Life is weird
Friends, life is weird. Everything is so weird and makes no freakin’ sense. I’m a writer, so my mind is trained to look at things from all potential perspectives. When you get into the details, the context, the angle, you’ll often find that nothing can ever REALLY be explained. At the same time, people can come up with an explanation for just about any situation. That strange dichotomy is the bane of my 24-year-old existence.
Maybe I’m the one that’s off? Weirdness and perception of weirdness – while two very different concepts – are both similarly one thing: RELATIVE.
For example, writing feels weird today because I’m an empty shell. Nothing inside, hollow, just enough to do the day’s work and continue functioning. There’s no emotions to back up what I’m saying… literally NOTHING here. A vacant lot, abandoned house, an empty shell exoskeleton. NOBODY LIVES HERE. When people ask me how “I” am, I catch myself wanting to say “Sorry, the owner of this body has moved out. Tell her to give me a call if you see her.”
Don’t dissociate, kids
Dissociation is also a very weird thing. The idea that I can be walking around in my body, yet also feel like I don’t (or want to) belong in it? Definitely weird. It’s like having a dream in third-person where you’re watching yourself do whatever it is you do and having your own thoughts and opinions about it.
The difference? Dissociating is not a dream.
Some say they wish they could dissociate, often overwhelmed by emotional pain or memories that seem too hard to bear. I, on the other hand, have a problem with dissociating TOO much. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, I struggle to feel anything at all.
You think everything is good, then everything sucks
They’re saying this is “manic.” Not the normal 0 to 100, back to -50 kind of manic, but “manic” nonetheless. Although I thought it was going “easier,” than expected, they’re still telling me I’m not right.
In short, my brain’s power is still not enough.
I thought that I was in a good place. I thought I was finally (minimally) secure with myself. I’ve only recently noticed the connections to my past ARE relevant to my problems now. I knew it was bad, but it’s always seemed like a chaotic mess that had no beginning or end. When I reflect on the timeline of events in my life that have contributed to what it is today, it’s something that continues to uncover patterns (that I’m still not convinced actually exist) and provide context that I’m finding isn’t as apparent as it once seemed.
Drugs played a role in what brought me here to begin with. According to them, drugs are also what will get me back again.
I struggle with the concept of “drugs are the problem, so let’s treat with drugs.” Drugs aren’t even the problem, just one of the many things that added to the tangled ball of barbed wire I call my life. I feel as though I’ve worked so hard to be OK with who I am WITHOUT drugs – a feat I thought I’d never accomplish. Putting other chemicals in my body would change me into something that doesn’t feel normal, something that doesn’t feel like “me.”
Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe that’s the point.
How To: Demonize your demons
They say my demons are my traumas that I’ve compartmentalized in my head to deal with them easier. To me, my demons are voices that tell me all the good, bad, true, false, beautiful and ugly things about life. I’m always trapped in a car with them, tagging along for the up-and-down ride as they take their turns driving. Some of them are responsible and great drivers, others are careless and ridiculous speed demons (no pun intended).
The funny thing about demons is that most of the time, they lay low and out of sight. They only emerge in those split seconds I’m alone in my car stuck in traffic with nowhere to go or hide from them.
You can’t get rid of me that easily
Despite it all, I still work on bettering myself. Whatever they want to call it, I want to fix it. To me, it’s the most important part of my life. It makes me sad to see people who struggle with mental illness and have given up, settled with the darkness, accepted the weight of the baggage without understanding that it CAN get better. It takes a little (and by little I mean a shit ton) of work, but even the smallest of accomplishments keep me going. Shutting down a panic attack in 10 minutes or less, breathing and pouring myself a glass of water in the middle of a flashback, trusting someone’s word without psychoanalyzing them. I slowly try to bring logic into my life to counterbalance the chaos, but I often forget that “logic” can often lead to self-abuse (i.e. perfectionism, self-criticism, etc.).
My behaviors don’t have signs or signals anymore, they come in all shapes and sizes. Every day is a demon Halloween party where they all show up wearing masks. I can’t trust if the tone I’m conveying through this writing today is sarcastic and playful or severely dissociated and cynical. I can’t trust if I care about a boy because he’s sweet or because I’m manic and crazy. I can’t trust if there’s something wrong with me, or if I’m just making it all up in my head.
Maybe that’s the joke – there is no right or wrong answer. For some, we are who we are, and for others, we’re supposed to be something that we’re currently not. The world will find out how many licks it takes to the center of a Tootise pop before I ever get the answer to that one.
All I know is that I know nothing xx
Photo by 813 Photography