Well, chaos I’ve got, and plenty of it. I’ve always had anxiety. I remember feeling it before I could stand at the dining room table and look across it. Throughout my life, it’s been my constant companion, my abuser, my shadow. It is the reason I’ve lost sleep. slept too much, drank, over ate, starved myself, purged, stolen, self-harmed, lied, cried, screamed, threw things, broken hearts, burned friendships, and became utterly unlovable. It is not my excuse, but it is my truth.
Dancing stars are another matter entirely. I’m not knocking Nietzsche or anything. I’m just suggesting that there is a lot to be said for the soul of the healthy. How much beauty and dancing can come from torture? I used to listen to my therapist tell me that I’m not my diagnosis. I wanted to believe that shit so much that I let it become my mantra. I was going to be the poster child for the heartily fucked up and a healthy, heavily medicated life. Now that so many years have passed, I realize what an asshole I was, and probably still am. I am ABSOLUTELY my diagnosis. It is as much me as I am it. It dictates my life, like it or not. And it writes the rule book for the care and safe handling of this Bitch. Gone are the days when I built a mental wall between myself and the symptoms. Part of the giving up is because I am so tired. I’m exhausted in my soul. All the giving up and giving in and fighting it have worn me down to a smooth nub. Part of it that I can’t help it anymore. No medication has ever done everything I needed it to do so I could fit in. Part of it is that I’m so sick of hiding from everyone and everything. After all, I am who I am. This fucked up, miserable, wild, manic, paranoid, scary, roller coaster brain of mine is me. I am tortured. I don’t feel like dancing. And I’m not a star of any kind. Stars don’t pull out their eyelashes for comfort.
I just want:
- To feel normal
- To fit in
- To be normal
- To sleep at night
- To wake up refreshed
- To not be afraid of the phone ringing
- To not be afraid of a knock on the door
- To not always find something to be anxious about
- To want to go outside
- To want to participate in life
- To want to make friends (I hate people)
- To not need so many damn medications
- To have 1 medication work like it’s supposed to
- To not have every fucking opportunity fucked up
- To feel responsible and competent
- To turn back time and do so much differently
See, that’s not much. Santa should be able to make that happen come Christmas. Right?