Momma Sed

My brain is different; I have come to realize.  This, and other scintillating revelations are brought to you by a nap, meditation, and copious journaling.  (Not to mention thousands in therapy, psychiatrists, and so forth…)

As I type this, Flagpole Sitta has been stuck in my head.  “I’m not sick, but I’m not well…and it’s so hot, cause I’m in hell…” I have to be honest, I have never been sure if I am coming or going.  Since I was 14, my brain begged me to kill myself, while a little voice inside of me said no.  As I’ve grown older, the pressures of life combined with my notion of perfection pushed me to peaks and valleys I never thought possible.  I have thought I was God, I have thought I was evil, and I have thought I was useless, worthless, and deserved nothing but pain and misery.  I’m currently diagnosed Bipolar (amongst other shit – no disrespect intended, I just hate dealing with it…PTSD flashbacks/triggers/forgetting life is fun!), but I really am starting to wonder if I’m crazy or if the world is driving me crazy.  I have always wondered if mental illness is just a way of diagnosing trauma.  Jung seemed to think so.  I mean, bipolar, apparently leaves me suicidal, finding God, or depressed because there is no God.  Is that really my brain?

In all of this illness and trauma, I have gotten promotions, graduated college, straight A’s, and 3 kids.  I’ve never really done anything to make myself happy.  I finally realized there is no “make myself happy” because it is a choice.  Be happy or don’t be happy. Buddha is the only man who makes sense to me presently (#whyIAmSingle – I am in love with 2500 year old men, married rock stars, and dead men RIP JAMES GANDOLFINI!!!!)

I’ve been Hamlet setting myself on fire on a hamster wheel screaming “WHY DON’T YOU JUST BE DAMN YOU!”  I have always believed inside of me, somewhere beneath the scars, was someone special.  Naturally, I opt to give myself increasing scars and hide myself away more.  Masks are a way of life, aren’t they?  The more I attempt to fix my pain, the more pain I would create.  I’ve essentially lived my life inside two heads, arguing with myself, as I ate myself alive.  Masochism, by any other name, would smell as shitty.

In all of this, I’ve realized one simple truth – I am not different from anyone else.  Kids, no kids, woman, man, everything that has made me miserable has made someone else miserable.  It’s as if we all have played whisper down the lane with the rules of life, and we’ve all gotten fucked up pretty good about it.  I could rant ad-nauseum about the state of affairs.  Trust me, I am very opinionated.  .

When I talk to people, I have heard one common underlying truth – unhappiness.  The masks are different – anxiety, depression, broken hearts, bad relationships, unruly kids., and fear.  My logical side of my brain looks at everyone’s lives and says one very simple observation.  This is an unsustainable business model.   I feel that way about my own life.  Literally, I cannot work right now.  I get my kids on the bus, typically have a panic attack and coffee (mmm!), then I meditate and fall asleep for a few hours.  It’s awful, and I am not joking.  I have never felt more useless in my life.

It’s amazing, because I’m finding out how to love myself even when I find myself absolutely repugnant.  All my life it has been GO, do not stop, do not collect 200 dollars, shut the fuck up and go.  Did that hurt you? Sucks for you, keep going.  I firmly believe that my life finally caught up with me, because my body and mind finally said “Yeah, okay, we’re done here.” I’ve been a single mom for 2 years, and only recently did I start processing my 10 year marriage ending.  Who needs healing, right?  This is the first time in my life I have felt weak, except in reality, I’ve always felt this way.  I am authentic about it now, and it makes smiling so much easier when you realize, “I’m happy because I am happy.  I do not give a shit, because I do not have to give a shit.”

In a sense, I move past things very simply, “I’m glad it happened, it leads me to ___”.  That perspective can be fucked up when you talk to some.  “I’m so sorry about your fight…”

“I’m not, I’m glad he punched me, it got me out of my marriage”

Unfortunately, that also lends itself to months later (of unprocessed emotion), PTSD flashbacks, or just forgetting your positive perspective…

“I hate myself, I ___”

This dichotomy is difficult to exist under, and it lends itself to lots of self harm, suicidal ideation, addiction, and so forth.  I say that to say, I’m very glad to be where I am today.  I am very glad to be stripping away so many layers of pain, and connecting with that little voice inside of me that always told me to keep going.  To me, there is an exquisite strength in saying, “I am not well.” There is healing in knowing, “I will get better”. There is bliss in believing, “I am loved”.  For all my imperfections and flaws, I love myself.  It is a new feeling, and it feels amazing.  I have been cultivating this since July, I have consistently been planting seeds, and I am finally feeling it.

I look around and I see a world where everyone is looking to someone to answer their questions.  I see a world where the lines between men and women have been obliterated in the name of equality, and everyone has suffered for it.  I see a patriarchal society that has turned so green for money, they’ve forgotten that earth is, ya know, our home.  I see so much pain, suffering, and misery in the name of the mighty dollar with spiked cleats in the backs of every peon on lower levels of the pyramid.  I think we’re all part of a fucked up pyramid scheme.  Did you know the upside down pyramid is the symbol of femininity?

Am I the only one who thinks its time to flip shit upside down?

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