An issue that has before now, gotten us locked us away in asylums, had unethical medical experiments done to us, and left us to be housed in run down facilities, and treated no better than criminals. More recently, having us fear for the loss of our jobs, our security, and our rights as human beings. In some countries, even today, being diagnosed as mentally ill can get you killed.
I read your commentary of which I am certain was meant to fulfill the need to for you to feel original and bold. Trying to take a different opinion so it would garner more shares and reads... Whatever, you do you Boo Boo... Go ahead and tell us all about how embarrassing it is to you, that the royals have the nerve to speak up about mental health issues. Even if it means putting down a rather large group of people that you know absolutely nothing about. With all due respect, you have no idea how people that suffer from mental illness live or the struggles we go through on a daily basis.
I am not in the UK, so I can honestly tell you this, I wish my country spoke on such a level about mental illness. I wish that it had the decency, the bravery, the honesty to be open about something so common and yet so misunderstood. In a country where twenty two of our military vets kill themselves every day, in a country where suicide is the tenth leading cause of death, in a country where people are terrified of anyone monikered with the umbrella label of mental illness, I would be on my knees crying and thanking my government for finally addressing mental illness the way your country just has. Because my country doesn't. We are not and have never been a a priority. They don't see us, they don't hear us, and they certainly do not speak for us. They don't care about us and we know it.
And here you are complaining.....because you are tired of hearing about it?
The reality is you have no idea what it is like to live with mental illness, and honestly, thank God for that. Your children don't have it. Your family is normal. You have no idea the disruption mental illness causes. The pain, shame, and anger. The treatments and therapies. The negative self talk and deeply wounded self esteem. The feeling of being inadequate, the guilt of not being like everyone else. The loss of jobs, friends, and in some cases family. And if that all is not enough to deal with we then have ignorant people like you that give us the shifty eye, that label us, that spread misinformation about us or our diagnoses, or as in your case, want to silence us altogether. The kind of misrepresentations we have all come to know, that people like us are dangerous, scary, unhinged, or weak. That we are just not trying hard enough to be normal or happy or whatever it is you seem to think we aren't being enough of.
I get that you don't get it.
It isn't your fault that you are, in fact, wholly ignorant of anything dealing with mental illness. What is your fault, is that you took it upon yourself to use your very large platform to further stigmatize a group of individuals that could have been helped by that platform. Instead of doing research and talking about mental illness and being honest, you decided to go against the grain. You wanted to be different. You wanted to be edgy and relevant which actually just made you seem judgy and uninformed.
People like me, people that suffer from mental illness every day, are used to people like you. People that think they know what it is like to live our lives and deal with our struggles. We listen and nod politely as you give ridiculous advice as to how to buck up and hold ourselves together (as if you had any real idea what we were going through). We see you when you treat us differently after you find out that we have a diagnoses. We are aware of it when you ignore what we say because our diagnoses has become our whole identity to you and therefore everything we think or say has become tainted by it in your eyes. We know your kind.
The difference between us and you is simple, we are fighters. We fight everyday to keep going, to educate, to live. We are always this way and not just this way when it suits us to be so. We are always strong because you damn well have to be to get out bed in the morning and face the day. And yeah, maybe that sounds cliche to people like you, but we do it every single day.
What Prince Harry and Prince William are doing that you just can't seem to wrap your head around, is they are offering support. Support for the hundreds of thousands of people that suffer from mental illness. They are making it okay to talk about...finally. Being open about mental illness creates possibilities to be honest. It promotes awareness and understanding. It actually saves lives. People that are not afraid to reach out for help do so because they feel like they can be open and honest. Whether you see it or not Prince Harry and Prince William are setting a standard. A positive standard on how people view mental illness. That may mean nothing to you, but it means the world to people like us.
So I ,for one, hope that Prince William and Prince Henry continue to "bleat on about their sanity" because in doing so they are helping others. Something that sadly, your article didn't do today and that's a shame. We could always use more people supporting us and lifting us up instead of putting us down because honestly, we deserve better than being told that we should suffer in silence like we have been told for decades. We deserve better than to be ignored, and today we deserved better than your paltry and inflammatory article that you spewed in an attempt to look indifferent.
One in four people world wide will suffer from a mental illness or a neurological issue in their lifetimes, and if you just took the time to look around you would see that we are just as worthy and valuable as everybody else. We are just as magnificent. We are trying to change how the world sees us but we can't do this all by ourselves. We need everyone to fight the ages old misrepresentations and stigma that do not define us. They were never true to begin with.
Please try and do better by us next time, believe it or not, we are counting on you too.
Thanks,
Neurotic Nelly
In response to your article here, I would like to enlighten you a tad bit.
I am one in four.
The fact that I am willing to publicly say that I suffer from a mental illness is in huge amount to the people that have come before me. People that were braver than I am. People that even though they knew they would be ostracized and persecuted, still refused to be kept silent.
You see, stigma has always been an issue for us. An issue that has before now, gotten us locked us away in asylums, had unethical medical experiments done to us, and left us to be housed in run down facilities, and treated no better than criminals. More recently, having us fear for the loss of our jobs, our security, and our rights as human beings. In some countries, even today, being diagnosed as mentally ill can get you killed.
I read your commentary of which I am certain was meant to fulfill the need to for you to feel original and bold. Trying to take a different opinion so it would garner more shares and reads... Whatever, you do you Boo Boo... Go ahead and tell us all about how embarrassing it is to you, that the royals have the nerve to speak up about mental health issues. Even if it means putting down a rather large group of people that you know absolutely nothing about. With all due respect, you have no idea how people that suffer from mental illness live or the struggles we go through on a daily basis.
I am not in the UK, so I can honestly tell you this, I wish my country spoke on such a level about mental illness. I wish that it had the decency, the bravery, the honesty to be open about something so common and yet so misunderstood. In a country where twenty two of our military vets kill themselves every day, in a country where suicide is the tenth leading cause of death, in a country where people are terrified of anyone monikered with the umbrella label of mental illness, I would be on my knees crying and thanking my government for finally addressing mental illness the way your country just has. Because my country doesn't. We are not and have never been a a priority. They don't see us, they don't hear us, and they certainly do not speak for us. They don't care about us and we know it.
And here you are complaining.....because you are tired of hearing about it?
The reality is you have no idea what it is like to live with mental illness, and honestly, thank God for that. Your children don't have it. Your family is normal. You have no idea the disruption mental illness causes. The pain, shame, and anger. The treatments and therapies. The negative self talk and deeply wounded self esteem. The feeling of being inadequate, the guilt of not being like everyone else. The loss of jobs, friends, and in some cases family. And if that all is not enough to deal with we then have ignorant people like you that give us the shifty eye, that label us, that spread misinformation about us or our diagnoses, or as in your case, want to silence us altogether. The kind of misrepresentations we have all come to know, that people like us are dangerous, scary, unhinged, or weak. That we are just not trying hard enough to be normal or happy or whatever it is you seem to think we aren't being enough of.
I get that you don't get it.
It isn't your fault that you are, in fact, wholly ignorant of anything dealing with mental illness. What is your fault, is that you took it upon yourself to use your very large platform to further stigmatize a group of individuals that could have been helped by that platform. Instead of doing research and talking about mental illness and being honest, you decided to go against the grain. You wanted to be different. You wanted to be edgy and relevant which actually just made you seem judgy and uninformed.
People like me, people that suffer from mental illness every day, are used to people like you. People that think they know what it is like to live our lives and deal with our struggles. We listen and nod politely as you give ridiculous advice as to how to buck up and hold ourselves together (as if you had any real idea what we were going through). We see you when you treat us differently after you find out that we have a diagnoses. We are aware of it when you ignore what we say because our diagnoses has become our whole identity to you and therefore everything we think or say has become tainted by it in your eyes. We know your kind.
The difference between us and you is simple, we are fighters. We fight everyday to keep going, to educate, to live. We are always this way and not just this way when it suits us to be so. We are always strong because you damn well have to be to get out bed in the morning and face the day. And yeah, maybe that sounds cliche to people like you, but we do it every single day.
What Prince Harry and Prince William are doing that you just can't seem to wrap your head around, is they are offering support. Support for the hundreds of thousands of people that suffer from mental illness. They are making it okay to talk about...finally. Being open about mental illness creates possibilities to be honest. It promotes awareness and understanding. It actually saves lives. People that are not afraid to reach out for help do so because they feel like they can be open and honest. Whether you see it or not Prince Harry and Prince William are setting a standard. A positive standard on how people view mental illness. That may mean nothing to you, but it means the world to people like us.
So I ,for one, hope that Prince William and Prince Henry continue to "bleat on about their sanity" because in doing so they are helping others. Something that sadly, your article didn't do today and that's a shame. We could always use more people supporting us and lifting us up instead of putting us down because honestly, we deserve better than being told that we should suffer in silence like we have been told for decades. We deserve better than to be ignored, and today we deserved better than your paltry and inflammatory article that you spewed in an attempt to look indifferent.
One in four people world wide will suffer from a mental illness or a neurological issue in their lifetimes, and if you just took the time to look around you would see that we are just as worthy and valuable as everybody else. We are just as magnificent. We are trying to change how the world sees us but we can't do this all by ourselves. We need everyone to fight the ages old misrepresentations and stigma that do not define us. They were never true to begin with.
Please try and do better by us next time, believe it or not, we are counting on you too.
Thanks,
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, March 30, 2017
Always...
My Grandmother was also a severe OCD sufferer. She was proud of my blog. She wanted me to keep going, to keep fighting, to keep reaching out to people. She believed in me, always. Since childhood when she would say goodbye to me, she would say to me to be a good girl. I have always responded with,"always". It was our thing and since she is no longer walking beside me here on earth I want to dedicate my blog to her. She believed that we should never live our lives in silence and fear. That we should always look to the light. That we should look out for each other and so because of this, I will be signing off my blog from now on with my response to her as I always did when we said goodbye. This for you Grandma. I miss the hell out of you but I will be good. Always.
------
The plants have started to grow from the hardened ground again. The buds are forming on the tree tips. The frost has melted away to reveal the yellowed grass underneath. Rebirth. Refresh. Regrowth.
I feel the dredges of seasonal depression leaving my body. The clouds have lifted. The sun has come out to play with me again. I am reborn of the Spring. I am the phoenix that rises from the ash or at least I was telling myself that I was, anyway.
And then I read twitter...
Sigh.
Again, there is this debate over whether we should use the term PureO to describe some OCD symptoms. Medical professionals tend to be uncomfortable about the word. They feel it connotates a false narrative about our symptoms and complicates the diagnosis of OCD. "It can give people the wrong idea since it stands for purely obsessional"
If there is one thing I have learned about OCD, it is that it is always complicated and has always given people the wrong idea.
I am a PureO and I don't care what the "medical professionals" feel about the term I use to describe the hell I live in. I am sorry if it feels like the label that many of us use is somehow lacking in description. No actually, I am not sorry at all. I live it and you don't. I refuse to be shamed into submission.
The doctors help us. I know that they are important but how can they tell me how to describe my own mental illness that I have had for 34 years? Their years at college do not trump three decades of living with this disorder. I appreciate them. I respect them. I am simply asking that they respect how we choose to describe our torment (those of us that use this term).
Being a PureO is just a sub name of OCD. Anyone who claims to be a PureO knows this. And even though we suffer from OCD, our symptoms often are excluded, overlooked, and misunderstood.
We are firmly aware that we suffer from OCD. It is a way to describe to others what we go through. Yes, we compulse too but the difference is that you will never see it. Why is it so wrong to be able to hold on to a label that makes us know when other people that suffer like we do have the same symptoms? If anything I think it reaches out to people who suffer from this particular symptom of OCD to realize that they do have OCD. If counting isn't your thing but saying mental mantras are, you might not know that you have OCD at all. Many of us are not afraid of milk like Monk on television. What about those of us that do not fit the typical stereotype of an OCD sufferer?
Honestly, and this might make some people mad at me for saying but I would have rather stayed the way I was when I outwardly compulsing rather than how I am today. The obsessions have taken over my life in a way that they had not previously. This is just my opinion, being PureO is harder for me than were the more common OCD symptoms I used to have. Both of them are absolute hell and steal away bits of your life but being a PureO with the harm fears, the sexual fears, the mental images that are like some fucked up horror movie you can't turn off- yea, no. I hated the compulsions and the torture they created and the humiliation doing them in public created, but the torture of my mind and absolute fear I was turning into a monster made me long for the familiar. Every OCD sufferer has intrusive thoughts but PureO's have them in full force and mentally compulse to try a quell the anxiety. Trying to describe these obsessions, these disgusting horrid intrusive thoughts, to others is beyond terrifying and people oftentimes misunderstand that the thoughts are not wanted and that you will never act on them. It becomes a sickening taboo that keeps you sick. Being a PureO has been my hardest challenge. To say otherwise would be a blatant lie.
We made this label and maybe just maybe someone should consult people that actually have the mental illness before they make a decision on our behalf. I mean, really, who is it hurting? People that don't understand OCD?......Please. A label like this isn't going confuse them any further if they can't even bother to do a simple google search on what we go through as OCD sufferers. I mean, is this mental illness about us and what we go through or about other people who don't have it but have no problems with judging the people that do?
I refuse to use a different term to describe what I go through. Popular or not, it is how I live. I will not sanitize that or wash it clean to make other people less uncomfortable. My life is not a wall that needs to be white washed, painted, or prettied up. It is what it is. Ugly, hard fought, strong, fearless surrounded by anxiety, and a conundrum of craziness that I battle every single day. I will not be told to pipe down or use a term that, I feel, lessens what I go through or in my mind, inaccurately describes my current symptoms. I defy that notion. I refuse to do it and I am unapologetic about it. Deal with it. I know I sure as hell am.
I have OCD. I am a PureO. You don't have to like the term I use but that makes it no less descriptive to what I go through. It makes it no less truthful to how I feel. It makes it no less meaningful to me...
Whatever mental illness you have or mental event you are going through right now, you are worthy. You are heard. Your life is important and meaningful. You are one of us. Be kind to yourself. You matter more than you will ever know. You are not alone.
Always, Neurotic Nelly.
------
The plants have started to grow from the hardened ground again. The buds are forming on the tree tips. The frost has melted away to reveal the yellowed grass underneath. Rebirth. Refresh. Regrowth.
I feel the dredges of seasonal depression leaving my body. The clouds have lifted. The sun has come out to play with me again. I am reborn of the Spring. I am the phoenix that rises from the ash or at least I was telling myself that I was, anyway.
And then I read twitter...
Sigh.
Again, there is this debate over whether we should use the term PureO to describe some OCD symptoms. Medical professionals tend to be uncomfortable about the word. They feel it connotates a false narrative about our symptoms and complicates the diagnosis of OCD. "It can give people the wrong idea since it stands for purely obsessional"
If there is one thing I have learned about OCD, it is that it is always complicated and has always given people the wrong idea.
I am a PureO and I don't care what the "medical professionals" feel about the term I use to describe the hell I live in. I am sorry if it feels like the label that many of us use is somehow lacking in description. No actually, I am not sorry at all. I live it and you don't. I refuse to be shamed into submission.
The doctors help us. I know that they are important but how can they tell me how to describe my own mental illness that I have had for 34 years? Their years at college do not trump three decades of living with this disorder. I appreciate them. I respect them. I am simply asking that they respect how we choose to describe our torment (those of us that use this term).
Being a PureO is just a sub name of OCD. Anyone who claims to be a PureO knows this. And even though we suffer from OCD, our symptoms often are excluded, overlooked, and misunderstood.
We are firmly aware that we suffer from OCD. It is a way to describe to others what we go through. Yes, we compulse too but the difference is that you will never see it. Why is it so wrong to be able to hold on to a label that makes us know when other people that suffer like we do have the same symptoms? If anything I think it reaches out to people who suffer from this particular symptom of OCD to realize that they do have OCD. If counting isn't your thing but saying mental mantras are, you might not know that you have OCD at all. Many of us are not afraid of milk like Monk on television. What about those of us that do not fit the typical stereotype of an OCD sufferer?
Honestly, and this might make some people mad at me for saying but I would have rather stayed the way I was when I outwardly compulsing rather than how I am today. The obsessions have taken over my life in a way that they had not previously. This is just my opinion, being PureO is harder for me than were the more common OCD symptoms I used to have. Both of them are absolute hell and steal away bits of your life but being a PureO with the harm fears, the sexual fears, the mental images that are like some fucked up horror movie you can't turn off- yea, no. I hated the compulsions and the torture they created and the humiliation doing them in public created, but the torture of my mind and absolute fear I was turning into a monster made me long for the familiar. Every OCD sufferer has intrusive thoughts but PureO's have them in full force and mentally compulse to try a quell the anxiety. Trying to describe these obsessions, these disgusting horrid intrusive thoughts, to others is beyond terrifying and people oftentimes misunderstand that the thoughts are not wanted and that you will never act on them. It becomes a sickening taboo that keeps you sick. Being a PureO has been my hardest challenge. To say otherwise would be a blatant lie.
We made this label and maybe just maybe someone should consult people that actually have the mental illness before they make a decision on our behalf. I mean, really, who is it hurting? People that don't understand OCD?......Please. A label like this isn't going confuse them any further if they can't even bother to do a simple google search on what we go through as OCD sufferers. I mean, is this mental illness about us and what we go through or about other people who don't have it but have no problems with judging the people that do?
I refuse to use a different term to describe what I go through. Popular or not, it is how I live. I will not sanitize that or wash it clean to make other people less uncomfortable. My life is not a wall that needs to be white washed, painted, or prettied up. It is what it is. Ugly, hard fought, strong, fearless surrounded by anxiety, and a conundrum of craziness that I battle every single day. I will not be told to pipe down or use a term that, I feel, lessens what I go through or in my mind, inaccurately describes my current symptoms. I defy that notion. I refuse to do it and I am unapologetic about it. Deal with it. I know I sure as hell am.
I have OCD. I am a PureO. You don't have to like the term I use but that makes it no less descriptive to what I go through. It makes it no less truthful to how I feel. It makes it no less meaningful to me...
Whatever mental illness you have or mental event you are going through right now, you are worthy. You are heard. Your life is important and meaningful. You are one of us. Be kind to yourself. You matter more than you will ever know. You are not alone.
Always, Neurotic Nelly.
Thursday, December 15, 2016
I Dwell There No Longer...
I have dwelled in the shadows for so long I can accurately describe the taste of darkness.
Musty dampness with a hint of mothballs.
I have lived in the recesses of my mind to the point where I know ever mark on the walls, every dent, every scratch, every happenstance pen mark.
I have treaded what seems to me like oceans of guilt and shame. I have drunken so much water while trying to keep my head above it's waves that the salt content has etched into my esophagus like finely frosted glass panes .
Surely that is why when my anxiety flows away from me, I am unable to speak. It is why I do not utter a sound lest my glass throat shatter.
I have absorbed those oceans through my skin and that is why my tears are salty and why there is so many of them able to fall in one setting.
That must be why.
I know what it is to live but be lifeless. To exhale but not be really breathing. I know how badly soap stings when it seeps into the dried hardened cracks of overly washed hands.
I know what it is like to be so exhausted just breathing seems like a monumental task. To be so tried that one can not sleep. To pray to dream about something other than what is going on in my life. To dream of being someone else. Someone more whole.
But I also know what the sun feels like on my face. I know what warmth feels like. Like a hundred million tiny glimpses of light beaming on me from the clouds. I know how little condensation drips when the light of life thaws your soul.
I know what it feels like to laugh. Like the coziest fuzziest hairs on your favorite blanket touching naked skin. The prickles of glee penetrating my consciousness.
I know what happiness is and I cling to those moments like a buoy to a person in the act of drowning.
I know what life can be and what it will be. It will be hard. I will always tread water. I will cry myself to sleep some days. But other days I will laugh too. I will hold on. I will keep going. I will overcome. I may lose battles with this mental illness but I will not lose myself.
I am no longer bothered by other people's stigma. They have not lived as I. They do not understand me and that is okay. I no longer allow other people's judgments bother me. Stigma can only control you if you have fear of it and I am not afraid.
For I dwell there no longer....
Musty dampness with a hint of mothballs.
I have lived in the recesses of my mind to the point where I know ever mark on the walls, every dent, every scratch, every happenstance pen mark.
I have treaded what seems to me like oceans of guilt and shame. I have drunken so much water while trying to keep my head above it's waves that the salt content has etched into my esophagus like finely frosted glass panes .
Surely that is why when my anxiety flows away from me, I am unable to speak. It is why I do not utter a sound lest my glass throat shatter.
I have absorbed those oceans through my skin and that is why my tears are salty and why there is so many of them able to fall in one setting.
That must be why.
I know what it is to live but be lifeless. To exhale but not be really breathing. I know how badly soap stings when it seeps into the dried hardened cracks of overly washed hands.
I know what it is like to be so exhausted just breathing seems like a monumental task. To be so tried that one can not sleep. To pray to dream about something other than what is going on in my life. To dream of being someone else. Someone more whole.
But I also know what the sun feels like on my face. I know what warmth feels like. Like a hundred million tiny glimpses of light beaming on me from the clouds. I know how little condensation drips when the light of life thaws your soul.
I know what it feels like to laugh. Like the coziest fuzziest hairs on your favorite blanket touching naked skin. The prickles of glee penetrating my consciousness.
I know what happiness is and I cling to those moments like a buoy to a person in the act of drowning.
I know what life can be and what it will be. It will be hard. I will always tread water. I will cry myself to sleep some days. But other days I will laugh too. I will hold on. I will keep going. I will overcome. I may lose battles with this mental illness but I will not lose myself.
I am no longer bothered by other people's stigma. They have not lived as I. They do not understand me and that is okay. I no longer allow other people's judgments bother me. Stigma can only control you if you have fear of it and I am not afraid.
For I dwell there no longer....
Friday, September 30, 2016
Porch Opossums, Flower Pots, and Mental Illness......Oh My
I have an inside/outside cat. We have, on occasion, put out cat food for him. Problem being that we have discovered that he doesn't actually eat the outside food. The food bowl would empty but the cat would not be the one emptying it. It was like a bizarre magical trick until a few days ago. That is when we saw it.
Neurotic Nelly
We have an opossum.
Smallish but getting bigger everyday. It has taken over our porch at night. It has become fearless. It doesn't really care if you see it, as long as you don't get too close. Last night, that bastard broke one of my flower pots and stood there defiantly licking his fur on my outside bench. Clearly, it is not afraid of me or my outside cat, or my flower pots.
It made me think about mental illness, which is probably some sort of mental problem in itself, actually. How it takes what it wants. Slowly it feeds off of your fears or stress, especially in the night. How it becomes brazen in it's symptoms. How fearless it is when stealing little bit of your life away. How it has no issues knocking over your flower post and watching you whole world turn upside down. It isn't afraid. It is defiant. It is a little bastard and before you know it, it makes claims on your porch without your permission or knowledge.
And what do we do? Usually, we blame ourselves for something we did not ask for. We get scared. We worry about stigma and sometimes that worry gets in the way of the help that we need. We keep it secret a lot of the time. We struggle with sense of self worth. We hurt.
But, I think what we need to realize is that just like the porch opossum, we are not responsible for mental illness befalling us. It is just something that happens. It is not our fault nor does it say anything about who we are as people. It does not label us. I t does not lessen our worth.
There is no need to blame ourselves for something we have no control over. And there are many things to help people with mental illness. There are therapies, medications, groups, and treatments that have been helpful for most mental illnesses. There are people that understand. there are people that know what living under the stigma of mental illness is like and there are people who care.
Honestly, mental illnesses aren't even that rare. Much like finding an opossum eating out of your garbage can, lots of people have encountered it. The current statistics prove that 1 in 5 people in the US will have some sort of mental illness in their lifetimes. That isn't a small number. In fact, you probably know someone affected by mental illness right now. So, there is nothing to be ashamed about when you break down the sheer amount of people that suffer with you. Why we treat it like some majestic rarity is really beyond me. Clearly it is neither majestic nor a rarity at all.
That is the Point that I am making, I think. Mental illness should not be seen as a weakness or weirdness. It should be treated and looked upon the same way as any physical illness is. And until it is, we should keep fighting the stigma, keep helping ourselves, and keep being proud of how much we have been able to accomplish. Because having a mental illness is hard and we should be proud of every single time we win against it. No matter how small that win may be. It is still a win.
I am strong. You are strong and we can do this. We can tell the mental illness opossums of the world that flower pots be damned we are not afraid to fight back and get help. That we are worth it. That we matter. Because we do and our minds and porches are not something we are just going to give over without a fight.
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, September 8, 2016
I'm Back and Hopefully Better....
Well, I have recovered....sort of. Apparently while going to my doctor's office for a checkup I contracted what can only be described as the flaming gungamo.
I have no idea how it happened. I used hand sanatizer. I avoided direct contact with other patients. I kept my hands in my pockets. All of my OCD germ tactics to stay safe.
I was going to write but I was ill in bed coughing up a lung and wishing my ears didn't feel like I was trapped underwater.
The first day I awoke to the feeling one would have if they had swallowed razor blades. Thinking I had Strep throat I went to the Urgent Care. Spoiler alert: it was not strep throat.
I was given antibiotics. The pharmacist tried to pander their flu shots to me while I waited in line looking and feeling like a snot zombie. I was not amused.
The second day, I felt as if angry bat wielding leprechauns had attacked me in my sleep. My head hurt. My sinuses were flaming balls of lava. My eyes refused to focus. I had what I like to call congestion stupidity, where the facial pressure makes you unable to concentrate. The pressure triggered my vertigo which allowed me to spend the day bumping into everything and falling over as if I was drunk. It was fantastic....sarcasm.
The third day, I wanted to die. There was clearly no relief or hope in sight. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it and I was not entirely convinced I wanted to. The urge to crawl instead of walk from the couch to the bed to the bathroom was becoming more of a need rather than a desire. I don't remember much about it except whimpering sounds that I realized where coming from me as I laid rolled in a cover, scrunched into a ball, with kleenex shoved into my nostrils. I woke up choking from the chest congestion. I woke up unable to breathe from my whole face. I woke up having to blow my nose....I slept too much but none of it was long term bouts of rest. It was like a bad ironic joke and the punchline was clearly me at this point.
Thankfully, the third day was the worst and I was up and running on the fourth day. It has been twelve days since.
I now still cough but not as much as before and I don't sound like I have peanut m & m's shoved up nose. So, that's a plus. I did, however, pass it on to both of my children. This is truly the gift that keeps on giving.....sorry kids.
That being said, I am in a way better mood than usual. Probably from my new found ability to breathe through both of my nostrils at the same time. Nose breathing is great, isn't it?
Other than being sick, I have nothing really to talk about. I am thankful to be back to my old crazy self. I am happy to be on the mend. I am still confused as to how I caught this bug in the first place but I am happy it is mostly over.
So, here's to you guys. I hope to write a better post than this for next week. I am hoping all of you are feeling well, and are having good days. If you are not, please just remember that even in the darkest of hours daylight is only around the corner. Just hang in there. You matter. You are important. You have insurmountable worth. You are heard.
Until next week guys,
Neurotic Nelly
I have no idea how it happened. I used hand sanatizer. I avoided direct contact with other patients. I kept my hands in my pockets. All of my OCD germ tactics to stay safe.
I was going to write but I was ill in bed coughing up a lung and wishing my ears didn't feel like I was trapped underwater.
The first day I awoke to the feeling one would have if they had swallowed razor blades. Thinking I had Strep throat I went to the Urgent Care. Spoiler alert: it was not strep throat.
I was given antibiotics. The pharmacist tried to pander their flu shots to me while I waited in line looking and feeling like a snot zombie. I was not amused.
The second day, I felt as if angry bat wielding leprechauns had attacked me in my sleep. My head hurt. My sinuses were flaming balls of lava. My eyes refused to focus. I had what I like to call congestion stupidity, where the facial pressure makes you unable to concentrate. The pressure triggered my vertigo which allowed me to spend the day bumping into everything and falling over as if I was drunk. It was fantastic....sarcasm.
The third day, I wanted to die. There was clearly no relief or hope in sight. I wasn't sure if I was going to make it and I was not entirely convinced I wanted to. The urge to crawl instead of walk from the couch to the bed to the bathroom was becoming more of a need rather than a desire. I don't remember much about it except whimpering sounds that I realized where coming from me as I laid rolled in a cover, scrunched into a ball, with kleenex shoved into my nostrils. I woke up choking from the chest congestion. I woke up unable to breathe from my whole face. I woke up having to blow my nose....I slept too much but none of it was long term bouts of rest. It was like a bad ironic joke and the punchline was clearly me at this point.
Thankfully, the third day was the worst and I was up and running on the fourth day. It has been twelve days since.
I now still cough but not as much as before and I don't sound like I have peanut m & m's shoved up nose. So, that's a plus. I did, however, pass it on to both of my children. This is truly the gift that keeps on giving.....sorry kids.
That being said, I am in a way better mood than usual. Probably from my new found ability to breathe through both of my nostrils at the same time. Nose breathing is great, isn't it?
Other than being sick, I have nothing really to talk about. I am thankful to be back to my old crazy self. I am happy to be on the mend. I am still confused as to how I caught this bug in the first place but I am happy it is mostly over.
So, here's to you guys. I hope to write a better post than this for next week. I am hoping all of you are feeling well, and are having good days. If you are not, please just remember that even in the darkest of hours daylight is only around the corner. Just hang in there. You matter. You are important. You have insurmountable worth. You are heard.
Until next week guys,
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, July 28, 2016
I Know Who I Am....
I know who I am.....
Many people in my life have told me that they thought I was very good with my OCD. That I seem to be dealing well.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.
They truly have no idea.
It's an act of sorts. You see what I allow you to see. You hear what I allow myself to say. There are certain OCD fears, I have told no one, and may never open up about. No one knows unless I let them in. I have mastered the mask I plaster on my face to appear to the masses as a normal human being.
I am an actress of my own life. I smile when I feel like shit, I seem awake when I am exhausted, I lie to you when you ask me if I am okay. One can not look at me and know how damaged I really am.
That is the hell of it.
There is no sign upon my forehead identifying me as OCD. As a PureO there are no compulsions to show as proof.
I have had people I know tell me I talk about it too much. As if I can just turn it off like water from the tap. Like it is optional to be obessive compulsive. Like if I ignore it, it will go away.
I get it, talking about it is boring and uncomfortable. One should try living with it for thirty two years and see how uncomfortable it really is.
OCD is hell. It is the hardest thing I have ever done. It is the hardest thing I will ever do and I do it everyday. It is not something I glorify being. It is not something that I would wish on anyone. It is not something I would ever be proud of.
But I am proud that I am still fighting. That I remain as honest as I can be about it. That I keep trying even on days that I damn well know I will lose. I am proud of being strong in the face of the horror that OCD inflicts on my daily life.
I know who I am....
It might not be enough for some, to be just someone with OCD fighting to live as normal and happy a life as possible, but it is enough for me. I am proud of being who I am despite of this disorder that has single-handedly tried to take over my life. This disorder that tries to steal my life away from one fear at a time. This disorder that has made my life hell. I am proud. I know who I am.
Not just with this mental illness but in spite of it. I am a good person, a kind person, a sensitive person. Maybe to some that isn't enough. Maybe it isn't enough that I can not work. Maybe it isn't enough to them that I am unable to be more productive in their eyes. Maybe it is isn't enough that I am not always on the same page as everyone else and I don't do what everyone else does when they do it. Maybe it isn't enough for them but then again they do not live with what I do. They don't have to deal with this.
I will tell you a little secret, most people have no idea who they really are....
So, I guess I have that. With struggle comes truth and with hardship comes knowledge. And when you fight just to get out of bed in the morning to face a day you know will be full of grief and fears, you find who you really are.
I know who I am....
And if I am not enough for them or they judge me because I am different, fuck 'em. I don't really need them in my life anyway.
I have spent way too much of my life blaming myself and I refuse to let anyone make me feel like I am nothing. I know who I am and I am more than enough.
Many people in my life have told me that they thought I was very good with my OCD. That I seem to be dealing well.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.
They truly have no idea.
It's an act of sorts. You see what I allow you to see. You hear what I allow myself to say. There are certain OCD fears, I have told no one, and may never open up about. No one knows unless I let them in. I have mastered the mask I plaster on my face to appear to the masses as a normal human being.
I am an actress of my own life. I smile when I feel like shit, I seem awake when I am exhausted, I lie to you when you ask me if I am okay. One can not look at me and know how damaged I really am.
That is the hell of it.
There is no sign upon my forehead identifying me as OCD. As a PureO there are no compulsions to show as proof.
I have had people I know tell me I talk about it too much. As if I can just turn it off like water from the tap. Like it is optional to be obessive compulsive. Like if I ignore it, it will go away.
I get it, talking about it is boring and uncomfortable. One should try living with it for thirty two years and see how uncomfortable it really is.
OCD is hell. It is the hardest thing I have ever done. It is the hardest thing I will ever do and I do it everyday. It is not something I glorify being. It is not something that I would wish on anyone. It is not something I would ever be proud of.
But I am proud that I am still fighting. That I remain as honest as I can be about it. That I keep trying even on days that I damn well know I will lose. I am proud of being strong in the face of the horror that OCD inflicts on my daily life.
I know who I am....
It might not be enough for some, to be just someone with OCD fighting to live as normal and happy a life as possible, but it is enough for me. I am proud of being who I am despite of this disorder that has single-handedly tried to take over my life. This disorder that tries to steal my life away from one fear at a time. This disorder that has made my life hell. I am proud. I know who I am.
Not just with this mental illness but in spite of it. I am a good person, a kind person, a sensitive person. Maybe to some that isn't enough. Maybe it isn't enough that I can not work. Maybe it isn't enough to them that I am unable to be more productive in their eyes. Maybe it is isn't enough that I am not always on the same page as everyone else and I don't do what everyone else does when they do it. Maybe it isn't enough for them but then again they do not live with what I do. They don't have to deal with this.
I will tell you a little secret, most people have no idea who they really are....
So, I guess I have that. With struggle comes truth and with hardship comes knowledge. And when you fight just to get out of bed in the morning to face a day you know will be full of grief and fears, you find who you really are.
I know who I am....
And if I am not enough for them or they judge me because I am different, fuck 'em. I don't really need them in my life anyway.
I have spent way too much of my life blaming myself and I refuse to let anyone make me feel like I am nothing. I know who I am and I am more than enough.
Thursday, July 7, 2016
What It Has Done...
Talking about mental illness to the masses is hard. It is hard to deal with it's misrepresented preconceived notions and it is hard to deal with the media's silence. We are often times villainized or sanitized but very often totally ignored.
That being said, because my diagnoses is severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I do not necessarily deal with as many of the violent misconceptions other mental illness diagnosis come with.
Many people have the incorrect idea that OCD is somehow less life changing or devastating than it actually is. We can blame many things for this but the biggest issue is the idea that OCD is inherently about organization and cleanliness. Leaving people to use the term OCD for things that are not actually OCD and that is a problem. Because if we desensitize the diagnoses to being more about how a person likes their morning coffee, we are saying that it is not a scary, upsetting, life altering mental illness. And it minimizes the very real , very terrorizing issues people that actually suffer from OCD face.
Make no mistake, I do not want to limit people's discussions on OCD. I have no issue with people using the term OCD. I just want people to know what it actually stands for and the disorder it describes. I want open debates. I want people to ask me about OCD. I want people to learn. I want us all to educate each other.
OCD has devastated my life. People see me as a happy go lucky thirty six year old house wife. I am, in essence, an anxiety ridden thirty six year old hermit. I tell people that I am a house wife but I do not tell them the reason I am a house wife has nothing to do with my dreams of being a stay at home mother. The reality is that because of my severe OCD I was unable to finish high school. I was then unable to attend college and I am currently and have always been, unable to hold down a job. I say I am a house wife because I do stay at home and take care of my home and children but I do not go into the details that I do this because I am unable to do anything else. I am for lack of a better description, unemployable.
I had dreams of graduating high school and my grades were very good. My panic attacks made my attendance extremely poor. I had high hopes of trying to get into Julliard. I wanted to sing on Broadway. I am talented enough to do so. I could have graduated and at the very least tried out, but this disorder prevented me from being who I thought I could be. Instead of me trying out for a musical college, I struggled to leave my home. Instead of me making plans for my future, I became unable to be in crowds of people without having panic attacks.
Those options were torn away from me. Not in one fell swoop like other disorders but by little bits and pieces over time. One tiny fear after another. Anxiety attacks on replay over and over again .
This disorder has damaged my relationships. It has made me hard to understand and harder to live with. I am under no illusions that being married to me is a cake walk. I know better. I know how stressful it is to live with someone who is almost constantly stressed out. I am afraid. I am afraid of everything, all of the time.
It has made me unable to do things that other people do on a daily basis without ever thinking about it. I have issues going to public places. I am unable to take medications to help because my OCD is medication resistant.
I am a thirty six year old hermit, with no diploma or higher education, who does not drive, who is too unreliable to employ, and who can not even make doctor appointments on the phone without fending off a panic attack. That is my reality. That is what OCD has done to me.
We can discuss semantics and pretend that I have made a go of it and accomplished a great deal despite my anxiety but the reality is still reality and it has been my reality for thirty two years. I do not make excuses or shy away from the truth that this disorder, my disorder, has effectively unabashedly and irrevocably changed my life.
OCD comes with extra baggage. The kind of baggage you don't see on television or movies. The kind of ugly sludge green, hard plastic, Bakelite luggage no one wants to claim at the baggage check because it is unbelievably heavy and embarrassing to be seen with. It comes with hesitations and freak outs. It comes with phobias, panic attacks, devastating intrusive thoughts, and mental or physical compulsions. It comes with sexual, blasphemous, or harm fears. It comes with suicidal ideologies and avoidance behaviors. It comes with triggers and life altering consequences.
And yes, I am doing well for someone that lives with severe OCD but let's not pretend that it hasn't shaped the person I have become because it has.
It marks the things I do on a regular basis.
I cannot deal with certain things like germs, contaminations, or other people breathing on me or touching me. My life has become a life of avoidance. I avoid, it is the hallmark of what I do.
This is the reality of what OCD has done to me.
I strive to continue to work on it. I strive to be better accepting of all that comes with having a mental illness. I am happy to be where I am today even if it isn't what I thought I would achieve when I was younger. I actually enjoy being a stay at home mom.
I do have family and friends and a fantastic support system. I do have really good days. I do know that I do not suffer alone. There are many people who suffer from OCD.
I am not bitter about how my life has been affected but I refuse to be obtuse and pretend. OCD is hard. Shit happens.
I also hold on to being proud of the things that I can do and the small victories I am able to achieve. Waking up and getting out of bed on a bad day is a feat. Taking a shower after I get out of bed on a bad day is a victory. Walking outside amongst other people and interacting with them after I have taken that shower, after getting out of bed on a bad day is a fucking act of heroism. I don't need the things I can do to be big to be proud of them. I just need to acknowledge that I did them and because I have done them, I get stronger from it.
Victories do not have to be big. They just have to be victories.
Neurotic Nelly
That being said, because my diagnoses is severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I do not necessarily deal with as many of the violent misconceptions other mental illness diagnosis come with.
Many people have the incorrect idea that OCD is somehow less life changing or devastating than it actually is. We can blame many things for this but the biggest issue is the idea that OCD is inherently about organization and cleanliness. Leaving people to use the term OCD for things that are not actually OCD and that is a problem. Because if we desensitize the diagnoses to being more about how a person likes their morning coffee, we are saying that it is not a scary, upsetting, life altering mental illness. And it minimizes the very real , very terrorizing issues people that actually suffer from OCD face.
Make no mistake, I do not want to limit people's discussions on OCD. I have no issue with people using the term OCD. I just want people to know what it actually stands for and the disorder it describes. I want open debates. I want people to ask me about OCD. I want people to learn. I want us all to educate each other.
OCD has devastated my life. People see me as a happy go lucky thirty six year old house wife. I am, in essence, an anxiety ridden thirty six year old hermit. I tell people that I am a house wife but I do not tell them the reason I am a house wife has nothing to do with my dreams of being a stay at home mother. The reality is that because of my severe OCD I was unable to finish high school. I was then unable to attend college and I am currently and have always been, unable to hold down a job. I say I am a house wife because I do stay at home and take care of my home and children but I do not go into the details that I do this because I am unable to do anything else. I am for lack of a better description, unemployable.
I had dreams of graduating high school and my grades were very good. My panic attacks made my attendance extremely poor. I had high hopes of trying to get into Julliard. I wanted to sing on Broadway. I am talented enough to do so. I could have graduated and at the very least tried out, but this disorder prevented me from being who I thought I could be. Instead of me trying out for a musical college, I struggled to leave my home. Instead of me making plans for my future, I became unable to be in crowds of people without having panic attacks.
Those options were torn away from me. Not in one fell swoop like other disorders but by little bits and pieces over time. One tiny fear after another. Anxiety attacks on replay over and over again .
This disorder has damaged my relationships. It has made me hard to understand and harder to live with. I am under no illusions that being married to me is a cake walk. I know better. I know how stressful it is to live with someone who is almost constantly stressed out. I am afraid. I am afraid of everything, all of the time.
It has made me unable to do things that other people do on a daily basis without ever thinking about it. I have issues going to public places. I am unable to take medications to help because my OCD is medication resistant.
I am a thirty six year old hermit, with no diploma or higher education, who does not drive, who is too unreliable to employ, and who can not even make doctor appointments on the phone without fending off a panic attack. That is my reality. That is what OCD has done to me.
We can discuss semantics and pretend that I have made a go of it and accomplished a great deal despite my anxiety but the reality is still reality and it has been my reality for thirty two years. I do not make excuses or shy away from the truth that this disorder, my disorder, has effectively unabashedly and irrevocably changed my life.
OCD comes with extra baggage. The kind of baggage you don't see on television or movies. The kind of ugly sludge green, hard plastic, Bakelite luggage no one wants to claim at the baggage check because it is unbelievably heavy and embarrassing to be seen with. It comes with hesitations and freak outs. It comes with phobias, panic attacks, devastating intrusive thoughts, and mental or physical compulsions. It comes with sexual, blasphemous, or harm fears. It comes with suicidal ideologies and avoidance behaviors. It comes with triggers and life altering consequences.
And yes, I am doing well for someone that lives with severe OCD but let's not pretend that it hasn't shaped the person I have become because it has.
It marks the things I do on a regular basis.
I cannot deal with certain things like germs, contaminations, or other people breathing on me or touching me. My life has become a life of avoidance. I avoid, it is the hallmark of what I do.
This is the reality of what OCD has done to me.
I strive to continue to work on it. I strive to be better accepting of all that comes with having a mental illness. I am happy to be where I am today even if it isn't what I thought I would achieve when I was younger. I actually enjoy being a stay at home mom.
I do have family and friends and a fantastic support system. I do have really good days. I do know that I do not suffer alone. There are many people who suffer from OCD.
I am not bitter about how my life has been affected but I refuse to be obtuse and pretend. OCD is hard. Shit happens.
I also hold on to being proud of the things that I can do and the small victories I am able to achieve. Waking up and getting out of bed on a bad day is a feat. Taking a shower after I get out of bed on a bad day is a victory. Walking outside amongst other people and interacting with them after I have taken that shower, after getting out of bed on a bad day is a fucking act of heroism. I don't need the things I can do to be big to be proud of them. I just need to acknowledge that I did them and because I have done them, I get stronger from it.
Victories do not have to be big. They just have to be victories.
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, June 23, 2016
OCD Explained By Fairytales ....
I have been dealing with some massive writer's block lately and it is annoying me. It has caused me to struggle in writing posts like I would like too these last few weeks. My mind is completely left me. I hate having nothing to post. So, I decided that instead of beating myself up trying to force myself to write when my mind refuses to cooperate, that I would just share one of my best and most read posts from a couple of years ago. I believe in this post and I feel it represents how I feel right now. I hope you all like it....
OCD Explained By Fairytales by Neurotic Nelly
Have a great weekend guys and I promise to be back and writing something new next Thursday!
Neurotic Nelly
OCD Explained By Fairytales by Neurotic Nelly
Have a great weekend guys and I promise to be back and writing something new next Thursday!
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Staying Positive...
Staying positive doesn't mean pretending to be happy all of the time. It doesn't mean stuffing down your feelings and ignoring what is going on your life. It simply means knowing that things might be going really badly right now, but things will get better at some point.
That is how I get through my bad days. I remember that I also have good days. That these bad days will not last forever. My depression will ebb away, my OCD will calm down, I will not always feel completely emotionally inept.
Sometimes, I still feel defeated but I know that there are times that I feel victorious. I feel vindicated. I feel healthy. Those days are what get me through the gloom and doom. Those days are my inspiration to keep going, keep fighting, and keep staying positive.
Staying positive to me is knowing that I matter, that I am worth the fight, that I am unique, and I am loved. It means knowing that I am not what my mental illness tries to tell me I am. I am better than that, worth more than that, and I refuse to listen to my mental illnesses's lies.
My post today is just a reminder that we are all better than our worst days. We are strong. We are important. We matter and we will get through this. We can stay positive and know that there are better days ahead, even if they seem far far away. They are there. They will come.
Here is hoping you all have a great weekend and are staying positive because each and every one of you is worth it,
Neurotic Nelly
That is how I get through my bad days. I remember that I also have good days. That these bad days will not last forever. My depression will ebb away, my OCD will calm down, I will not always feel completely emotionally inept.
Sometimes, I still feel defeated but I know that there are times that I feel victorious. I feel vindicated. I feel healthy. Those days are what get me through the gloom and doom. Those days are my inspiration to keep going, keep fighting, and keep staying positive.
Staying positive to me is knowing that I matter, that I am worth the fight, that I am unique, and I am loved. It means knowing that I am not what my mental illness tries to tell me I am. I am better than that, worth more than that, and I refuse to listen to my mental illnesses's lies.
My post today is just a reminder that we are all better than our worst days. We are strong. We are important. We matter and we will get through this. We can stay positive and know that there are better days ahead, even if they seem far far away. They are there. They will come.
Here is hoping you all have a great weekend and are staying positive because each and every one of you is worth it,
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
We Can Not Be Diminished......Rant....Rant...Rant
XXXX.....Language Warning and Possible Triggers.....XXXX
I read this Gawker article after reading the same story line on three different websites and I felt the need to share. Trigger warning on the article linked.
This, this right here is part of the reason I write what I write. Because people are ignorant and can do more damage than they realize. Because this sort of ignorance has to be put in it's rightful place (the trash can). Because we need positive articles and posts about mental illness survivors not knee jerk reactions to diagnoses by morons with access to a keyboard.
I am not even going to touch on what all this colossal twat face says in her poorly written article about the death of her "frenemy" with mental illness and what a blessing it was to her. She has no idea what she is talking about and her ignorance is nothing new to those of us who struggle to live in a world full of self absorbed idiots that think they have a talent for talking about something they have no fucking clue about. She is typical, she looks typical, her writing is typical, and her stigma inducing misconstrued attention seeking behavior....is typical. Big deal, she is old news.
I will, however, comment on the blog site that printed the piece, and their so called apology....
I apologize for an article that was posted here yesterday, entitled "My Former Friend's Death Was a Blessing.” I deeply regret the hurt that this article has caused and understand that it has perpetuated stigma and diminished the lives of people with mental illness. I am committed to immediately reviewing our vetting process to ensure that this experience has a positive influence on the ways in which we at xoJane present all women going forward. I appreciate all of you who took the time to let us know how you felt about this issue.
First of all, thank you for noticing that your article was not only offensive but damaging. Thank you for it removing after being told repeatedly how upsetting and stigmatizing it was. But don't ever make the mistake of thinking that an article written by a sniveling twenty something know it all who, in fact, truly knows nothing could diminish any of our lives because she is a fucking moron. You didn't diminish anything except the validation of a an online magazine many of us have never heard of and many of us will never read again.
You can not diminish the lives of strong, creative, unique, people and how dare you insinuate that this idiot could do so by a thoughtless article as if we were so damaged and have so little to live for, that it ruined our lives. It didn't ruin our lives, it pissed us off because once again we are having to fight against stigma from yet another place that in the year 2016 should absolutely fucking know better.
How dare you make a half attempt to say, "oops my bad" after letting such a completely inappropriate article headline your site. Something that says the death of a mentally ill person was a blessing. You did read her article before posting it right? I mean, that is what you do......
Why would it even be acceptable to post something like this? If we were talking about any other minority in place of the mentally ill you would have balked and never posted because you would feel like it was uncalled for. You would have been afraid of being seen as bigoted, intolerant, and prejudiced; but because it was just us that made it okay right?
You can't diminish us. We have already been stigmatized, lied about, cast aside, ignored, rebuked, insulted, and blacklisted. Do you really think your little corner of the web can really do anything that hasn't already been done to us for the centuries that mental illness has been unfairly punished, misunderstood, and demonized. Do you really?
Because I have got to tell you, as a mental illness suffer, I don't think that you hold that much power.
Her apology was a complete backpedal. I know that when I write something, some people may not like it. I don't cry about it. I stand by what I say. That is what real writers do.
She didn't care that she hurt real people or may have put real people in real jeopardy, she is concerned by the backlash she got in rejoicing in the death of someone she deemed to be less than. She then played the victim and blamed the reaction on the readers claiming that if they were that sensitive they should not read it.....
Because she, clearly the victim in not only her own stories but also apparently the backlash for them, is overwhelmed. Well, I am too. I am overwhelmed by her lack of compassion, for her self imposed self importance, and for her lack of respect for other people. I am also overwhelmed that you as a website that hosts blogs felt that this was perfectly acceptable....which you, clearly, must have or it wouldn't have been posted.
I think her rush to be relevant and edgy is pathetic and I think that your rush to gain click bait for yourself regardless of who it hurts in the process is contemptible.
I just hope that no one read her article or her equally full of shit apology, and ended up hurting themselves because that is what we are really talking about here. Not some stupid woman who has no idea what a real struggle in life is, but people losing their lives everyday. Good, decent, dearly loved people that commit suicide everyday because they feel less than, because they are told that they are a burden, because of shitty articles written by shitty writers who think they know all about mental illness from fucking facebook. It bothers me, that online sites like yours do not consider the wake of devastation they are allowing because they too want to be relevant. It is all about relevance in this world of self absorbance and self importance.
No one is really considering the loss those families feel. No one there, clearly, is considering the loss of the woman your writer complained about. No one is considering the reality that is living with a mental illness and just how fucking hard it is and just how fucking brave we are for doing it.
Writing a piece that slanders a dead woman that had mental illness is low. It isn't brave. It isn't informative. It is pathetic. It is inappropriate and it is wrong.
You want edgy, you want courage, you want spectacular then look at us. Cause we are not hiding in the shadows, we are not sitting on the sidelines or cowering under the bleachers. We do not back down from paltry articles like this, we do not break under adversity. That is all we have ever known. This "story" is no different than the drivel we are force fed everyday about how different we are or how someone can't look past themselves long enough to understand what we go through.
You want to know what is a real blessing?
Living..... Living when it is hard because we know that we are worth it. Fighting on the worst days when you are exhausted and broken and numb. Having real friends, unlike the writer of your article, that stick by us and help us and support us. Knowing that we are creative and wondrous human beings that are capable of so much. Seeing the beauty in this world and knowing that it is something that we too possess. Knowing how important we are because we are just important as everyone else. Standing up for ourselves in the face of stupid people, and God help us, there are so many that we seem to run into. That's living. That's a blessing.....something that your writer obviously has no idea about.
No, we don't back down when we read or hear about discriminatory fluff pieces like the one you posted but I will tell you what we actually do. We shine. We shine in the face of stigma, and lies, and petty people writing petty things while trying to seem not as petty as they actually are. We are better than that and we are better than them. We are the warriors of our own minds and some of the best damn people you will ever meet.
So, no, you didn't diminish us by posting that article. You diminished yourselves and whatever it is you claim to stand for.
That's all on you, bud....that is what your online site strived to be when you allowed her post to be on your page.
I don't want to say how badly you suck for that but, hey, if the shoe fits....lace that bitch up and wear it.
Neurotic Nelly
I read this Gawker article after reading the same story line on three different websites and I felt the need to share. Trigger warning on the article linked.
This, this right here is part of the reason I write what I write. Because people are ignorant and can do more damage than they realize. Because this sort of ignorance has to be put in it's rightful place (the trash can). Because we need positive articles and posts about mental illness survivors not knee jerk reactions to diagnoses by morons with access to a keyboard.
I am not even going to touch on what all this colossal twat face says in her poorly written article about the death of her "frenemy" with mental illness and what a blessing it was to her. She has no idea what she is talking about and her ignorance is nothing new to those of us who struggle to live in a world full of self absorbed idiots that think they have a talent for talking about something they have no fucking clue about. She is typical, she looks typical, her writing is typical, and her stigma inducing misconstrued attention seeking behavior....is typical. Big deal, she is old news.
I will, however, comment on the blog site that printed the piece, and their so called apology....
I apologize for an article that was posted here yesterday, entitled "My Former Friend's Death Was a Blessing.” I deeply regret the hurt that this article has caused and understand that it has perpetuated stigma and diminished the lives of people with mental illness. I am committed to immediately reviewing our vetting process to ensure that this experience has a positive influence on the ways in which we at xoJane present all women going forward. I appreciate all of you who took the time to let us know how you felt about this issue.
First of all, thank you for noticing that your article was not only offensive but damaging. Thank you for it removing after being told repeatedly how upsetting and stigmatizing it was. But don't ever make the mistake of thinking that an article written by a sniveling twenty something know it all who, in fact, truly knows nothing could diminish any of our lives because she is a fucking moron. You didn't diminish anything except the validation of a an online magazine many of us have never heard of and many of us will never read again.
You can not diminish the lives of strong, creative, unique, people and how dare you insinuate that this idiot could do so by a thoughtless article as if we were so damaged and have so little to live for, that it ruined our lives. It didn't ruin our lives, it pissed us off because once again we are having to fight against stigma from yet another place that in the year 2016 should absolutely fucking know better.
How dare you make a half attempt to say, "oops my bad" after letting such a completely inappropriate article headline your site. Something that says the death of a mentally ill person was a blessing. You did read her article before posting it right? I mean, that is what you do......
Why would it even be acceptable to post something like this? If we were talking about any other minority in place of the mentally ill you would have balked and never posted because you would feel like it was uncalled for. You would have been afraid of being seen as bigoted, intolerant, and prejudiced; but because it was just us that made it okay right?
You can't diminish us. We have already been stigmatized, lied about, cast aside, ignored, rebuked, insulted, and blacklisted. Do you really think your little corner of the web can really do anything that hasn't already been done to us for the centuries that mental illness has been unfairly punished, misunderstood, and demonized. Do you really?
Because I have got to tell you, as a mental illness suffer, I don't think that you hold that much power.
Her apology was a complete backpedal. I know that when I write something, some people may not like it. I don't cry about it. I stand by what I say. That is what real writers do.
She didn't care that she hurt real people or may have put real people in real jeopardy, she is concerned by the backlash she got in rejoicing in the death of someone she deemed to be less than. She then played the victim and blamed the reaction on the readers claiming that if they were that sensitive they should not read it.....
Because she, clearly the victim in not only her own stories but also apparently the backlash for them, is overwhelmed. Well, I am too. I am overwhelmed by her lack of compassion, for her self imposed self importance, and for her lack of respect for other people. I am also overwhelmed that you as a website that hosts blogs felt that this was perfectly acceptable....which you, clearly, must have or it wouldn't have been posted.
I think her rush to be relevant and edgy is pathetic and I think that your rush to gain click bait for yourself regardless of who it hurts in the process is contemptible.
I just hope that no one read her article or her equally full of shit apology, and ended up hurting themselves because that is what we are really talking about here. Not some stupid woman who has no idea what a real struggle in life is, but people losing their lives everyday. Good, decent, dearly loved people that commit suicide everyday because they feel less than, because they are told that they are a burden, because of shitty articles written by shitty writers who think they know all about mental illness from fucking facebook. It bothers me, that online sites like yours do not consider the wake of devastation they are allowing because they too want to be relevant. It is all about relevance in this world of self absorbance and self importance.
No one is really considering the loss those families feel. No one there, clearly, is considering the loss of the woman your writer complained about. No one is considering the reality that is living with a mental illness and just how fucking hard it is and just how fucking brave we are for doing it.
Writing a piece that slanders a dead woman that had mental illness is low. It isn't brave. It isn't informative. It is pathetic. It is inappropriate and it is wrong.
You want edgy, you want courage, you want spectacular then look at us. Cause we are not hiding in the shadows, we are not sitting on the sidelines or cowering under the bleachers. We do not back down from paltry articles like this, we do not break under adversity. That is all we have ever known. This "story" is no different than the drivel we are force fed everyday about how different we are or how someone can't look past themselves long enough to understand what we go through.
You want to know what is a real blessing?
Living..... Living when it is hard because we know that we are worth it. Fighting on the worst days when you are exhausted and broken and numb. Having real friends, unlike the writer of your article, that stick by us and help us and support us. Knowing that we are creative and wondrous human beings that are capable of so much. Seeing the beauty in this world and knowing that it is something that we too possess. Knowing how important we are because we are just important as everyone else. Standing up for ourselves in the face of stupid people, and God help us, there are so many that we seem to run into. That's living. That's a blessing.....something that your writer obviously has no idea about.
No, we don't back down when we read or hear about discriminatory fluff pieces like the one you posted but I will tell you what we actually do. We shine. We shine in the face of stigma, and lies, and petty people writing petty things while trying to seem not as petty as they actually are. We are better than that and we are better than them. We are the warriors of our own minds and some of the best damn people you will ever meet.
So, no, you didn't diminish us by posting that article. You diminished yourselves and whatever it is you claim to stand for.
That's all on you, bud....that is what your online site strived to be when you allowed her post to be on your page.
I don't want to say how badly you suck for that but, hey, if the shoe fits....lace that bitch up and wear it.
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, May 19, 2016
I Am Not Ashamed...
There is a hashtag on twitter going around called #imnotashamed. It is a symbol to fight against the stigma that many of us face on a daily basis. When you live under the diagnoses of having a mental illness a great deal of emotions come with it. One of those is shame.
I am not ashamed. I used to be. I grew up being extremely ashamed of how different I was. How odd I seemed. How weak I felt. I grew up thinking that I was damaged. I was broken. I was worthless.
It was not my choice to be born with a mental illness. It is, however, my choice on how I perceive myself to be because of it. I perceive myself to be just as unique and important as everyone else.
When I was younger, I had delusions of my ability to control everything in my life. I felt that I had the power of willing myself into normalcy if I really wanted to. When I couldn't, I felt that it was my fault because I just didn't want it badly enough.
I blamed myself as if I had woken up one day and just decided to have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. As if I had ordered it as a side on my plate next to the eggs and hashbrowns. As if it were something you picked up by design.
I just couldn't understand that my mental illness was not my fault. That it was simply a misfiring in my brain.
I prayed relentlessly in the hopes that the bad thoughts would cease. When they did not I beat myself up because, clearly, I was doing something wrong. I wasn't praying right or hard enough. I was ashamed that I had failed to become normal even with my constant prayers.
As a child I thought that if I could just be the best little girl I could be, that the OCD would go away. If I did my best at school, if I tried my hardest to listen, if I was sweet and kind and always followed the rules the thoughts would simply vanish... but they never did. I thought that deep down I was a terrible girl, a bad person, a horrid child. I continued to strive to be what I thought good little girls were supposed to be but the intrusive thoughts did not vanish, no matter how desperately I tried to be good enough and I blamed myself for that too.
It took me years, literal years, to accept that my OCD was not the product of my failure as a person. That it was not a punishment for some unforeseen or long forgotten sin.
That it had never been my fault nor could I simply will it away with the good deeds and desperate prayers of a small naive child. I never had control of whether or not I would have this.
It simply is.
And with that acknowledgement I began to realize that shame has no place in my life because to feel ashamed would mean that I would have to accept the blame for having something I never asked for nor wanted to have to begin with.
The guilt is not mine to carry. The blame does not rest at my feet for this.
Living in shame just because I was born with a mental illness is no longer acceptable to me....and I rebuke any implication that says otherwise.
Mental illness does not define me as a human being. It does make me different in some ways but it does not in any way lessen my worth.
It has changed my life but it does not get to own it. It does not get to control everything. It is there but it does not outshine who I am as a person. It does not get to make me feel guilty and it will never again make me feel ashamed.
Because I am more than just a diagnoses and I am not ashamed.
If you are interested in the #imnotashamed hashtag look it up on twitter and read all about their fight against stigma.
Until next time, stay strong and be kind to yourself and never be ashamed.
Neurotic Nelly
I am not ashamed. I used to be. I grew up being extremely ashamed of how different I was. How odd I seemed. How weak I felt. I grew up thinking that I was damaged. I was broken. I was worthless.
It was not my choice to be born with a mental illness. It is, however, my choice on how I perceive myself to be because of it. I perceive myself to be just as unique and important as everyone else.
When I was younger, I had delusions of my ability to control everything in my life. I felt that I had the power of willing myself into normalcy if I really wanted to. When I couldn't, I felt that it was my fault because I just didn't want it badly enough.
I blamed myself as if I had woken up one day and just decided to have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. As if I had ordered it as a side on my plate next to the eggs and hashbrowns. As if it were something you picked up by design.
I just couldn't understand that my mental illness was not my fault. That it was simply a misfiring in my brain.
I prayed relentlessly in the hopes that the bad thoughts would cease. When they did not I beat myself up because, clearly, I was doing something wrong. I wasn't praying right or hard enough. I was ashamed that I had failed to become normal even with my constant prayers.
As a child I thought that if I could just be the best little girl I could be, that the OCD would go away. If I did my best at school, if I tried my hardest to listen, if I was sweet and kind and always followed the rules the thoughts would simply vanish... but they never did. I thought that deep down I was a terrible girl, a bad person, a horrid child. I continued to strive to be what I thought good little girls were supposed to be but the intrusive thoughts did not vanish, no matter how desperately I tried to be good enough and I blamed myself for that too.
It took me years, literal years, to accept that my OCD was not the product of my failure as a person. That it was not a punishment for some unforeseen or long forgotten sin.
That it had never been my fault nor could I simply will it away with the good deeds and desperate prayers of a small naive child. I never had control of whether or not I would have this.
It simply is.
And with that acknowledgement I began to realize that shame has no place in my life because to feel ashamed would mean that I would have to accept the blame for having something I never asked for nor wanted to have to begin with.
The guilt is not mine to carry. The blame does not rest at my feet for this.
Living in shame just because I was born with a mental illness is no longer acceptable to me....and I rebuke any implication that says otherwise.
Mental illness does not define me as a human being. It does make me different in some ways but it does not in any way lessen my worth.
It has changed my life but it does not get to own it. It does not get to control everything. It is there but it does not outshine who I am as a person. It does not get to make me feel guilty and it will never again make me feel ashamed.
Because I am more than just a diagnoses and I am not ashamed.
If you are interested in the #imnotashamed hashtag look it up on twitter and read all about their fight against stigma.
Until next time, stay strong and be kind to yourself and never be ashamed.
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, May 12, 2016
It's Not Easy....
May is Mental Illness Awareness month.
What can I say that hasn't already been said....
It is not easy to be like us. It isn't easy to deal with the issues we deal with. It isn't easy to wrestle with things like stigma and ignorance. It isn't easy to get out of bed in the morning when you are depressed nor is it easy to to explain how you feel when you are Bipolar. It isn't easy to push through triggers when you have OCD or any of the many other anxiety disorders. It isn't easy to have Schizophrenia. It isn't easy to live with a mental illness. It's just not.
It's doable.....but not easy.
I want my blog to be uplifting, positive, sometimes humorous, and sometimes ranting but most of all I want my blog to be completely honest. I feel like a great many of the "discussions" about mental illness are sanitized, misconstrued, side swept, or only spoken about in the quietest whispers in the darkest of rooms and that needs to stop. Because, frankly, we deserve better.
Honesty is the only thing that can change the current system of misunderstanding. Mental illness is not another word for weakness. It is not an excuse. It does not make us any less important than anyone else. It should be talked about openly in a public form without bias or false pretenses. Without shame or guilt. Without nameless baseless fear.
Without that kind of honesty and openness, mental illness will always be regarded as someone else's problem. It will continue to be misrepresented by the media and underfunded in it's programs. It will remain in the shadows, silenced by those that do not understand. It will be muted by those that are afraid. People that need help will go untreated. People that could be saved will not be. Many individuals that will suffer will do so in silence. And why?
Because of stigma.
We fear how others will react to our diagnoses as if it were a label placed on a placard around our necks. We are afraid of being judged and to be seen as different. We are afraid of being thought of as less than or worthless or broken . We are afraid of being side eyed and talked about. We are afraid of being unjustly feared and unfairly ridiculed. We are afraid.....and we shouldn't have to live under that fear.
I wanted to write a post about understanding, support for each other, standing up to stigma, believing in your self worth, and hope. Because those are the things that really matter in this world full of misconceptions of who we are or what we can achieve simply because of a diagnosis.
I wanted to give a shout out to those of you who suffer like me and tell you to hold on and keep fighting. To hold your head up high because we are good people, strong people, magnificent people. I wanted to make sure that everyone knows how truly important they are to the world. Each of you are completely remarkable, unequivocally unique individuals that make a difference everyday just by being who you are. By fighting even though living with mental illness isn't easy. I wanted to dedicate today's post to the fact that we still get up everyday and try like hell. That is an amazing feat. That is the definition of inspiring.
No, living with mental illness isn't easy but that doesn't mean that we can't do it. It doesn't mean that we can't do it well and it certainly, doesn't mean that we are any less worthy, less capable, less lovable, less inspiring, less strong, or less important than anyone else. We are not less than, we are equal to.
I am proud of us. I am proud of me and I am proud of you. We are badasses, people. I hope you know that.
So, go look at yourself in the mirror, pat yourself on the back, and let yourself realize how spectacularly brave you are.
Happy Mental Illness Awareness month,
Neurotic Nelly
What can I say that hasn't already been said....
It is not easy to be like us. It isn't easy to deal with the issues we deal with. It isn't easy to wrestle with things like stigma and ignorance. It isn't easy to get out of bed in the morning when you are depressed nor is it easy to to explain how you feel when you are Bipolar. It isn't easy to push through triggers when you have OCD or any of the many other anxiety disorders. It isn't easy to have Schizophrenia. It isn't easy to live with a mental illness. It's just not.
It's doable.....but not easy.
I want my blog to be uplifting, positive, sometimes humorous, and sometimes ranting but most of all I want my blog to be completely honest. I feel like a great many of the "discussions" about mental illness are sanitized, misconstrued, side swept, or only spoken about in the quietest whispers in the darkest of rooms and that needs to stop. Because, frankly, we deserve better.
Honesty is the only thing that can change the current system of misunderstanding. Mental illness is not another word for weakness. It is not an excuse. It does not make us any less important than anyone else. It should be talked about openly in a public form without bias or false pretenses. Without shame or guilt. Without nameless baseless fear.
Without that kind of honesty and openness, mental illness will always be regarded as someone else's problem. It will continue to be misrepresented by the media and underfunded in it's programs. It will remain in the shadows, silenced by those that do not understand. It will be muted by those that are afraid. People that need help will go untreated. People that could be saved will not be. Many individuals that will suffer will do so in silence. And why?
Because of stigma.
We fear how others will react to our diagnoses as if it were a label placed on a placard around our necks. We are afraid of being judged and to be seen as different. We are afraid of being thought of as less than or worthless or broken . We are afraid of being side eyed and talked about. We are afraid of being unjustly feared and unfairly ridiculed. We are afraid.....and we shouldn't have to live under that fear.
I wanted to write a post about understanding, support for each other, standing up to stigma, believing in your self worth, and hope. Because those are the things that really matter in this world full of misconceptions of who we are or what we can achieve simply because of a diagnosis.
I wanted to give a shout out to those of you who suffer like me and tell you to hold on and keep fighting. To hold your head up high because we are good people, strong people, magnificent people. I wanted to make sure that everyone knows how truly important they are to the world. Each of you are completely remarkable, unequivocally unique individuals that make a difference everyday just by being who you are. By fighting even though living with mental illness isn't easy. I wanted to dedicate today's post to the fact that we still get up everyday and try like hell. That is an amazing feat. That is the definition of inspiring.
No, living with mental illness isn't easy but that doesn't mean that we can't do it. It doesn't mean that we can't do it well and it certainly, doesn't mean that we are any less worthy, less capable, less lovable, less inspiring, less strong, or less important than anyone else. We are not less than, we are equal to.
I am proud of us. I am proud of me and I am proud of you. We are badasses, people. I hope you know that.
So, go look at yourself in the mirror, pat yourself on the back, and let yourself realize how spectacularly brave you are.
Happy Mental Illness Awareness month,
Neurotic Nelly
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
I'm Back....
It may seem like I fell off the face of the earth but the reality was that, I was here in my home doing mundane "home" type things. I washed dishes and obsessed. I vacuumed floors and obsessed. I weeded my garden and obsessed. I did laundry and obsessed. Okay, that last part was a lie.... I didn't do the laundry, my husband did, but I did obsess because that is what I do. Laundry, however, is something that I don't. I hate it. I hate it with every fiber of my being and I refuse to be apologetic about it.
I would have written and blogged but I was unable too.
My computer finally went to the big computer place in the sky. I was sad and frustrated but it was not a big surprise. Ole' Bessie was giving me the white screen of death and because Ole' Bessie was a chromebook she was not repairable. She did have three very full years of being my chromebook before she could no longer keep up with all of my bad spelling and copious amounts netflix watching. I shall miss her but I am overjoyed to be back blogging and watching my British mystery shows.... I know, I am boring. I also watch Judge Judy. I have the television and netflix habits of a seventy year old. I refuse to be apologetic about that as well.
I have replaced Ole' Bessie with a new computer which I have named Frank. I am not sure why, but this computer just seems like a Frank to me. Frank and I are getting know each other and my netflix habits but I think we are going to get along perfectly. I mean, he has spell check so that is a plus and he has back lit keys so I can type in the dark. He also seems to appreciate my wit and sense of humor. I don't really know that for a fact, but I am going to choose to believe that because it makes naming an inanimate object seem less weird to me....sorta.
The long of the short is, I am sorry that I was away for what felt like three years but was, in fact, a couple of weeks and I am happy to announce that my blogging will be back to regular schedule. I am back......and pleased as punch to be so.
Neurotic Nelly
I would have written and blogged but I was unable too.
My computer finally went to the big computer place in the sky. I was sad and frustrated but it was not a big surprise. Ole' Bessie was giving me the white screen of death and because Ole' Bessie was a chromebook she was not repairable. She did have three very full years of being my chromebook before she could no longer keep up with all of my bad spelling and copious amounts netflix watching. I shall miss her but I am overjoyed to be back blogging and watching my British mystery shows.... I know, I am boring. I also watch Judge Judy. I have the television and netflix habits of a seventy year old. I refuse to be apologetic about that as well.
I have replaced Ole' Bessie with a new computer which I have named Frank. I am not sure why, but this computer just seems like a Frank to me. Frank and I are getting know each other and my netflix habits but I think we are going to get along perfectly. I mean, he has spell check so that is a plus and he has back lit keys so I can type in the dark. He also seems to appreciate my wit and sense of humor. I don't really know that for a fact, but I am going to choose to believe that because it makes naming an inanimate object seem less weird to me....sorta.
The long of the short is, I am sorry that I was away for what felt like three years but was, in fact, a couple of weeks and I am happy to announce that my blogging will be back to regular schedule. I am back......and pleased as punch to be so.
Neurotic Nelly
Saturday, April 9, 2016
Breaking Down....Getting Back Up...
I had a break down the other day. It was ugly. I cried, I worried, I sobbed, I snotted. It happened and although I felt ashamed of it because it made me feel weak, I got over it. I am not going to lie, I hated it, hated myself, and hated the hell my own mind puts me through. Being like this takes up so much energy. It exhausts me. It depresses me. It angers me. When this happens, I wrestle with blaming myself for not being a normal fucking person who can put on her big girl pants and just push through all of the stress.
I knew it was coming. My distraction tactics weren't working as I had hoped. My ability to think of other things didn't pan out either. Thankfully. my family is very good to me when I get like this and they really support me.
I am much better today. I can still feel it though, stalking around in the dark recesses of my mind. I can feel the medical fears trying to claw their way back into my day. I am aware that they are still there waiting for me. It seems as though I can almost hear them breathing in the shadows. My OCD is haunting me.
I will not avoid my life because of some baseless fears that feel very real to me but are, in fact, imaginary things that my mind has conjured up to scare me and make my life miserable. I will not let the nameless and faceless ghosts of my mental illness take over my life. I refuse.
I have struggled with this for thirty two years. I know that sometimes my OCD wins. It pisses me off but just as I know that sometimes my medical fears win, I also know that most of the time I am the one who is victorious. So, it may have gotten the better of me two days ago and I may have had a break down complete with a panic attack. Sure, I may have blubbered and felt sorry for myself, but that doesn't mean that I will give up. If anything it just makes me strive to fight harder. I broke down and now I am concentrating on getting back up.
I just have to keep on keeping on and remember that everything is going to be okay. And it will be okay just as soon as some of these stress triggers are over with.
Hope you all are having a fantastic week and please don't give up on yourself if you are not. Things are bound to get better. And be proud of yourself. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable. You are unique.
Until next time,
Neurotic Nelly
I knew it was coming. My distraction tactics weren't working as I had hoped. My ability to think of other things didn't pan out either. Thankfully. my family is very good to me when I get like this and they really support me.
I am much better today. I can still feel it though, stalking around in the dark recesses of my mind. I can feel the medical fears trying to claw their way back into my day. I am aware that they are still there waiting for me. It seems as though I can almost hear them breathing in the shadows. My OCD is haunting me.
I will not avoid my life because of some baseless fears that feel very real to me but are, in fact, imaginary things that my mind has conjured up to scare me and make my life miserable. I will not let the nameless and faceless ghosts of my mental illness take over my life. I refuse.
I have struggled with this for thirty two years. I know that sometimes my OCD wins. It pisses me off but just as I know that sometimes my medical fears win, I also know that most of the time I am the one who is victorious. So, it may have gotten the better of me two days ago and I may have had a break down complete with a panic attack. Sure, I may have blubbered and felt sorry for myself, but that doesn't mean that I will give up. If anything it just makes me strive to fight harder. I broke down and now I am concentrating on getting back up.
I just have to keep on keeping on and remember that everything is going to be okay. And it will be okay just as soon as some of these stress triggers are over with.
Hope you all are having a fantastic week and please don't give up on yourself if you are not. Things are bound to get better. And be proud of yourself. You are strong. You are worthy. You are capable. You are unique.
Until next time,
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, March 17, 2016
I Am Not Voting....Rant...Rant...Rant
I am not voting....
There I said it. I have heard the primed and often repeated response from several people that if a person doesn't vote, they have no right to bitch about who wins or what happens. I humbly, disagree.
As a human being living on this planet, I can bitch about pretty much anything I want to. Emphatically and without permission. If the warm weather turns cold, I can bitch about it. If the laundry piles up right after I have washed and folded it and put it away, I can bitch about it and throw a hissy fit if deemed necessary. If the one of my lovely cats eats too much canned cat food and lets out silent but deadly plumes of acrid air as a thank you gift, I can certainly bitch about that too. None of those things are things that I have any control over nor are any of those things off topic for me to complain about simply because I did not go all the way in to town, by flagging down a ride, standing in a long line of people that I don't really want to stand next to, and filling out a tiny little box on some kind of new wave voting machine..... They just happened. Without my say so or my input. Much like this election.
Now, I am sure some people are going to question why I am not voting and some people may even get huffy about it. I don't really care if they do, their perception of me is none of my business. I will, however explain why I am not now nor have I ever voted.
I am repeatedly assaulted with the same old regurgitation that not voting means that I can not "change the world" and that to do my duty as a true American I need to stand by my representatives......but these people don't represent me. They don't even know I exist.
I am a thirty six year old woman with a mental illness.
I could say that I don't go to the polling place because of my anxiety. That is somewhat true but not the complete reason why I avoid voting. I could summarize the hardships of not being able to drive and toting two children with me to the bad part of town all by myself, filled with said anxiety, trying to find a way to get there in some one else's vehicle. I could try and muster up some money, I don't really have to spare, on a taxi because contrary to some people's beliefs not all jobs allow you to take off to vote and my husband has one of those kinds of jobs where he is needed because people would absolutely freak out if he wasn't there to help them. I could, but I am not going to. It would be pointless.
You see, the problem isn't just the hardship of mobility or the extreme anxiety I would suffer just so some patriotic vote pushers could rest easier tonight on the absurd notion that my personal vote counts for something.
The problem is that my vote means nothing. My vote is irrelevant. The people that I am asked to vote for do not see me. They see a number. They see a chad or a check mark or whatever they use to tally votes now a days. What they don't see is the individual. The human being with mental illness.
No, my vote doesn't really count because the candidates don't care about mental illness. If they did they would talk about mental illness in a constructive way, not just a political jargon to please the masses. They would have put their money where their mouth is and would have been in the trenches fighting for us, our healthcare, our representation. They would be trying to fix this completely broken down mental health care system that has failed us time and time again.....It is obvious to me that they either are not bothered by it or don't care enough to look at it in detail because if they did, they would do something to change it.
It is clear to me that my vote imperceptible because, for all intensive purposes, I am invisible to them.
Look at the ads and tell me where just one of these candidates has talked about changing the false perception of mentally ill people? Show me their detailed plans on how they suggest we fix the problem of lack of hospital beds, lack of housing, lack of funding and facilities, and lack of compassion. Tell me when they have brought up the few and far between programs that help the police deal with us in a constructive and non violent way. Show me where we are treated as the equally important individuals that we are. Show me where they have spent anytime discussing how they would change the system that has been said to have 64% of all persons in jail, 56% of all people in state prisons, and 45% of all people incarcerated in federal prisons suffering from mental illness symptoms. Show me the ads they have played that showed how they supported our causes and spotlighted our support groups. Show me where any of them, just once, talked about how suicide is the 10th leading cause of death of all age groups in America. Where is their campaign ad showing their outrage about that? What about the unacceptability that 22 veterans of this country kill themselves everyday? Where is the disgust that not enough is being done to help with PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression? Prove to me where they stood up for us and discussed our plight without the description or implication that we are somehow dangerous or criminal or less than everyone else. Show me the advocacy for the one in five American adults that will experience mental illness each year. Can you do that?
No, I didn't think so.
So, no I am not voting. Not just because my vote doesn't really matter to them but because my vote matters very much to me. Up until the time I see a candidate raise our cause and fight for us, I refuse to raise my ass off this couch and make the effort to go downtown and deal with the anxiety of my very real mental illness, that is unequivocally unimportant and invisible to them, and place my vote. I will not vote for someone who would not vote to help our situation and give our system the funding it needs to save the lives of other people that are just like us. I will not stand behind anyone who will not stand behind us and make it an essential part of their campaign to help the mental illness community with it's needs, it's under staffing, it's under funding, it's stigmatization, and it's misplaced shame. I refuse to do it.
I am positive that they will not miss my vote as they have not missed my vote in the eighteen years I have been eligible to vote and yet have remained silent. I am sure that they didn't even see that it was missing. That is okay, I am not bothered that my lack of voting is mind boggling to some people and my reasons are ignored by others. I and the other people that suffer from mental illness go unheard by the media and the people voted into office every day. This day is no different.
I do not need to have permission to be disappointed in my candidates. I do not have to apologize for standing up for what I believe in by not voting and I do not have to accept being put down, bullied, and shamed because I chose stick by those beliefs.
The silence of my refusal to vote says more to me than me making some half-assed vote for someone that I am constantly told represents me. My refusal to vote is saying, if I don't matter to you than your election, that clearly has nothing to do with me in the first place, doesn't matter to me either.
If these people were really my representatives, and really represented all of us, I wouldn't have to resort to refusing my vote, which may be the biggest tragedy of the whole process, in my opinion.
I am not asking everyone else to not vote, I am simply explaining why I choose not to.
.......... and I boldly retain the right to bitch about that for as long I want too........
Neurotic Nelly
There I said it. I have heard the primed and often repeated response from several people that if a person doesn't vote, they have no right to bitch about who wins or what happens. I humbly, disagree.
As a human being living on this planet, I can bitch about pretty much anything I want to. Emphatically and without permission. If the warm weather turns cold, I can bitch about it. If the laundry piles up right after I have washed and folded it and put it away, I can bitch about it and throw a hissy fit if deemed necessary. If the one of my lovely cats eats too much canned cat food and lets out silent but deadly plumes of acrid air as a thank you gift, I can certainly bitch about that too. None of those things are things that I have any control over nor are any of those things off topic for me to complain about simply because I did not go all the way in to town, by flagging down a ride, standing in a long line of people that I don't really want to stand next to, and filling out a tiny little box on some kind of new wave voting machine..... They just happened. Without my say so or my input. Much like this election.
Now, I am sure some people are going to question why I am not voting and some people may even get huffy about it. I don't really care if they do, their perception of me is none of my business. I will, however explain why I am not now nor have I ever voted.
I am repeatedly assaulted with the same old regurgitation that not voting means that I can not "change the world" and that to do my duty as a true American I need to stand by my representatives......but these people don't represent me. They don't even know I exist.
I am a thirty six year old woman with a mental illness.
I could say that I don't go to the polling place because of my anxiety. That is somewhat true but not the complete reason why I avoid voting. I could summarize the hardships of not being able to drive and toting two children with me to the bad part of town all by myself, filled with said anxiety, trying to find a way to get there in some one else's vehicle. I could try and muster up some money, I don't really have to spare, on a taxi because contrary to some people's beliefs not all jobs allow you to take off to vote and my husband has one of those kinds of jobs where he is needed because people would absolutely freak out if he wasn't there to help them. I could, but I am not going to. It would be pointless.
You see, the problem isn't just the hardship of mobility or the extreme anxiety I would suffer just so some patriotic vote pushers could rest easier tonight on the absurd notion that my personal vote counts for something.
The problem is that my vote means nothing. My vote is irrelevant. The people that I am asked to vote for do not see me. They see a number. They see a chad or a check mark or whatever they use to tally votes now a days. What they don't see is the individual. The human being with mental illness.
No, my vote doesn't really count because the candidates don't care about mental illness. If they did they would talk about mental illness in a constructive way, not just a political jargon to please the masses. They would have put their money where their mouth is and would have been in the trenches fighting for us, our healthcare, our representation. They would be trying to fix this completely broken down mental health care system that has failed us time and time again.....It is obvious to me that they either are not bothered by it or don't care enough to look at it in detail because if they did, they would do something to change it.
It is clear to me that my vote imperceptible because, for all intensive purposes, I am invisible to them.
Look at the ads and tell me where just one of these candidates has talked about changing the false perception of mentally ill people? Show me their detailed plans on how they suggest we fix the problem of lack of hospital beds, lack of housing, lack of funding and facilities, and lack of compassion. Tell me when they have brought up the few and far between programs that help the police deal with us in a constructive and non violent way. Show me where we are treated as the equally important individuals that we are. Show me where they have spent anytime discussing how they would change the system that has been said to have 64% of all persons in jail, 56% of all people in state prisons, and 45% of all people incarcerated in federal prisons suffering from mental illness symptoms. Show me the ads they have played that showed how they supported our causes and spotlighted our support groups. Show me where any of them, just once, talked about how suicide is the 10th leading cause of death of all age groups in America. Where is their campaign ad showing their outrage about that? What about the unacceptability that 22 veterans of this country kill themselves everyday? Where is the disgust that not enough is being done to help with PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression? Prove to me where they stood up for us and discussed our plight without the description or implication that we are somehow dangerous or criminal or less than everyone else. Show me the advocacy for the one in five American adults that will experience mental illness each year. Can you do that?
No, I didn't think so.
So, no I am not voting. Not just because my vote doesn't really matter to them but because my vote matters very much to me. Up until the time I see a candidate raise our cause and fight for us, I refuse to raise my ass off this couch and make the effort to go downtown and deal with the anxiety of my very real mental illness, that is unequivocally unimportant and invisible to them, and place my vote. I will not vote for someone who would not vote to help our situation and give our system the funding it needs to save the lives of other people that are just like us. I will not stand behind anyone who will not stand behind us and make it an essential part of their campaign to help the mental illness community with it's needs, it's under staffing, it's under funding, it's stigmatization, and it's misplaced shame. I refuse to do it.
I am positive that they will not miss my vote as they have not missed my vote in the eighteen years I have been eligible to vote and yet have remained silent. I am sure that they didn't even see that it was missing. That is okay, I am not bothered that my lack of voting is mind boggling to some people and my reasons are ignored by others. I and the other people that suffer from mental illness go unheard by the media and the people voted into office every day. This day is no different.
I do not need to have permission to be disappointed in my candidates. I do not have to apologize for standing up for what I believe in by not voting and I do not have to accept being put down, bullied, and shamed because I chose stick by those beliefs.
The silence of my refusal to vote says more to me than me making some half-assed vote for someone that I am constantly told represents me. My refusal to vote is saying, if I don't matter to you than your election, that clearly has nothing to do with me in the first place, doesn't matter to me either.
If these people were really my representatives, and really represented all of us, I wouldn't have to resort to refusing my vote, which may be the biggest tragedy of the whole process, in my opinion.
I am not asking everyone else to not vote, I am simply explaining why I choose not to.
.......... and I boldly retain the right to bitch about that for as long I want too........
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, March 10, 2016
Hello Dear Readers.....
Hello there dear readers,
I wanted to share with you guys a post I am very excited about that was published by an OCD group that I really believe in. There is a great bunch of information about OCD and is geared towards being informational as well as inspiring. I am honored to have been allowed to write a post for them.
You can my new post here: http://theocdstories.com/pure-o/i-am-not-an-ocd-unicorn
Their website is: http://theocdstories.com
You can find both @TheOCDStories and me, @NeuroticNelly1 on twitter.
I am honored to still be blogging after 3 years. It has really opened my eyes and my heart and has allowed me to live with less fear in my life. Less fear of judgment, less fear of stigma. I have run into a few negative comments but mostly I have received some amazing support and have talked to some amazing people. I am truly thankful for all of the encouragement I have gotten while blogging. It really means a lot.
I always get a little scared when I put myself out there and offer a written piece to other websites. I am afraid of rejection but also I sometimes second guess myself and my worthiness as a writer. I have committed to myself this year, to go out there and keep on doing so. I truly believe that sometimes you will fail but you can never succeed if you never try. It is, for me, all about trying to live out of my comfort zone and continuing to believe in myself. I have not always been very good at believing in myself. I am pushing to continue to change that. I know that I must practice what I preach.
I know that living with mental illness is never easy but if my blog does anything, it is my deepest wish that it inspires hope. I want people who suffer to know, that they are worthy capable human beings. That their feelings and desires matter. That they can be whatever they choose to be and that they are worth all of the trails and struggles and work. They are worth hanging in there. You are worth hanging in there.
People that suffer from mental illness have the same desires as people that do not. We all want to be loved, to be accepted, to be seen and heard. And there is no reason that we can't have those things. There is no reason for us to live our lives in under neath the weight of shame and wrapped in a straight jacket of stigma.
There is no reason mental illness should be looked at by the rest of the world any differently than any physical illness is. We did not choose to be this way but we do have to live with our mental illness. There is no reason we should have to live in fear of judgment on top of that as well.
I want all of us to know what amazing, unique, magnificent individuals we are. I want us never to doubt how important we all are not just to our loved ones but also the world.
We are all important. We all matter.
So, I thank each and every one of you that read this. My blog would not mean anything if no one read it. It would be like speaking into the wind. I really do appreciate the time and the comments and the encouragement. I hope that my posts also offer you all the same kind of inspiration and encouragement that you all have offered me.
Please if you have time, take a moment to read my guest post and to take a gander at the http://theocdstories.com website.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Until next Thursday,
Neurotic Nelly
I wanted to share with you guys a post I am very excited about that was published by an OCD group that I really believe in. There is a great bunch of information about OCD and is geared towards being informational as well as inspiring. I am honored to have been allowed to write a post for them.
You can my new post here: http://theocdstories.com/pure-o/i-am-not-an-ocd-unicorn
Their website is: http://theocdstories.com
You can find both @TheOCDStories and me, @NeuroticNelly1 on twitter.
I am honored to still be blogging after 3 years. It has really opened my eyes and my heart and has allowed me to live with less fear in my life. Less fear of judgment, less fear of stigma. I have run into a few negative comments but mostly I have received some amazing support and have talked to some amazing people. I am truly thankful for all of the encouragement I have gotten while blogging. It really means a lot.
I always get a little scared when I put myself out there and offer a written piece to other websites. I am afraid of rejection but also I sometimes second guess myself and my worthiness as a writer. I have committed to myself this year, to go out there and keep on doing so. I truly believe that sometimes you will fail but you can never succeed if you never try. It is, for me, all about trying to live out of my comfort zone and continuing to believe in myself. I have not always been very good at believing in myself. I am pushing to continue to change that. I know that I must practice what I preach.
I know that living with mental illness is never easy but if my blog does anything, it is my deepest wish that it inspires hope. I want people who suffer to know, that they are worthy capable human beings. That their feelings and desires matter. That they can be whatever they choose to be and that they are worth all of the trails and struggles and work. They are worth hanging in there. You are worth hanging in there.
People that suffer from mental illness have the same desires as people that do not. We all want to be loved, to be accepted, to be seen and heard. And there is no reason that we can't have those things. There is no reason for us to live our lives in under neath the weight of shame and wrapped in a straight jacket of stigma.
There is no reason mental illness should be looked at by the rest of the world any differently than any physical illness is. We did not choose to be this way but we do have to live with our mental illness. There is no reason we should have to live in fear of judgment on top of that as well.
I want all of us to know what amazing, unique, magnificent individuals we are. I want us never to doubt how important we all are not just to our loved ones but also the world.
We are all important. We all matter.
So, I thank each and every one of you that read this. My blog would not mean anything if no one read it. It would be like speaking into the wind. I really do appreciate the time and the comments and the encouragement. I hope that my posts also offer you all the same kind of inspiration and encouragement that you all have offered me.
Please if you have time, take a moment to read my guest post and to take a gander at the http://theocdstories.com website.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Until next Thursday,
Neurotic Nelly
Thursday, February 25, 2016
No Wonder...
You can always tell how my week is going by the amount of curse words I say in my post. I apologize now, it has been a potty mouth kind of week......
I am trying really hard not to obsess.
I am trying my best and not succeeding.
I wish this was easier.
I often wonder how people go through life and receive worrying news, or news of any kind, and just put it out of their minds. I mean, how on earth does that work? How nice would it be to have such a magnificent ability? To just not think, and worry, and over analyze every damn thing would be mind boggling. These people have no idea how lucky they are to have such a gift.
As I write this, I am forcing myself to redo my living room to make it the way that I want it. Not because I have nothing better to do, but because two of my beloved family members are going through something stressful, hopefully it is nothing big. This in turn is freaking me out which then kicks in my OCD medical fears. Because my OCD works by taking my stress about other things and other people and then turns it into medical fears about myself, I am trying to shut it down before things get out of hand. I really don't fancy spending another night crying myself to sleep over some imagined ailment my mind makes up for me. My OCD tries to save me from my worry of my loved ones by giving me more unneeded worry about myself. It distracts me but with a negative distraction. It thinks it is helping....when it is, in fact, making things worse.
Example: If someone I love gets pneumonia, I get worried about them. My OCD brain shuts off that worry about them because I can not deal with the stress of it or the fear of losing them. In turn, it turns my thoughts into an obsession that I may have a blood clot in my leg.
Because I can not deal with stress well, my OCD seeks to distract me with some ridiculous bullshit obsession that I know is completely false but yet am still unable to completely ignore. Then all of that bad, negative, terrifying worry that I have for my loved one just becomes a bad, negative, terrifying worry about myself. It sounds selfish but really my mind can not process the stress in a helpful way nor can it simply turn it off. It is simply distracting itself to save me from the anxiety of what my loved one is going through. It is just doing so in a way that creates an equal or larger amount of stress about something completely unrelated. Which I really don't need on top of every fucking thing else. Because I am still worried about that person just not to the point of breaking down because I am already breaking down by the worries my OCD mind has conveniently created for me about myself. Like an extremely fucked up self preservation tactic that is broken. If this was my only defense while traipsing through the wild, I would be eaten.
It is a no wonder why I have an ulcer.
The only way for me to deal with this is to distract myself from such bullshit by forcing myself into obsessing about things I either want to do or like to think about. Like redoing my living room, or planting a new garden, or planning a family trip. Something positive to fill the negative void of terror my OCD is creating. It is exhausting to constantly try and stuff this black hole of worry and doubt with happy or less scary thoughts but this is how I cope with my amazingly screwed up coping mechanism. Thanks OCD, you are such a little gem. (sarcasm)
I am really trying not to obsess. I know that it doesn't help to worry about stuff. I know that distraction is something I need to do right now to keep myself healthy and above the fray of the OCD nonsense. I know what works best for me when things get like this. I know....but it is still hard.
So, I think tonight I am just going to go wash my face, put on my face moisturizer that I secretly think makes my face even more dry and has the wrinkle reducing properties of rubbing dry paper on my face (despite it's lofty claims) , and look at my laptop until my eyelids get heavy and I fall asleep....
I realize that at thirty six years old my life is about as exciting as a bottle of ketchup to some people, but when you have a mind that makes up shit to worry about over top of actual shit that needs to be worried about.....I don't really need any extra excitement. I got that part covered already. What I really need is an hour or two of Pintrest and a good night's sleep....and maybe some new face cream.
But hey, tomorrow has got to better than today and depending on how stressful my week is going to be, my living room is going to look fantastic....
Neurotic Nelly
I am trying really hard not to obsess.
I am trying my best and not succeeding.
I wish this was easier.
I often wonder how people go through life and receive worrying news, or news of any kind, and just put it out of their minds. I mean, how on earth does that work? How nice would it be to have such a magnificent ability? To just not think, and worry, and over analyze every damn thing would be mind boggling. These people have no idea how lucky they are to have such a gift.
As I write this, I am forcing myself to redo my living room to make it the way that I want it. Not because I have nothing better to do, but because two of my beloved family members are going through something stressful, hopefully it is nothing big. This in turn is freaking me out which then kicks in my OCD medical fears. Because my OCD works by taking my stress about other things and other people and then turns it into medical fears about myself, I am trying to shut it down before things get out of hand. I really don't fancy spending another night crying myself to sleep over some imagined ailment my mind makes up for me. My OCD tries to save me from my worry of my loved ones by giving me more unneeded worry about myself. It distracts me but with a negative distraction. It thinks it is helping....when it is, in fact, making things worse.
Example: If someone I love gets pneumonia, I get worried about them. My OCD brain shuts off that worry about them because I can not deal with the stress of it or the fear of losing them. In turn, it turns my thoughts into an obsession that I may have a blood clot in my leg.
Because I can not deal with stress well, my OCD seeks to distract me with some ridiculous bullshit obsession that I know is completely false but yet am still unable to completely ignore. Then all of that bad, negative, terrifying worry that I have for my loved one just becomes a bad, negative, terrifying worry about myself. It sounds selfish but really my mind can not process the stress in a helpful way nor can it simply turn it off. It is simply distracting itself to save me from the anxiety of what my loved one is going through. It is just doing so in a way that creates an equal or larger amount of stress about something completely unrelated. Which I really don't need on top of every fucking thing else. Because I am still worried about that person just not to the point of breaking down because I am already breaking down by the worries my OCD mind has conveniently created for me about myself. Like an extremely fucked up self preservation tactic that is broken. If this was my only defense while traipsing through the wild, I would be eaten.
It is a no wonder why I have an ulcer.
The only way for me to deal with this is to distract myself from such bullshit by forcing myself into obsessing about things I either want to do or like to think about. Like redoing my living room, or planting a new garden, or planning a family trip. Something positive to fill the negative void of terror my OCD is creating. It is exhausting to constantly try and stuff this black hole of worry and doubt with happy or less scary thoughts but this is how I cope with my amazingly screwed up coping mechanism. Thanks OCD, you are such a little gem. (sarcasm)
I am really trying not to obsess. I know that it doesn't help to worry about stuff. I know that distraction is something I need to do right now to keep myself healthy and above the fray of the OCD nonsense. I know what works best for me when things get like this. I know....but it is still hard.
So, I think tonight I am just going to go wash my face, put on my face moisturizer that I secretly think makes my face even more dry and has the wrinkle reducing properties of rubbing dry paper on my face (despite it's lofty claims) , and look at my laptop until my eyelids get heavy and I fall asleep....
I realize that at thirty six years old my life is about as exciting as a bottle of ketchup to some people, but when you have a mind that makes up shit to worry about over top of actual shit that needs to be worried about.....I don't really need any extra excitement. I got that part covered already. What I really need is an hour or two of Pintrest and a good night's sleep....and maybe some new face cream.
But hey, tomorrow has got to better than today and depending on how stressful my week is going to be, my living room is going to look fantastic....
Neurotic Nelly
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
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
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
Thursday, February 4, 2016
To See or Not To See...That is Not the Question...
I can not wait until bedtime tonight. I usually struggle with insomnia but I have only had three hours of sleep in the last twenty four hours so, I highly doubt this is going to be an issue for me. I am not tired...I am beyond exhausted. I needed a pillow and a blanket and a flat surface about three hours ago but I have responsibilities. Now that I did not have time to receive and utilize a pillow, blanket, and a chance for flat surface laying.... I am cranky.
Let's talk about Punxsutawney Phil for a second. I don't know if the U.S. has anymore of a more bizarre tradition than bringing out a terrified ground hog and holding him high in the air for people to cheer at him and then quietly watch, what I consider to be nothing more than a rather large ground squirrel, to see if he looks at his own shadow. Shadows depend on light source, not ground rodents. I may not of graduated high school but I did pay attention in Science class.
For those of you not familiar, a ground hog in a small town in Pennsylvania (Punxsutawney Phil or Phil for short) is supposed to predict our length of winter weather by whether or not he sees his own shadow. Yes, I am being serious. Yes his "predictions" are then broadcast on the news. If he sees his shadow and returns to his hole, it means six more weeks of winter and if he does not then it means an "early spring". It is called Ground Hog Day. This has been a thing since 1887. There is a rather funny Bill Murray movie about it, for further reference.
Now, not to be a negative Nelly but I am highly suspicious of any rodent claiming to predict the weather. First off, good ol' Phil was wrong last year. He predicted an early spring and we instead ended up with one of the worst winters I have ever experienced. We are talking negative 29 degrees Fahrenheit at some points. Um, Phil your predictions suck.
Secondly, I realize that even our own weather people are not accurate. We have all been repeatedly let down by them. In fact, a few weeks ago we were supposed to get a huge winter storm that was going to put us under several inches of snow. Most of us got a dusting. For some of us, not a single flurry was seen.
And it begs to question if a human person with state of the art radar equipment and a weather balloon can not accurately predict winter weather, how the hell can an overweight rodent that lives in the dirt do any better?
And how, pray tell, do we really know what Phil sees anyway? It is not as if he wears top hat and monocle and strokes his handlebar mustache while speaking with a faint French accent, "I have seen my shadow, Monsieur. You shall have much winter this year". He doesn't speak....He is a groundhog. He eats, sleeps, rummages, and poops. He does not hold titillating conversations with humans. Although, he does occasionally bite them.
Believing a rat makes weather predictions makes as much sense as me holding my twenty two pound cat out of the first story window and claiming that if he meows at me, I will win the powerball lottery. It is absolutely ludicrous.
Who the hell knows what he sees. Maybe he sees psychedelic monkeys form the Wizard of Oz swooping down to grab Dorothy and her little dog too. Maybe he sees Julie Andrews dancing on the grassy mountainside singing "The Hills Are Alive With Music". Maybe he sees a giant delicious chocolate cake floating in the sky. I don't know if he sees his own shadow but I do know that what he does see every year on February 2nd is a bunch overly excited people acting oddly and praising an overgrown prairie dog hoping in vain that the dredge we all call Winter will soon cease it's icy precipitation. What Phil sees once a year is whackos. Crazy, nutty, whackos desperate for a little bit of sunlight and a smidge of warmth in the desolace we call February. He sees people that are clinging to a slim thread of the possibility that we may soon walk on the grass without getting snow in our shoes. That's what he sees.... Desperation. It must be terrifying for him. Poor little guy.
That is a lot of pressure to put on a unsuspecting groundhog that has no idea why he is being carted around and cheered at once a year when all he wanted to do was eat some nuts and sleep in like all the other regular groundhogs get to do on this day.
So, in short Groundhog day is a tradition, albeit a weird and totally inaccurate tradition but a tradition none the less. However, that does not mean that I have to believe that my weather has anything to do with a hairy rodent seeing or not seeing something or rather what we imagine him to have seen out of our own desperation. Because it is silly and frankly, I am too tired to be silly right now.
If a college educated weather man can't accurately predict the weather with all of the gadgets at his disposal, I highly doubt an earth dwelling ground squirrel is going to do much better.....but stranger things have happened. So, we will see.
Neurotic Nelly
Let's talk about Punxsutawney Phil for a second. I don't know if the U.S. has anymore of a more bizarre tradition than bringing out a terrified ground hog and holding him high in the air for people to cheer at him and then quietly watch, what I consider to be nothing more than a rather large ground squirrel, to see if he looks at his own shadow. Shadows depend on light source, not ground rodents. I may not of graduated high school but I did pay attention in Science class.
For those of you not familiar, a ground hog in a small town in Pennsylvania (Punxsutawney Phil or Phil for short) is supposed to predict our length of winter weather by whether or not he sees his own shadow. Yes, I am being serious. Yes his "predictions" are then broadcast on the news. If he sees his shadow and returns to his hole, it means six more weeks of winter and if he does not then it means an "early spring". It is called Ground Hog Day. This has been a thing since 1887. There is a rather funny Bill Murray movie about it, for further reference.
Now, not to be a negative Nelly but I am highly suspicious of any rodent claiming to predict the weather. First off, good ol' Phil was wrong last year. He predicted an early spring and we instead ended up with one of the worst winters I have ever experienced. We are talking negative 29 degrees Fahrenheit at some points. Um, Phil your predictions suck.
Secondly, I realize that even our own weather people are not accurate. We have all been repeatedly let down by them. In fact, a few weeks ago we were supposed to get a huge winter storm that was going to put us under several inches of snow. Most of us got a dusting. For some of us, not a single flurry was seen.
And it begs to question if a human person with state of the art radar equipment and a weather balloon can not accurately predict winter weather, how the hell can an overweight rodent that lives in the dirt do any better?
And how, pray tell, do we really know what Phil sees anyway? It is not as if he wears top hat and monocle and strokes his handlebar mustache while speaking with a faint French accent, "I have seen my shadow, Monsieur. You shall have much winter this year". He doesn't speak....He is a groundhog. He eats, sleeps, rummages, and poops. He does not hold titillating conversations with humans. Although, he does occasionally bite them.
Believing a rat makes weather predictions makes as much sense as me holding my twenty two pound cat out of the first story window and claiming that if he meows at me, I will win the powerball lottery. It is absolutely ludicrous.
Who the hell knows what he sees. Maybe he sees psychedelic monkeys form the Wizard of Oz swooping down to grab Dorothy and her little dog too. Maybe he sees Julie Andrews dancing on the grassy mountainside singing "The Hills Are Alive With Music". Maybe he sees a giant delicious chocolate cake floating in the sky. I don't know if he sees his own shadow but I do know that what he does see every year on February 2nd is a bunch overly excited people acting oddly and praising an overgrown prairie dog hoping in vain that the dredge we all call Winter will soon cease it's icy precipitation. What Phil sees once a year is whackos. Crazy, nutty, whackos desperate for a little bit of sunlight and a smidge of warmth in the desolace we call February. He sees people that are clinging to a slim thread of the possibility that we may soon walk on the grass without getting snow in our shoes. That's what he sees.... Desperation. It must be terrifying for him. Poor little guy.
That is a lot of pressure to put on a unsuspecting groundhog that has no idea why he is being carted around and cheered at once a year when all he wanted to do was eat some nuts and sleep in like all the other regular groundhogs get to do on this day.
So, in short Groundhog day is a tradition, albeit a weird and totally inaccurate tradition but a tradition none the less. However, that does not mean that I have to believe that my weather has anything to do with a hairy rodent seeing or not seeing something or rather what we imagine him to have seen out of our own desperation. Because it is silly and frankly, I am too tired to be silly right now.
If a college educated weather man can't accurately predict the weather with all of the gadgets at his disposal, I highly doubt an earth dwelling ground squirrel is going to do much better.....but stranger things have happened. So, we will see.
Neurotic Nelly
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