Mah Butt Itches

I take medication to keep me stable, but worry that I am hurting myself more than helping. I meditate and write to heal, but worry that I am proliferating my own madness. I try to be an amazing mom, and worry that I am ruining my children’s lives. I can slap whatever label I can on these thoughts and feelings, but in truth, this is what crazy feels like to me. Every goddamn day, I doubt my own reality. I second guess every exhalation. I paralyze myself in analysis. Every emotion is assessed via my encyclopedic knowledge of psychology and psychiatry. I hold myself to an ambiguous notion of “normal” and crucify myself for an equally ill-defined notion of crazy.

So, what do you do, right? I can’t keep fighting with myself, it’s driving me crazy. I can’t keep hating myself, it makes me miserable. I can’t keep letting other people control my thoughts or emotions, and I equally cannot keep thrusting my heart into the stratosphere praying that somewhere out there someone loves me. For all I’ve said until this point, that right there is where the true pain lies. “I am loved..” meets “What if I am wrong?” I don’t actually believe anyone loves me. For the people that do, my brain likes to say, “Oh well that’s because they have to” or “not really they don’t. They’d be better off without you…” Maybe my depression has been unchecked and unabated for so long it has wormed its way as a core belief. Maybe it’s just decades of self-abuse and abusive relationships taking their toll on my psyche and soul. Maybe I do create my own chaos, project my own awful feelings on to others, and poison myself and my relationships. Maybe, I just need to start asking the right question. Maybe everything in my life has truly been a self-fulfilling prophesy. If, no matter what I do, I think I’m wrong, I can’t see how I could ever truly be accepting, happy, or at peace. Aren’t those all the characteristics of the unconditional love I seek? Is it maybe possible that in accepting myself as I am – crazy though I call myself – this is the healthiest I have ever been, because I genuinely just want to love myself and care for myself – no changes, love me for all I am and am not?

Maybe I just need to start seeing what happens if I ask “What if I am right?

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Deborah@TradeRoutz says:

May 31, 2017 at 2:56 am

Yeah I know what you’re talking about. But the more we try to analyse it, the worse it gets. There’s no reasoning with a fucked brain. I spend hours working on this, but then gave up and found a guru. Works better than a therapist, even though we still gotta take the pain and confusion.

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1. mahbuttitches says:
  
  June 1, 2017 at 1:41 pm
  
  Exactly. Nothing makes any of this go away. I think I had hoped the meds were going to do something, but I don’t think they really do much. Now, I’m so damn scared of pscyhosis though, I feel stuck taking them. I hate this catch 22. I just said to a friend “I have accomplished more with meditation and my journal then any copay I’ve wasted on any therapist”
  
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  1. Deborah@TradeRoutz says:
    
    June 1, 2017 at 1:45 pm
    
    Definitely. Therapists are a TOTAL waste of time and money and actually cause us trauma, making us relive the fucken grave all over again and again and again…the past no longer exists. Now we have to deal with NOW. That’s all we have.
    
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