my abnormal life.

my abnormal life-
it’s as prickly as a cactus.
as confusing as any road map
with about a hundred do-overs,
i’m something of a mess.

all fleeting happiness overshadowed by depression.
anxiety and regression
i have faked it, but have yet to make it.
i’m not who i advertise on the outside, but i hope to be.

i write.
and i write. and i write and i write and i write.
if i dont, my brain gets gummed up with words
gets jumbled with thoughts all trying to sort themselves into something fighting to take over.
i just pray that i come across as sane.
i pray that no one sees inside.

cant sleep. wont sleep. need sleep. heartburn. nerves all jangly. Walmart in my jammies.
heart attack-like pain dulled now. Thanks Zantac! dulling to a steady burning ball of pain.

Subsiding. Writing. Denying. Pondering. Trying.
Seriously considering checking into the hospital, but way too afraid.

gotta be okay. pretend it away.
i think it might help. not sure how, but it cant hurt.
i’ve seen TWELVE MONKEYS and ONE FLEW OVER A CUCKOO’S NEST- and they certainly didnt turn out well. i know how these things work.

i must weigh my brain-health and the possibility of “getting better” against what it might mean to my son if dear old mom goes off to “The Crazy House.”
i could lie, i guess.
How are you doing, Theresa? (i say, “fine. good. great. everything is awesome.”)

too heavy to think about this at whatever o’clock in the morning.
cantdontwont go on like this.
it’s so much extra work to be THIS FUCKING NUTS.
happy one second, flipping out the next. mad after that. then falling in love the second after. smilingcryinghidingpretendingavoiding. faking it all.

holy hell, i’m a mess.
i’m embarrassed and ashamed and mad at myself.
holyshit i’m in a shame spiral again. oh goody!


should i take this more seriously?
should i take meds more furiously?
should i medicate this furiousness, SERIOUSLY?

“I want to be better.”
“Of course you do.”
“I swear it.”
“Of course.”
“Really! I’m just not there yet.”
“Of course not. These things take time.”
“We have to be patient.”
“Take your meds, dear. We’ll talk later. Right now you need to rest.”

i’m headed in the right direction i think.
is that the ativan or my inspirational quote-a-day calendar talking?

-“it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
-“Gotta go through it, to do it.”
-“Measure twice, cut once.”
-better out than in?
-smile it’s free?
-Two birds with one stone?
-an ounce of prevention and all of that shit.

i’m an absolute fucked up trainwreck basketcase whacked out nutjob.
i really am.
i’m agoraphobic, morbidly obese and suffer from Social Anxiety Panic Disorder and Depression.
a regular ol’ hotmess.
but that’s who i am.
and it’s part of my abnormal life.


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