Commitment issues

Commitment issues. I am the poster child for commitment issues. Not relationship wise but with other things. I love people with tattoos. I think they are very creative and beautiful. I especially love the tattoo sleeves. I could never do that. I could never commit to something that permanent.

  I was always called the goody two shoes growing up. It is not that I don't like fun. I am not a fan of risk. It is because of my OCD. It has kept me safe as a child a teenager. Whispering things to me to prevent me from doing dangerous things. No car surfing or touching light sockets for me. I have always been to sensitive to hurt others or do something that would upset others. I never stole or lied. I never went out past my curfew. I never snuck out of the house. That would upset my mother and I would never purposely do that. It was because I respect her but it was on a greater level my OCD. I was always made fun of because of my hesitation to do things other children or teenagers would do. My OCD has always had it's input in my actions. So much so, that I avoided things in my life that I might have had a great time doing. They were deemed dangerous to my brain and so I always said no. I don't regret it, but sometimes I wonder if I come off as a flake or boring.

I would love to have full sleeves of tattoos but I know that it is not my personality. I would love to wear my hair in a Betty Page style but I would never try. It would be something I would probably end up hating and might not look good on me.  Then I would be stuck looking stupid until it grew back. I can't commit to it.

I march to the beat of my own drum , but I have major respect for those that go further. They are amazing to me. They are something I have never been. They are not afraid of rejection or judgment. They just walk down the street like a colorful bauble admist the grey. They stand out and they are brave and beautiful. I always wanted to be the bad ass chick everyone respected. Instead I am the straight laced quiet girl that loves vintage clothes and shoes. I am a nerdy, funny, woman who never steps out of her bounds. Fear is a palpable motivator.

If my mind were a visible thing. I think it would be tattoos and designs. It would be colorful and wispy. It would be loud music and crazy fashions. It would be rock posters and country western boots. It would be Dr. Who scarves and crazy big hats. It would be shiny baubles and rusted keys. It would show all that I am and all that I would like to be.\

We all think about things we wish we could do or be. It is only natural to wonder what it is like being someone else. When I walk down the street and walk past someone, I always wonder what their life is like. Is their family good to them? What do they do for fun? What is dinner like at their dinner table? Do all the kids  run to the table and discuss their days with each other? What music do they listen to? What are their opinions and beliefs? I guess I am weird.

I am a thinker. I think way more than I should. I over analyze everything. I am always running through things in my mind. 

I think different is beautiful. [tweet this]. I think odd is magnificent. I don't want to be like everyone else. Unique is a magical thing. It is freeing. I love that people can be themselves and be unafraid of others reactions. I am not totally able to feel that way. I am working on it, though.

Illusions

Walking alone like a one man army. Ready to deal with whatever heads my way. Full of my own bravado that I have created to fool others. That I am not easily flustered. I am not easily frightened. I am not easily broken. It's a paper mâché  mask in the likeness of  steel armor. From a distance I look ready for battle. From a distance I seem like an imposing presence. From a distance I seem strong.
I am a great illusionist. You see only what I want you to see. I could give David Copperfield a run for his money if I owned a helicopter and had his beautiful assistants running around. I could make the helicopter disappear. After all, I can make myself disappear. You only see the real me if I let you. Otherwise you see the person I want you to see. It's not that I want to be someone I am not, it's that I am wary of my weaknesses being assessed and used against me. I am not paranoid. I am just very aware that not everyone has your best interest at heart. I keep people at a distance until I am sure of their motives. We all walk through life wearing one mask or another. Some people's masks are pretty. Some of them have fake smiles and cracked teeth. These masks are the scariest. They welcome you and offer false words of  acceptance.  These people are almost always hiding something.The people behind these masks are dangerous. Some masks are withered and battle scarred. These masks mirror my own. The people who wear these masks are usually very much like me. Aware that masks are important. Aware that friendship is glorious but careful to whom they offer it to.  Some masks are painted and decorated. These are the masks of artists of men. Some masks are winged. They belong to the advocates, doctors, nurses, volunteers, teachers, social workers, clergy that do not abuse others, people that live their lives giving unselfishly to others. There are many people and therefore many masks. It seems silly to wear paper masks as adults like we are stuck in an ever evolving Halloween party.  Yet we all do it at one time or another. To hide our sadness, our fears, our truths; whatever they may be. The trick is to figure out which mask it is you wear. What illusion you want to present to the world until you are ready to share who you really are. Wouldn't it be great if we all took off our masks and were just honest? If we just stopped being afraid to be who we are faults and all? If we could just admit that we are not always strong, not always happy, not always sure of what we are doing or where we are going?  Since I have been writing in this blog I have been chipping away at my mask bit by bit. I have been breaking it post after post. It has been so long since I have faced the world without it that I am no longer sure what lies beneath. I am sure, however, that I want to try.
                                     Neurotic Nelly

Failure

Failure is a huge fear for everyone. It plagues our thoughts. It fills our dreams. It prevents us from trying to reach our dreams. Most people's fears of failure is about a promotion, a career, or a relationship. For people with mental illness it can be much smaller things that we are afraid to fail at. For us it can be a simple as failing to be able to leave the house. To go to school. To even get a job because at some point our illness is going to appear at work and make it impossible to work. I used to love school. I was an excellent student. I liked most of my teachers and was respectful to all of them. I stunk at Math but I excelled at Reading and Language Arts. I love books. Their contents are precious. The old musty smell of hundreds of uses before me. I would often check the names of who this book belonged to before me and try to imagine what their lives were like and what they did now. I loved this class so much I wished it was the only one that we had. I was as odd child. I used to and still use big words that the other kids didn't understand. I loved book reports and assignments. Reading was a away to escape myself. In them I could be the hero. I could be tall and beautiful. I could be brave and strong. I could be all the things I was not.

 In high school the anxiety started. I had lots of friends so I wasn't sure why getting out of the car or to the bus stop would scare me. I couldn't breathe. The world would close in on me and the floor seemed to move. Many times I was frozen to the seat and the tears would rain down. I was unable to walk in to the building I so loved. In my freshman year I missed half of the classes most of the time. I was smart enough and my test scores were good enough that I was passed. The school was made aware of what was going on. I tried so hard to go. Often times I failed. After passing sophomore year came. It was the second day of school and I had to miss because I was sick. It wasn't anxiety this time. I was fine to go the next day and so I did. I was doing really well and proud of myself. Maybe I had beat this stupid anxiety. I had my English class second period and although I had only met the teacher once I just knew she was going to be great. This, after all, was my element. I couldn't wait. I had to go to her and give her my absence letter. She took one look at me and in a snarl said,"We aren't going to do this missing school all the time thing  again are we?"

That was it. I don't remember anything else that day. I was crushed. I was devastated. Her unkind words made it impossible to go back. I could not face her again. After I was doing so well she had judged me and found me lacking. Worse she humiliated me in front of my peers. My anxiety was back full force. I had to be home schooled after that. The school agreed to work with me at home. I was fine with that but I had missed out on all the friendships and experiences that I could have had. All because she didn't believe that my illness was real. I felt like a failure.

Working was something that I loved. I love to talk to others. I love being around people.  I excelled at doing what was asked of me.After a month the anxiety was back. I became unable to leave the house. I started to get physically ill. I was fired. Again, I  failed.

It is has gotten to the point that anxiety comes when I have to do something as a schedule. I had a lady last year come visit me. It was every Tuesday. After two months I was trying to hide from her so she would think I was not home. I couldn't even face her to tell her why I could not talk to her anymore. I finally broke down and called her. I thanked her for her time and her compassion. Failure.

That's what I wanted to tell her. That I was a failure and I have failed in everything that everyone else seems to be effortless at. That I am broken to the point that I can not function like I should. That I look like I am normal but inside I am a complete basket case.

It took me years to realize that I am not a failure. That I may have failed at things I have tried, but the difference between a failure and me is that I keep trying. I get back up and try something else. I always try. I can't be like everyone else, because I am not like everyone else, and that is ok. I don't have to be.

If you have anxiety please realize, it is not you. It is not your fault. You are not a failure. You just have a different path to take. And if you are reading this and you know someone that has anxiety do not make them feel bad for not being able to do certain things. We are aware of what we can not do. We know what we have failed at and we don't need you to remind us. We deserve better treatment than to be made fun of or chastised.  We don't need you to do that for us, we do that to ourselves enough already.. Chances are you are not perfect either and you should take time to reflect on that before you judge.

                                                       Neurotic Nelly