Sooooo Overrated......

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Neurotic Nelly

You Ever Get That Feeling....

You ever get that feeling that the people you thought would most understand you on a very basic level, completely misunderstand everything about you and everything that you do? 

Yea, it's been one of "those" kind of weeks. I am still trying to recover from it all and I feel really down in the dumps and frustrated. I was hoping to have excellent news to share today. I was hoping to have an upbeat post that was inspiring and left you with the feeling of content. Unfortunately, that's not going to happen. So if that was the kind of post you were hoping to read today, you might want to stop reading this right now.

Or now....

Definitely by now...

Okay, you have been warned.....

It started when I talked to a dear friend the other day. I was explaining some issues with my kids and I don't know what I was actually expecting....support maybe? A friend's compassion? I don't know. What I got felt more like judgment and maybe a tad bit of stigma....not the greatest of conversations, I assure you. I am not sure that was her intention, she is a very busy person and has a lot going on. I caught her at a busy moment so that may have had something to do with it. I can't really spread conjecture on her state of mind or on how she thought the conversation went, but for me it felt like a heart break. I felt misunderstood and possibly blamed. I have no idea how I am supposed to get over the lump in my throat every time I think about it. I am sure we will get over this issue but at the same time, now I am afraid to share things about myself and family I would have never thought would be an off topic.  I am afraid I will be wounded again.


Then it was the doctor's office today. I don't even know where to start. I thought my doctor would be happy that I have lost twenty pounds in two months. That I have been keeping my blood sugar down to excellent levels. I am pretty sure I am actually borderline and not full blown diabetic and she had originally put me on two metaformin a day. Something that made me violently ill. She then put me on one a day, and since I have lost the weight it has been really hard for me to make sure my sugar doesn't go too low. No missing meals for me. At it's lowest it was 79. Not super low but anything 70 and under can be extremely dangerous.

She was mad at me. Because I ate. I had to, as I explained, because when I miss a meal my blood sugar dips way down. She didn't care. She said next time just make the appointment in the morning.....Now, I am no rocket scientist, but I eat at 6.a.m. when the doctor's office is still closed and that means to have an appointment where I haven't eaten would have to be noon. Which would be fine, except you sit in her office for a while and by the time she got in to see me, it would be really low. How is that safe?

I was hoping I had lost enough weight to get off the metaformin. I suppose not....not that she said anything about it. I felt completely invisible. How does one feel invisible while participating in a doctor's appointment about oneself? I dunno, but apparently it is possible.

Then the actual reason besides the check up, that I went to see her was totally ignored. She snapped at me again when I asked her what my blood sugar level was and then recanted when my numbers where excellent...Yea, no kidding. 

To top it off she then said she couldn't give me a flu shot because they were out, but she couldn't look me in the eye when she said this and I was pretty sure she was lying and just didn't want to have to write it up and give it to me. She told me to go to my pharmacy. Well, that would work except none of the places giving out the flu shot take my insurance. So I would have to pay out of pocket, when in my doctor's office it is totally covered by my insurance. I mean, what the hell lady? Yea, to say I was angry would be putting it mildly. And then after all of her being rude and snarky about me eating, and how my tests would be faulty now that I ate, she made me get the blood tests anyway. Now I ask you, how does any of this make any sense?

Short answer...it doesn't. I knew we had crossed a line of no return when she made me take the meds but never said I was actually diabetic. Nor did she tell me to get a machine and check it. I mean who does that? You are diabetic but don't bother checking your blood sugar...I found out my levels were one point over normal when she "diagnosed" me.  Now it has been nothing but one big hassle and she doesn't even take the time to explain anything to me.

I need a new doctor. I have decided I can't trust her in any fashion. And it bothers me that now I have spend all day tomorrow trying to find a new one. The anxiety is overwhelming. I am frustrated. I feel like vomiting when I even think about doing it.

And that is how anxiety works. I don't know what others expect from me, but when I feel like I am being judged or blamed, I get anxiety. I suffer from an anxiety disorder...go figure.

I feel like those that should understand me don't and trying to explain it to them in a way that totally makes sense to them sometimes feels like I am banging my head up against the wall. I am not alright. I am not always as capable as I appear and yes, spending the whole day trying to find a doctor that will actually listen to my concerns and answer my questions seems like a daunting task. It seems to me like climbing Mt. Everest. So there. I never claimed to be perfect or even healthy. I am not. I have a mental illness and sometimes it rears it's ugly head and I am left to deal with all of the fallout alone. I am sorry if it inconveniences anyone or takes up their lunch hour. I am just trying to get through my issues and live my life....sue me.

And that is where the frustration comes in....I have known both of these people for years, many years and I am dumbfounded as to how in the hell neither of them understand me at all. Dumbfounded. I wish it was only them, but alas  there are tons of people that just don't get what is wrong with me. Even those that understand somewhat, have moments of obscured believability and it just makes me sad. And tired. Mostly tired....I am just tired.

Sick and tired of trying to explain, make excuses, prove that I have what I say I have and how it affects me, and that it isn't because I am lazy or distracted, or looking for attention. My God, if it were only so simple as that. 

I guess I am just wounded. I feel judged and ignored, placated and disillusioned. I guess my heart is broken. My nerve endings are burnt. My feelings are raw. I just over all want to go sit somewhere quiet and cry. Sigh, see I told you this post wasn't hopeful or fun...

I know it will all work out for the best. I know that getting a new doctor is a must for any sense of freaking sanity. I know that this too shall pass, but until then everything kinda sucks right now.

Oh well, I will post again on Thursday and maybe things will be a lot better. Thanks for always being there for me. I really am glad there are people like me that understand what this hell is like. I am so glad to not truly be alone.

Neurotic Nelly 

Lurking...

It's there. Beneath the skin. Pulsing and pounding. Stretching and vying for a better hold. The anxiety. This damned feeling of ever present dread. And I don't know why. It hovers in the background like that forgotten something that I just can't quite put my finger on. OCD is like that sometimes. Not a conscious feeling but more of a subconscious guilt. A haunting of my soul. A mist of my mind. A deep fog that settles over everything I touch and see, making it impossible to breathe. I can't see it or smell it. I can't taste it or touch it with my hands but make no mistake, it is there. Lurking. Waiting. Stalking me.

It bothers me. The repetitive thoughts and notions. The overwhelming guilt associated with it. The unwanted images. The disturbing thoughts. The loudness in my head. The coppery taste of fear. The rapid heart beat. The sinking feeling of guilt that churns in the pit of my stomach. Always the feeling that somehow I have done something wrong........or worse, that somehow I am responsible for something bad happening.

If I had a quarter for every time someone has told me I am repeating myself, I would give Bill Gates a run for his money. I hate that. The notion that the fact that I can not simply just let things go, annoys people. I am not trying to annoy. I just can't help it. I can't let the subject go until I feel that I have been heard. Sometimes, not even then. I feel like the OCD feelings have filled me up to the point of spilling over and so I end up purging. I end up talking about the same things over and over again. Each time hoping that this time, finally, the bad feelings will ebb away. That I have released the OCD demon and can breathe again.

I wonder if other people understand me. I wonder if they understand the need to talk about the same things are a way to get them out. Set the creatures loose. That those conversations are the verbal equivalent of sticking my fingers down my throat to expel the guilt, shame, frustration, and pain. that they are me purging. I don't repeat myself because I forgot the things I said. I do it to be able to forget and move on to something else.

It is frustrating to talk and talk and talk and feel like I am being tuned out. I know that I have said these things a million times but until I feel the relief then I have to say them again. I need to feel like what I say has been heard. I know that's hard to do. To listen to someone go on and on and on about the same crap. I have OCD, I am not delusional. I know that I repeat myself. Sometimes, it is because I feel I wasn't really listened to. Sometimes, it is because the person I am talking to is bobbing there head up and down like they are paying attention but their eyes hold the thousand yard stare. Sometimes, it is simply because the feeling of the purge hasn't happened yet. I still feel too full of the negative, debilitating, taint and can't shake loose of the feeling of anxiety.

Only then can I enjoy a few moments of relief. Until something else pops up. Then I am sure I will have to talk about that as well...repeatedly.

Being repetitive is a part of having OCD. It is it's calling card, if you will. If we do something, you can bet we are going to do it again....and again...and again. It's all part of the illness and as frustrating as it is for you to have to hear it, it is even more frustrating for us to have to do it. Frustrating and painful. Devastating and often times lonely. Like ripping the scabs off of old wounds only to re bandage them again. So if someone with OCD wants or needs to readdress a subject you have already discussed, please take a moment and think about how hard it is for them to have to go over it again for the sixteenth time with the anxiety building each time. We don't enjoy it. We don't want to do it. We just want relief and if at all possible, a tad bit of understanding.

Until next time,
Neurotic Nelly

Lost in the Fog......

I am usually an upbeat optimistic individual. I have to be to deal with the onslaught of mental issues that have kept me down for years. I always try to look for the silver lining. It is just who I am.....

That being said, I sometimes get "down in the dumps." I seem to get lost in the fog. I never know when it will hit me or what will cause it, but every three or four months or so, I get what my friends and I call, "the funk". It started on Christmas day. Not really bad but it morphed as the days came and went until everything seemed to run together in a big blur. I realized today, that I hadn't talked to my best friend in two days (and we talk everyday) nor did I leave a hint as to why. Nor did I answer her texts or messages. She became worried about me. She called and left messages to check on me but instead of picking up the phone I just stared at it. I simply sat there and stared. I had left normal Nelly land and had stepped into the land of "the funk". It was official, I had lost the comfort of denial.

I finally called her back, not because I felt like talking but because I felt guilty for letting her worry. I told her about the funk and as I described how I was feeling I realized I had been lying to myself for awhile now and it has to stop. I used excuses. I used white lies that sounded like truths if I squinted my eyes really hard when I looked at them from a distance. If I held them at arms length and upside down. I don't have "funks". What I have is small bouts of depression.

I hadn't really realized it before now. I kept saying to her it's not really depression. I don't feel suicidal. I don't feel sad. I don't feel "depressed". I give her a great deal of credit because she was seeing some red flags that I had decided to overlook and she was quick to point them out to me....and she was absolutely right.

Our conversation went a little like this:

ME: Sorry, I haven't felt like talking. I am in a funk again. I just realized I have worn nothing but this dirty nightgown since Christmas and I haven't even changed. I am not depressed though.

HER: Well, have you at least bathed?

ME: (uncomfortable pause and foot tapping) No......

HER: Really. When was the last time you brushed your teeth?

ME: (more foot tapping and looking at the ceiling) Ummmmm.....I don't remember. The days all seem kinda like one big blur.

HER: And you haven't been talking to anyone....Did you at least write your blog today?

And it hit me.  Depression isn't always the feeling of sadness. Sometimes it is just a numbness that sets in. I know this and yet I have been purposely wearing blinders when it came to my issues with it. Giving it a cutesy name and pretending it isn't as bad as it is.

I don't know why it hits me. It doesn't do it very often and usually it lasts for three to five days. I don't feel suicidal or sad just very tired and like I can not handle one more ounce of drama. One more issue someone is going through. One more complaint, or sorrow, or feelings of any sort. I feel like I am incapable of handling anything else and I shut down. Not totally, as I do housework and I cook. I take care of my kids and am able to talk to those I live with, but not outsiders of my home. Not even my neighbors. I forget small things like the fact I need to bathe or put on underarm deodorant. I forget to brush my teeth or hair. I can't write or talk about how I feel. I am drained and exhausted and so very very numb. I get lost in the television or a computer game. I avoid gossip or communication with others. It feels like my batteries have died and I am rebooting. Recharging.

Maybe it was because of all of the anxiety of Christmas Eve family get together at my house? I felt extreme cleaning anxiety and it took me a week to get ready for the whole shindig. Or maybe it's a hormonal thing as I am currently taking a new medication for my diabetes. I am not really sure but I realized that I have to look at what I go through in these times as what they are. Not a silly name that tends to down play what I am experiencing but the actual name that it is called. Depression. There I said it. I suffer from small random bouts of depression and I don't know why. That wasn't so hard was it?

So while talking to my friend on the phone, I brushed my teeth to prove I had realized I have been neglecting myself. Then after we hung up I took a bath and even decided to paint my toenails. A light mauve color in hopes to lighten my mood. In fact the bath helped immensely as did my talk with my friend and I am starting to come out of the fog. It has been five days and I am soon to be rid of the bout of depression completely....until next time.

I am sorry I didn't write yesterday as I usually do on Saturdays but I was in a fog. I was recharging. I was in a funk and I was honestly, simply depressed. I hope you all can understand and forgive me. It happens, unfortunately and I don't know why but I am going to start monitoring it and writing down what has been going on before I fall victim to these horrid bouts.That way, maybe I can find a common denominator and figure out what I can do to get rid of it or at least deal with it in a more productive fashion.

Anyway, I hope to be up and writing on Tuesday. Same Bat time same Bat place. I hope to read all of your comments and hopefully my post will be a tad more upbeat than this one. Until Tuesday my friends....Be Safe and Take Care of Yourselves.

Neurotic Nelly

It Does Define Me.......

I have OCD. It is a fact. A fact that I have learned to live with since the age of four. I am familiar with it's workings. I am not a doctor but I have thirty years of experience. I am aware of how it affects me and never, not once, have I ever been allowed to forget that it is there. Not because other people remind me but because my mind refuses to let me.

I am OCD. I am the face of it, the mind of it, the personality that suffers from it, the woman who cries about it, the blogger who writes about it, the mother that never feels like she is good enough of a mother because of it, the person who cant work from it, the house scrubber because of it, the loyal friend due to it, and the person who is up all night replaying the day's events and worrying over it. I am the odd man out because I am not normal and do not think like normal people do. I am OCD. It is me. There are some that say OCD doesn't define them.  I believe that whatever you need to believe to get you through is a good thing. If you believe that it does not define you, then I think that is terrific. I believe it is a personal choice and I totally support that. But for me, my OCD absolutely defines me and everything I do.

To say it doesn't define who I am would be a lie and I never lie. It does define the way I act. It is a constant battle every day. You can not have something in your life growing up everyday as a child and it not form the way you think or change the way you are. That would be impossible.

I love deeply because my OCD made me hate myself for so long.

I am loyal because I am betrayed by my mind.

I am sensitive because I know how bad it feels to hurt.

I laugh because there have been days when all I could do was cry.

I am respectful because I have been stigmatized and ostracized.

I am honest because my mind has lied to me over and over again.

I do not judge because my OCD has judged me and always finds me lacking and I will be damned before I do that to another person.

I am found because I have been lost.

I am strong because I have been weak.

 I am loud because I refuse to sit in silence and dwell in this house of pain any longer.

I have cried, struggled, pained, fought, and battled. I have warred against my faulty perceptions. I have fought against the guilt and shame that had ruled my life for so very long. It is an everyday battle and as such I am affected by it each and every day. It affects my relationships, my belief systems, the way I raise my children, the way I feel, the way I react to others, the way I speak to people, the way I physically react to life, the way I think, the way I process, even right down to the way I bathe, eat, and sleep. To say that it has not defined  me or shaped me in any would be preposterous.

Do not get me wrong, I have a personality but it is shaped by my OCD. It has to be because I have spent my life avoiding the things that trigger me or forcing myself to go through them to thwart my OCD. It is as much a part of me as my hair color or the shape of my thighs. It is more than a diagnoses or a clothing accessory. It is something I carry with me always. I have had to learn to accept that. I have had to learn to stop shaming myself or giving in to the guilty feelings because I am not like others, or think like others, or see things like others do. I have had to learn to forgive myself for all my many imagined ills and stop blaming myself for what my OCD tells or shows me. I have had to develop new mantras to replace the old childhood ones I used to use. I am not bad. I am not worthless. I am good enough. I can do this.

How can I seriously say that OCD doesn't define who I am when in essence it has shaped every part of who I am?

I no longer allow myself to pretend I am not affected but that doesn't mean I will wallow in shame or ambiguity. I am here and I am opening up the conversation. I am here and I refuse to sit idly by and let OCD just wreck my life anymore. It has shaped me and I am a stronger more fierce person because of it. I don't have to like it but I do have to accept the changes it has made in my life. Good or bad, right or wrong they are my changes and my choices. Because of my mental illness I have had to change so much I am no longer sure where I start and the parasite OCD ends. We are intertwined and that is my cross to bear. I have learned to be accepting of that. I refuse to be upset or scared or sad. I refuse to live my life ashamed and broken. I refuse to sit in the shadows and fade into darkness.   I am damaged but healing. I am scarred but beautiful. I am a good person. A kind person. A real person. This is me. OCD is me. Mental Illness is me and those that can not accept that are not worth my precious time or the OCD thoughts I would be wasting on them.

So I have OCD. I don't expect fanfare or balloons and party hats. I don't need a parade of acceptance. I am who I am simply because I am a fighter and I have OCD. I would not be the same person without it and I like who I am now. My name is Nelly and my OCD does define me. I refuse to feel bad about that, so deal with it. The days of me apologizing about it are over. I am not happy to suffer but I will be damned if I allow myself to be chastised for it. I didn't ask for this but I am rocking it. So take it or leave it just don't ask me to fell bad about it anymore. Those days are gone. This is simply me, strong, fierce, caring, beautiful, intelligent, unapologetic, and very OCD.

 I am not proud that I suffer from OCD but I refuse to be ashamed of it either.
Neurotic Nelly

Stop Telling Me to Stop Worrying!

I was going to write yesterday but unfortunately I have been struck down with what can only be described as the worst head cold in the world. A flaming gungamo if you will. So I figured I would wade through the litany of used snot rags, dirty coffee cups, and the laundry I have been too sick to wash and ignore the thick odor of coffee and Vick's vapor rub that has permeated my home and actually sit down and try to write something. Well, I assume it smells like vapor rub and coffee in here, I lost my sense of smell two days ago along with my ability to taste. I just reheated a cup so I can actually be more alert just for you guys. At least I hope this coffee I am drinking anyway......It looks like coffee.......

Today's topic is on the "don't worry" memes and signs. I really truly have very few things that bother me to the point of frustration. These are one of those things.

"Worry is a misuse of imagination...."

"Worry is a waste of time...."

"Worry is as useless as a handle on a snowball..."

and my person fav......."If you are doing your best you don't have time to worry about failure...."


Yea, right and I am the princess of Never Never Land who rides magical flying carpets to far away lands spouting rainbows from my eyebrows and bringing peace to the world with my tiny sing song voice and my snappy sense of style....


I have an anxiety disorder. It promotes.....anxiety. Hence the name. I don't get an option on weather I am going to worry or not. I am going to worry. It's a fact. Telling me to not worry with cutesy little signs or catchy memes with quotes from three hundred years ago certainly are not going to change that. If anything it just makes me feel worse. Now I know that you haven't the first clue on what having an anxiety disorder like SAD, OCD, or GAD is like.
 If it were as simple as to just stop, our lives would be so much easier. But that isn't how it works is it? Telling us not to worry is the same as as telling a diabetic to stop having blood sugar spikes or a heart patient to simply stop having high blood pressure. It's is not possible without outside treatment and even then there are no true guarantees that a spike or pressure change wont happen at some point.  Telling me not to worry is the same as telling me to put my head between my knees and assume the crash position because it does nothing to make me stop.

Sometimes I am sitting on the couch and I get the feeling of worry. A tiny niggling in the back of my head that rapidly spreads to the surface and I realize I don't even know what I am worried about. I have actually been worried about worrying over worry. Let that ruminate in your mind for a few seconds. Do you really think that cutesy signs or humorous quotes are really going to "get through to me"? As a person with OCD  I worry about the weather, health issues, the bills, germs, does the world have enough straws for everyone, the ozone layer, possible lurking hidden asteroids. I have a ton to worry about and now I have to worry about not worrying so much???? Great just great.

I know the memes and quotes are supposed to be inspiring but for me it makes me feel like I have failed somehow, because I can't stop worrying or just let things go. When I read things that insinuate that I am misusing my imagination or I must not be trying hard enough, it really upsets me. Listen people, I am trying. The fact I get out of my bed in the morning and actually step outside is proof I am trying. It is much easier to stay under the covers. Where it is comfy and warm. Where it is safe. I am trying everyday. I get up, I breathe, I write, I do what errands I need to. That is proof that I am trying! So..... I made my own meme about I feel about all of the "don't worry"," stay calm", and every other just be happy memes out there.

.Okay, I feel  the cold medicine kicking in and it's making things kinda fuzzy.  Back to bed, or the couch, or pretty much any comfy place to lie down before I fall down. Until tomorrow my friends.....
Neurotic Nelly

Bullied

When I was twelve we moved to a tiny town in Indiana. Maybe it was my red hair. Maybe it was my strange southern accent. Maybe it was because I was dirt poor. I have no real idea. None of these things made me unlovable. None of these things made me dirty or bad. All of these things made me odd and therefore acceptable for others at my new school to hurt me. And they did everyday. It started with stares and names. It slowly progressed to kick me signs and kicks. I was pushed into walls and laughed at. Tripped on the stairs. Threatened. Hair pulled. Called curse names and ostracized.  I sat alone at the lunch table. If I tried to sit at a table with students they would all get up and leave me there. My mother was horrified and tried to get the principal to do something. He never did. The school therapist would yell at me. Many teachers ignored it. I had one teacher proclaim in class that if everyone hated you it must be something about you that made them. Maybe they hated that I wore sweat clothes to school with patches sewed on them. Maybe they hated me because I lived in a trailer. Maybe they hated me because I wasn't from there. I had things stolen from me. And I tried so very hard to be liked.
I had one friend. She could only be my friend outside of school. To talk to me or even look at me in school would have made the abuse turn onto her and I was unwilling to let anyone else suffer like I did. I had two teachers that saved me. Small things they did that made me feel less unworthy. A female teacher started to sit with me during lunch. When kids would make fun of my mother's ten year old  fur coat that I had to wear because we had no money to buy me a decent coat, she would say she had one just like it. The gym teacher on the last day of school was getting hugs from all of the girls. He said that he was surprised to be hugged by so many beautiful girls. I told him I wasn't very beautiful but I would give him a hug anyway. He got very upset and told me never to say I was not beautiful. I had no idea what he meant. Obviously I was not beautiful or talented. I was what everyone had said I was. Why else would they punish me so? At night I would leave my bedroom window slightly ajar. I hoped that Peter Pan was real and he would whisk me away to some place where I was accepted and loved. Peter Pan, by the way does not exist.
I lived in that hell for two years. I stood up for myself just once. The boy bullying me got mad at me and punched me as hard as he could in the stomach. Day in and day out knowing that I was going to suffer. That I was going to cry. That pain would be my constant companion. It was hard. It was wrong. I made a promise to myself to never treat anyone like that. I moved and found a better school and better friends. My mother got a decent job and I never had to wear patched up sweat clothes again. We didn't have much but it was much more than I had before.
What did I learn from this lesson? I learned that people can be so very cruel. That people can hurt you very deeply. I learned that the saying, sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me , is a lie. Words can be devastating.  I learned that it was not me it was their closed minded mentality that I was not one of them. I learned to talk to the person sitting alone at the lunch table. I made many friends doing that. I learned that being poor is not a reason to be bullied.  I learned that I am talented and that my gym teacher was right. I am beautiful. I also learned that I never have seen any of those horrid people since I have moved. That whatever they grew up to be they are not important to me. That I was more beautiful than they were and I still am. Beauty is in the way you treat others and I will never treat anyone like that. I teach my children to never make fun. I teach them to not only stand up for themselves but to also stand up for others. I teach them to sit with the lonely kid at the lunch table.

Frozen

Growing up is hard. People growing up with mental illness makes it even more complicated. Self worth issues are always there lurking in the shadows. We are constantly convinced that we are somehow unworthy of love. While other children are playing with paper dolls and plastic army soldiers we are busy building walls with wooden play blocks. Walls to protect us from the projected thoughts of others. Walls that keep out the hurt. As we grow into adults the wooden blocks are replaced by stone ones. Wooden blocks can be broken and tumble down. Stone is much harder to break. Each time our walls have been breached, we inspect it and build it stronger. No one is allowed in. To allow them in is to folly. We will be judged. We will be hurt. We will suffer. We have gotten so good at crafting walls around ourselves that we have made the simple walls of our childhood into indestructible fortresses. There is not a catapult or cannon that can breach these walls.We have even placed ugly gargoyles at the posts just to ward you off. We could be construction workers and architects and do no better. These walls are unbreakable and fortified. They are solid. We live our lives in seclusion. There are people around us but we have barricaded ourselves away in our hearts. We tend not to share our deepest darkest feelings or thoughts. We are the dirty, bearded, disheveled hermits of our own soul.  We are afraid.
And yet, we so dearly want to be free. We so desperately want to feel. We want to be surrounded by others and truly fit in. We yearn to be accepted. To step out of the shadows. To breathe the fresh air and feel whole. To interact with others outside the walls we have constructed.  I feel that feeling the pain of letting others in has to be better than not feeling anything at all. I have torn down my own walls for fear of my own insanity. I felt like I was going stark raving mad by my own seclusion. I can't live like that anymore. I am tired of being shut away like I am guilty of something so horrible, so wretched that I should be locked away in the highest tower. Resigned to have paper airplanes and glass baubles as my only company. My only form of entertainment. Locked in my own hell. Frozen because stone is so cold to the touch. Passing my time watching my own frozen breath fall from my lips.Trapped in the winters of my mind. Alone.
I want to run bare footed through the wheat fields glistening in the sun. I want to feel the warmth and drink it down.Savor the taste of something other than the cold. Swallow the warm water and let it sooth my parched lips. I want to be anything other than numb.  I want to be angry. I want to be happy and silly. To  laugh so deep it hurts my stomach. I want to swim in the waters and dry off in the sand. I want to work my fingers to the bone. I want to be lazy and gluttonous on all that life can offer. I want to taste. I want to touch. I want to make friends. I want to live a real life, because life is not made of paper and glass.

Enough

I struggled with what to write about today. Sometimes the words just don't want to fall from my lips onto the keyboard like I would like them too. Sometimes I feel alone and fragile. Sometimes I am afraid what I have to say isn't worthy enough of other people's time. After all,  what could I possibly have to say that would change anything?  I am a firm believer that one person can change the world a little at a time. I am not sure that I can change the world but I can change myself. I can change the way I look at things. The way I treat others around me. As I sit in front of this computer drinking reheated coffee with too much creamer in it, I stare at the blinking line, mocking me. It flashes at me waiting for some prophetic words.

I am fragmented. There are parts of me that believe in what I do and who I am. Then there are small unorganized nibs floating around in my brain that linger with doubt. Who are you to make such comments? They ask in their accusatory tone. Just who do you think you are?              I am not always sure who I am. I mean truly, deeply who I am. I have changed over the years as I grew into a woman. I am not the same person I was when I was ten. I am not even the same as I was a year ago. I know that I am a kind person. That I care too much on occasion. That I am protective of those that I love. That I would give anything for a few minutes more with those that I have lost in this world. I know that I second guess myself. I feel guilty for hurting or offending others with my words real or imagined. It keeps me awake at night. I am overly sentimental. I feel too deeply and give too much. I know that I am often afraid. Afraid that I am not as strong as I see myself. Afraid that I have not been good enough or left any trace of where I have been in my life. That my legacy is just paper lanterns blowing in the breeze. Beautiful to look at but fragile to the touch. I know that I am a good person but is that enough? Is it enough to be good, too care so much for others that it hurts me in the process? That what others say marks me? That how other people feel about me cuts me so deep I could swear the scars are visible? Am I enough?
I have no idea. What I do know, or rather choose to believe, is that I am not all I want to be but I am just enough. Enough of a friend to be loyal, hold your hand and listen to your troubles. Enough of a daughter that I call my mother every day just to see how her day was. Enough of a mother to hold and kiss my children every chance I get and give them everything I have. Enough of a wife that I love my husband with every once of my being. That I will stand by his side, rooted to the ground, till the end of my life. Enough of a person that I will help you if you fall. That I will cry with you. That I will offer whatever I can. Because to not would go against everything that lives inside my soul. Enough of a writer that I keep typing away, even though I have no idea what the worth of my writing is. I am just enough of everything that I need to be.  Having an mental illness has not made me less of a person but it has changed me. Not for the better or for the worse. It has fragmented me.  It has made me just enough.
                                                                     Neurotic Nelly
                                                                                                I do not own this image.