Sunday, March 19, 2017

What I have Learned...

I have learned to hate lilies. The smell of them will always take me back to a small half darkened room in tiny nowhere Texas where my grandmother lay, her face puffy in death. A small room we drove fifteen hours,one way, to sit in and look at the one person in this world that made me a better person.

I sat there in silence trying to understand how the world could go on when someone so wonderful had ceased to be with us any longer. How can people smile and go about their days? How does one prepare for this strange anomaly? That the world for some can be completely shattered and yet for the rest of the world it is as if it never happened....The world has no moments of silence, no sounds of wailing. The sun still rises, the birds still sing, the world still continues as it did the days before.

I remember being told we needed to eat dinner after the funeral. I thought of how preposterous  that sounded. We were going to eat and yet my grandmother was lying in some drawer somewhere like precious holiday china, unable to ever eat again. How horrific. How bizarre.

I let hot tears sting down my face as we drove across the Texas border to go back home. I felt I was leaving her behind. Her body not yet cremated. I felt like I was abandoning her. How do I explain such utter nonsense to myself? How am I not supposed to feel like I left her there in that place, alone?

 I am dead inside. I want to feel something but my mind has shutdown. I am currently on auto pilot.

 I yearn to self destruct.

 I would drink myself into a stupor but  I can not stand the taste of alcohol. I want to do what I used to and eat my feelings. One cookie at  a time. I want to drown my emptiness with food. Fill my stomach with acid and grease. But alas, as a diabetic, I can not do that. I want to smoke cigarettes until I can't breathe anymore.....but I quit a month ago and Grandma would be so disappointed if I picked one up again. Hell, she would be pissed if I did any of these things.

So, I am here writing these things out. Pretending that it helps to type away my misery, which I can assure you, is still completely there. Maybe, in time, this will be  helpful. Not today, but maybe tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the next.

I have no idea. I have no answers. I am uncertain of the truth right now.

I want to be inspiring and leave meaningful words and hopes for you all but I am afraid that right now any words I have are choked back with tears. Any meaning they may have had seems to have died away with the birth of my grief. Any feelings I have have been buried deep in the heart of Texas where I last said good bye to my Grandmother.

I miss her so much sometimes it feels like I can't breathe.

I hope someone tells me this shit gets better over time because it really doesn't feel like it's getting any easier.

Anyway, I hope you all are doing better than me right now and I hope you all are having a great weekend. Hopefully, my next post will be less morose and macabre. Till then, Neurotic Nelly.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Loss....Warning Trigger Material.

They are turning the machines off tomorrow, and I can not breathe. My heart aches. I wish I could be there to hold her hand. To kiss her cheek one last time. To whisper in her ear.

As it is, I called and they held the phone to her ear and I professed my love, my thankfulness of her being in my life, I told her over and over again how much she means to me. They said she nodded and teared up.

I did not cry to her because I did not want her to hear my fear. My overwhelming sense of loss. I did not want her to know how afraid I am to live the rest of my life without ever hearing her voice again. The way she sings happy birthday off key.  How the palms of her hands are always warm but the tips of her fingers cold as ice. How she dotes on my, now, devastated children.

 Little flashes of thought run through my her purse used to smell like old spearmint gum. How she used to hold her hands over my ears when I had bad ear infections as a child. The sound of her voice when she spoke to me whilst my head rested on her chest. How she would call me sir and my sons ma'am as a joke. How she would tease me on the paper route that my clean hands were filthy and her ink covered hands were clean.  How she cried when she held my first born child. What do I do with these memories now? These bitter sweet memories that taste of tears.

Almost thirty eight years of memories and she was in almost all of them. How am I supposed to go on? What do I do? The weight in my chest is so heavy I have forgotten how to breathe. Every room I walk into is silent. Food has no taste. Sleep is elusive. I feel hollowed out.

I called again when they removed the ventilator.... I told her again how much we all loved her, how she was the best grandma a person could ever ask for, how I loved her bunches and bunches, which was her saying. Then I sang jingle bells to her. It was her favorite song. She always asked me to sing it to her, even in the middle of Summer.  I hope she heard me. She was no longer  responsive.

They turned off her machines today...she no longer breathes. My heart aches so fucking much. I wish I could have been there to hold her hand. To kiss her cheek one last time. To whisper in her ear.

I don't know how I will get through this but I do know that life will never be the same. I am better for having known her. Blessed for having been loved by her. I am utterly devastated. I do not know really what to say. The words escape me.

Goodbye my Grandma, my rock, my best friend. I miss you so much already.  My heart is broken.

Neurotic Nelly

Thursday, February 2, 2017



If given the option to be willfully ignorant or willfully indigent, I choose to be willfully defiant.

   I am willful. I am one intrusive thought away from becoming the hillbilly hermit, the troll underneath the bridge, or the creepy castle recluse in some antiquated children's book..... Sometimes, it takes pure will power to just live. I have to fight or this disorder will take over and I will be damned if I am going down without swinging.

    Am I willful? You fucking bet I am. Willful, spiteful, ravenous.  with a stubbornness that burns stoic and impertinent. I am the loudly whispering insolence that only comes with a mindful defiance that burns itself with embers so hot it has etched itself in to the recesses of my soul. A spider like web of pure pigheadedness and sheer inflexible iron-will. I will myself out of bed in the morning. I will myself to brush my teeth. I will myself to leave the house and go to my appointments. I will myself to shower, shave, to brush my hair. I will myself to cook dinner and to eat. I will myself to walk outside and feel the sun on face. I will myself to help with homework, to do laundry, to talk to strangers. I will myself to sleep after an exhausting day of doing things I did not want to do.  

    I am not going to be told what I can and can not do. Not by my own disorder and not by anyone else. I am not afraid to stand up for myself anymore.

   I was being willful when I disagreed with was a friend  who claimed that I was privileged for being only mental ill.  I was being willful when I told her that I refuse to accept that something that has ruined my life should ever be called a privilege. I was being willful when I told her to go fuck herself when she continued to argue with me as if she had any idea what hell my life has been.

   I earned this dysfunction with hard work. Before this dysfunction was me being unable to function at all. My life may be screwy but it is now a life because of pure stubbornness.

  Yeah, I'm willful walking past those who choose to be ignorant with my gaze held forward and my head held high. I am not ashamed to be me anymore and the likes of supposed friends aren't going to change that. I accept no one in my life trying to tear me back down where I used to dwell. I will not go quietly into the night. I will scream, yell, claw, grab, and scratch my way back into the light. I am not a whisper but a sonic boom. I will not be unheard.

     I want to live. I want to taste the snowflakes on my tongue. I want to feel the breeze in my hair. I want to go out of my house and be out of my house which is both exhilarating and yet terrifying all at the same time and I am doing it one day at  a time... unapologetically, unabashed, unashamed, unafraid.

Because I am willful, therefore I am strong.

    This is my life and I will carve it out as best I can with whatever shitty tools I find along the road. I will claw at it with my bare hands if need be. I will tear out chunks with frozen fingers and broken skin. I will carve out my life regardless of pain, discomfort, or complication.   That could be the "crazy" in me, or my red hair talking, or just that I am very much my grandmother's granddaughter in that way.  I am busy carving my life out, with lopsided shovels, broken down spades, plastic forks, and tarnished silver spoons.

Yes, I am willful....and there is dirt under my fingernails again.

Neurotic Nelly

Friday, January 20, 2017

Wow Just Wow...

     I am not really a supporter of the media and Hollywood. I have issues with what I can only describe as hypocrisy.

   The way they present people with mental illness is defaming and misguided and has been such for decades. I have a hard time being supportive of a community who is certainly not  supportive of people like myself.

  Hollywood has claimed to have made it's cause to fight for minorities, the underprivileged, and the supposed ignored. They complain about how women are treated and paid in the arts. They even talk at award shows about how disabled people were referenced by outsiders with passion and frustration. But when it comes to depictions of the mentally ill coming out of their own camp, they are strangely silent. They have a lot to say and a lot fingers to point at others but where is the outrage when it comes to how they portray the us?

   In the last twenty years Hollywood has put out maybe four movies that have represented mental illness and stigma with dignity and compassion. The Hurt Locker, The Aviator, Silver Lining's Playbook, and A Beautiful Mind were some of the most representative movies of the plight of people that suffer from mental illness released to date. In that same twenty years, they have released countless movies where those of us that suffer from mental illness are presented in a  magnificently misinformed way, steeped in stigma, and left to boil over on the stove with a side of bullshit that only some place like Hollywood could fashion.

    Hollywood does not usually depict us at all but most of the time when they do it is as mentally ill maniacal murderers, creepy stalkers, or the cruel  dangerous monsters that maim and rape. I just have to ask where is the outrage for that? Where is the shame for participating in the stigma spreading of our disorders for profit?

    How can Hollywood be pissed about a man with being made fun of  for a birth defect and yet not be pissed about it's own people making movies that end up perpetuating a belief that ends up killing people by making them afraid to get help? A belief and representation that hurts so many by labeling them with false presentations?

   This....this is what they stand for? They will stand for everyone else and be mad for everyone else and yet remain silent when it is about mental illness that they actively contribute to. Really? Wow, just wow.

    I was horrified to see a movie trailer today called Split. It depicts  a person with multiple personalities abducting women and scaring them.

    First off, the actual diagnoses for that is called DID or Dissociative Identity Disorder. If you are going to make some big bullshit movie about it, at the very least get it's name right.

    The thing is, DID is not something that makes you a serial killer or mass abductor and honestly, I am beyond irritated about this movie.

    Lets be honest, There is no other disability  that Hollywood would allow to be used to imply dangerous behavior.

   This movie would never be called "Wheels" and imply that a man was a phsyco murderer because he was in a red wheelchair.

   It would never be called "Dresses" and infer that  the  character was dangerous because he was transgender.

That would be inappropriate and wrong.

It is the also just as inappropriate and wrong to make movies about the mental illness community and labeling them dangerous simply because of that diagnosis.

   There is nothing else that receives the unfair and biased damning that  Hollywood does to the mental illness community for entertainment purposes and profit.

   Movies are exciting. I get it, and I know that statistics aren't but that doesn't make them any less right. When the facts show that mental illness sufferers are twice as likely to be victims of violence rather than to cause violence, one would think Hollywood would get a new script and leave us out of the killer/slasher/murderer roles.

   And I am sure people will say that I am just being over sensitive to it but I live this life under the full weight of the stigma that movies like these help promote and propagate so yeah, I may be a tad bit fucking over sensitive about it.

I am angry and I don't even suffer from DID.

   I am angry that in 2017 we are still fighting to end stigma so we can save people that need help  but are too afraid to get it because of how they will be looked at, judged, and treated. I am angry that in 2017 movies are still being made making us all out to be dangerous maniacs when something as simple as a google search could prove how inaccurate that draconian thought is. I am angry that is 2017 and people will go see this moronic film call it horror and then go home to their normal lives and not think about the struggle someone with actual DID is going through. What everyone with the moniker of being mentally ill goes through daily.  As we try and do the best we can with stigma and misrepresentations all around us not only just blindly being accepted but also being actively promoted as entertainment. Especially, by the very people who claim to be tolerant and understanding of everyone's hardships, that is unless you are mental ill I guess. I suppose when you struggle with mental illness it is not important or, at the very least, not as important as movie ticket sales.

Wow, just wow.

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....

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Kindness Week...

I wanted to do something kind in honor of this being national kindness week but that is kind of hard to do when I haven't left my home since three days before Thanksgiving. I can't very well open doors for anyone or compliment people as I sit on my couch watching mind numbingly boring television. It's hard to be kind to others when you are shut in. I mean, I am kind but I am kind of like a hermit too.

I was thinking about kindness week last night and I thought about all of those times all I needed to hang on or to make my day less shitty was one kind word. And just how powerful one kind word can really be. My act of kindness will have to come from my blog this week and I wanted to share something I really believe in.

 Be kind to yourself. With all the negative self talk, all of the stigma that surrounds our diagnoses, with all of the self doubt, be kind. Say something kind about yourself once a day. It doesn't have to be prophetic. It doesn't have to be deep. It can be a simple as," Well, I have decent hair today."

One kind word to ourselves can mean a lot. Especially, since many of us go weeks, months, sometimes even years without hearing one nice thing.

Kindness week doesn't have to mean only being kind to others. We need to also remember to also be kind to ourselves. We deserve it too.

So be kind to others, try to lift them up. Be helpful if you can and also be kind to you too.  I know it isn't easy. We can sometimes be our worst enemy. We tend to be harder on ourselves than others are on us. We tend to judge ourselves way too harshly. So, be kind.

Tell yourself how worthy you are, how beautiful, how unique. Tell yourself how you are loved. How you are heard. Tell yourself how strong you are, how intelligent, how remarkable. Tell yourself these things even if you don't yet believe them. Just because you can't see it doesn't make it any less true.

Tell yourself what a good person you are. Because you are  good person. Be proud of all of your accomplishments even if they seem small to you. Celebrate your wins. Be kind to yourself.

I think of how strong all us are, how amazing, how determined. I think about how different and yet supportive we all are. How brave. I think of us as magnificent in spite of our challenges.

And although today hasn't been stellar and I feel kinda crappy, I am going to be kind to myself this week too. Even if it means I have to tell myself that I am beautiful whilst sitting in my bathrobe with coffee stains on it. Because I need to hear I am beautiful sometimes just as all people do.

  So in honor of kindness week : I am unique and all of you are unique too. I am strong just like all of you are strong. We are worthy. We are important. We matter. And if I am beautiful than you are all beautiful even in your coffee stained robes on a not so stellar day when you feel like crap.

Be safe, and be kind, and have a great weekend my friends.
Neurotic Nelly

Sunday, November 20, 2016


  Next Thursday is Thanksgiving so I thought I would write today. Mostly because I am going to be spending time with my family and because I am going to be cooking for two days straight.

There will be a lot of preparing food, possibly some burning of fingers, most likely a few tears shed from the sheer amount of baking. I may never be the same. I may not make it guys.

All joking aside, I truly hope that all of you have a wonderful day of family and friends, of good food and good thoughts.  And even if you happen to find yourself alone on Thanksgiving I hope that you have a peaceful and relaxing day. I am thankful for all of you. Because even if you don't know it, you are magnificent. You are fantastic. You are worth so much. Many of you have helped me feel less alone, less odd, and less damaged. I hope that in some small way, my words will reach those that need it the most and do the same for them. Because unity is power. If you feel like you have nothing else to be thankful for, be thankful for each other.

So, thank you all for reading, and being there for me, for leaving comments, for being supportive, for being the strong fantastic people you are. Thank you all for being you.

Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
See you Thursday after next and until then, walk with your heads held high. You are magnificent, marvelous people and I appreciate you all.

Neurotic Nelly