An Unrelenting Longing

Earlier this year, I blocked my parents from being able to text or call me and from seeing my social media. I had prided myself for years that I had every right to cut them off, but I never did. And now I am proud of myself for doing what I want, which is cutting them off. I still don't know if this is temporary or permanent, but for this moment it is what I need and what I want.

I keep wondering why so many of us have parents who can't accept us, their children, for exactly who we are as we are. Because I am not a mother myself, I don't think I can try to answer this question. However, I have taken note that it seems like most parents think they know what is best for their children. While birthing and/or raising a child, can make a parent feel like they know their child best, there comes a point when that stops being true.

If parents could accept what their kids think, how they feel, who they are and what they want, I think children would be closer to their parents. I think distance and disconnect comes as parents continually show they are anything but 150% accepting of their child.

Tonight I was watching a movie where one of the main character's father seems to have dictated his life. Towards the end the son finally stands up to his dad and tells him he doesn't need a manager, but a father.

What is it that keeps us children going back to our parents over and over again even when they seem unable to be accepting and loving parents?

There have been multiple times since I cut my parents off earlier this year that I have had this longing for my mother. It seems odd to me that I would want her in my life after intentionally cutting her off. Especially since she failed at fulfilling her role as a mother in my life. 

But I think we subconsciously keep giving our parents chances to show up how we would like them to, and they disappoint us. Basically, it is insanity though. We keep doing the same dance expecting different results. 

I just want my mom and dad to be a place where I feel safe and accepted and loved and cared for no matter who I am or what I do. My parents should have been that for me. They still should be. But they never were and never will be. And even though that has been the case my entire life, I don't think I will ever stop longing for it to be so. I will always grieve the pain of not having that.

And I hope that if I ever become a mom, I can give that to my kid no matter who they are, how they feel, what they believe, or what they want. Because it might be the most painful thing I have experienced and continue to experience - having absent parents.

I Already Did It

I already did it.

My biggest fear has always been that I will turn out to be just like my mom. That would look like watching TV all day every day, not having any meaningful and loving relationships with anyone, little to no hygiene, being severely overweight all while feeling like I had no control or power to change any aspect of that life.

So the most important goal I have had my entire life was to not be like my mother.

And tonight I realized, I already did it. I already achieved that goal.

I have spent much of my life fearing that one day I would end up just like her - in a loveless marriage, dependent on someone else for food and shelter, unable to care for herself, spending her time literally doing nothing but watching television, substantially overweight, yet somehow still married and alive, but not really living. I really thought it could happen at any point in my life rather quickly without even noticing.

But no matter what I decide, I will not become my mother. Because I have always had something my mom hasn't had for more than my lifetime. Self-awareness. I look back on my life until I hit rock bottom, and I realize that I was living on auto-pilot. I was in survival mode. Not really living. But even during most of my life, I still had some level of awareness that I was not okay. 

Part of me thinks that had I not awakened out of living subconsciously, I may have ended up just like her. But I think, even if I had continued on in survival mode, I still wouldn't have become her. 

By my age, my mom had married my dad and had 2 little kids about a year and a half apart. She was completely dependent on my dad to provide for her, all the while being mentally unstable. Yet for some years she put on a facade to the world that everything was fine, even though her life was anything but fine. And when I was 9 years old, the facade began to shatter.

I consider myself a recovering perfectionist, so it makes sense that up until tonight I still thought that there was a chance I would end up just like my mom. While I know anything is possible and there is a tiny change I still could, the odds are in my favor. I know too much. I am too aware. I have done too much work. I have already achieved the goal of not becoming my mother. 

At 33 years old, I refuse to settle in any of my relationships. Because I want them to add to my life. I watched my mother let her relationship with my father eat away at her life. And I am not going to let any kind of relationship do the same to me. I expect more from life than to merely waste away. Devastatingly enough, my mom hasn't had that luxury for most of my life. I would prefer to live instead of watching life pass me by. And I'm doing it. I'm living and being intentional with who I let be apart of my life.

I already did it. Even though I am just beginning down a path of change, I already became someone who looks nothing like my mother. And no matter what I do or who I become, I will never be her - the mother who was not a mother to me. For achieving that one goal, I will always be proud. 

Reclaiming My Time

Time.

Time is one of the most valuable things we have. Yet, we seem to use it as if it is anything but precious. I'm guilty too. I have wasted plenty of time binging shows on Netflix or endlessly scrolling on Facebook or Instagram or doing other meaningless and/or mindless activities. (Just FYI, Netflix and social media aren't always a waste of time.)

What I find fascinating is that my time has become more important to me, even though I have more time to myself than I used to. I am more careful with it than before, even though I am far less busy than I previously have been. 

Why?

Because I have learned that I can do what I want. I have learned that I truly am an introvert, and I need alone time to recharge and take care of myself. I have learned that I don't want to busy my life with constant go, go, go. I have learned that it is important to me to be on time and keep scheduled commitments to myself and others. And because of that I am very intentional to what I say yes to. Which means I end up saying no much more frequently.

Honestly, putting myself first and choosing to do the things I really want to do has been liberating. I feel like I can breathe. I value my time more. And when I do spend time with friends, I cherish it more. Because I am no longer making myself do things I don't want to do, AND I have created the space to take the time I need for myself. It is almost magical.

"h@w ar% y#u?"

I hate the question, "How are you?" I don't remember a time that I ever liked it. Most of the time, if I'm being honest, I can't honestly answer, "Good". And we know that's the only acceptable answer. Nobody is actually looking to hear the long response that explains why you are anything but good. We ask this to show interest and care, yet much of the time, we don't allow space or time for a real response. Unless someone says, "How are you really?" it seems inappropriate to give more than a one word answer. 

I also hate the variations. "How was your weekend?" "How was your vacation?" "How was your day off?" "How were your holidays?" "How was work?" "How are your kids?" "How's your family?" There are numerous things we tack onto how because this is just what we say in our every day comings and goings with people. Again, the only permissible reply is, "Good." Even, "Fine" puts people into a tailspin. Generally, that's a flat out lie, which makes the listener curious. But trying to dig deeper doesn't seem to go anywhere because if the person felt like they could tell you or wanted to tell you, they wouldn't have said, "Fine."

Why does everything have to be good? Why do people lie and say, I'm fine? 

I used to think that the goal of life was to be happy. Coming out of rock bottom proved to me otherwise. Happiness is not a destination we arrive at and stay. Rather, being happy is a fleeting emotion just like the rest of our emotions. We all long to spend more time in happiness than most of our other feelings, but the reality is we move through happiness just like any other emotion. It doesn't last. 

Yet we focus on happiness more than anything else because it is desirable. It makes sense that we don't entertain sadness, pain, guilt, shame, depression, anxiety, etc. because we don't want any of that in our life. But life is full of the a gamut of emotions and feelings. Living means you are experiencing the full breadth of feelings from grief and loneliness to joy and contentment.

I haven't really figure out what I would rather be asked in place of, "How are you?" or any of the alternatives. I just know that I want to have more meaningful conversations about what we are genuinely feeling and experiencing instead of forcing ourselves to say what has always been said and pretending that we are fine.

Take It Easy on Me

As I drove home from worked, I cried a couple of times. I couldn't even pinpoint why I was crying. I haven't been depressed or even suicidal lately. Today wasn't really any better or worse than most days. It was a pretty regular day at work.

Right before I got home, these lyrics came through my speakers and made their way to my ears. It was as if the all other lyrics had been lost in route...

"Go easy on me, baby

I was still a child

Didn't get the chance to

Feel the world around me

I had no time to choose

What I chose to do

So go easy on me" 

-Easy on Me by Adele

Adele had spoken a truth I didn't realize I had been suppressing my entire life... I "didn't get the chance to feel the world around me". Because I was busy trying to survive as a child and even for most of my adult life. I didn't choose to live in survival mode. When you're in survival mode, you don't think of why you're doing things. You just push through the motions because if you stop, you might not be able to keep going.

More specifically, I didn't experience the magic of the holidays as a child. I was too busy worrying about which of my parents would ruin Christmas first. I was too caught up wondering if we would actually create a pleasant and happy tradition or just continue to live painful and disappointing ones. I think there may have been one Christmas that was magical, but it didn't include my parents. As great as it was to not spend Christmas with my dysfunctional parents, there was still an undertone of sadness because I wasn't with my mom and dad. My immediate family wasn't together. Growing up, it was ingrained into me that we were meant to be with our family no matter how messed up they were.

Now at 33 years old, I want nothing more than to spend Thanksgiving by myself. I am grateful that I always had friends to spend the holidays with as an adult. Many dear ones in my life happily welcomed me to their Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations without fail every year so that I never had to spend a single one alone. I am also grateful I have learned that I don't owe my parents my presence on any day, especially important ones. I am allowed to choose to spend my time with those I want to be with. 

I've been carrying emotional weight related to the holidays since my birthday. Tonight I cracked a bit while driving home from work. Those tears were a tiny release. I have been dreading the holidays, and I keep wishing I could just fast forward to January. Because I don't want to feel the dark feelings that come at this time of the year for me. While everyone keeps asking each other about their holiday plans, I continue to avoid asking the question to anyone. Because I don't want anyone to ask me about mine. I don't want any invitations or pressure to gather with anyone. I don't want to explain why I want to be alone. I don't want to feel like what I'm doing isn't acceptable. I just want to be able to feel how I feel and do what I want without judgment from others.

I didn't get to choose what I did for over 30 years. But now, I get to choose. And this year, I'm choosing to do what makes sense to me.

Swipe Left, Repeat

If the goal of dating apps is to find a potential mate, why does swiping left seem to be the rule while swiping right seems to be the exception? Is it really so hard to find someone we like?

Bad pics.

Any kind of facial hair. Swipe left. Cat. Swipe left. Dog. Swipe left. That photo looks like it was taken 20 years ago. Swipe left. Gym selfie. Swipe left. Car selfie. Swipe left. Laying in bed or on the couch. Swipe left. Bathroom selfie. Swipe left. Zero photos show their entire face. (Sunglasses, masks, snow goggles, etc.) Swipe left. Zero photos of their entire body. Swipe left. Zero photos of them alone, so which one are they? Swipe left.

If their pictures actually look decent, you think he can't be real.

But if I met these men in real life, their personality and their voice would speak volumes more of who they are than any photo of them could. And I would probably be interested in more of them, than the few I find online.

Yet we all judge the photos presented to us when deciding whether or not to swipe right because that's what we have to go off of. It is a two-dimensional snapshot of someone. 

Then we delete all the dating apps and stop our never-ending search for our ideal mate because it seems like an exhausting, fruitless cause. But don't worry, we redownload them when it seems like we might truly end up alone forever. And the vicious cycle loops over and over.

What's the answer? Maybe we just need to stop sitting home alone on our phones and leave our houses and meet people in real life.  

COVID-19 is Still Running the Show as 2021 Comes to a Close

I'm coming up on my one year anniversary at work. Shortly after being hired last year, I found out I would be holding down the office while most of my coworkers went on a team trip. They repeatedly told me over and over again, "Next year, you're coming with us!" Staying in the office last year while almost everyone was vacationing was not fun. It didn't even feel like the same place because it was so quiet and lifeless.

Fast forward to the end of September. I received an email from my boss announcing where and when our annual team reward trip would be. Honestly, I had kinda forgotten about it. I couldn't believe I would get to go on a cruise with my incredible team in January 2022 for a week. How exciting!

Today I just found out that the cruise line changed the regulations from not needing to be vaccinated to requiring vaccinations. And it feels like COVID-19 is going to continue to run our lives indefinitely.

Yes, it would be easy to just get vaccinated, and then I can still go on the cruise. But I also can't get on board. Even thinking about getting the vaccine makes me realize how much I do not want to be vaccinated. And having to be in this situation and make a decision literally makes me sick. Every time I think about this, I have knots in my stomach.

Deep down I feel like we should all be allowed to freely choose whether or not to get the vaccine. I don't think it is right that we have to be vaccinated in order to keep our jobs, travel, live our lives, etc. Additionally, I don't think it is right that we cannot accept differing perspectives on this topic. I was on a date that seemed to be going well until he found out I wasn't vaccinated. And then the vibe changed and he was completely uninterested in me simply because I hadn't gotten the COVID shots.

I spent 30 years letting so many things and people control how I lived my life. And I didn't even realize it. Now that I have flown out of the cage, I don't want to be forced back into it. I want to be able to choose.

A little over a year ago, I had COVID and couldn't work for 2 weeks. It sucked. Hospitals have been filled to capacity. People have died. None of that is pleasant. However, forcing people to get vaccinated isn't the solution in my opinion. And until we find a better solution, I think we could all work on having strong opinions while still being kind to those who don't see eye to eye with us. Because we are all human and we all deserve respect and kindness regardless of what we believe or think. Our opinion on the coronavirus shouldn't dictate how we treat each other. We can do better.

Only I Can Save Myself 5.31.20

Mental Health Awareness Month Day 31.

Only I can save myself.

As a child, I had this fantasy about being rescued from my parents. It was a fantasy because I began to believe it would never happen. I was stuck for 18 years in a dysfunctional, abusive, neglectful house. The cops seemed to frequently show up because our neighbors would call them because they could hear my parents fighting and yelling. I have little memories of just being a kid and enjoying my childhood.

When I was 13, my aunt did “rescue” me and my brother. I was grateful for her, but I think most of my actions said otherwise. For that, I feel SO badly. I wish I could go back and really appreciate living with my aunt and uncle and cousins. I wish I could have been kinder. I wish I could have let the little things go. I wish I could have argued less. I wish I could have been an easier niece and cousin to live with. Sadly, I don’t think I knew better. And if I did, I don’t think I cared. I think I was hurt and angry. I think I was trying to balance a fine line between doing what was expected and doing what I wanted. I think I was lost and confused. I think I thought I knew what I wanted, but I really had no idea. That doesn’t excuse my poor behavior, but it helps anybody who was in the crossfire at that time understand just a tiny bit why I was the way I was and why I did what I did.

Unfortunately, living with the Abernathy’s was short-lived. After a year and a half, my brother and I had to return to live with our parents. I was devastated. I thought I would live with my cousins until I was 18 and could be on my own. I wondered how anyone could send us back into such a hostile living environment. Yet again, I longed to be rescued, although I was fairly certain it wouldn’t happen. I would just have to somehow make it through the next 3.5 years.

Around spring of my sophomore year, I met a woman named Boo. I remember thinking then that that was God compensating for not letting me stay with the Abernathy’s. He sent me Boo to help me make it through the rest of high school. He sent her into my life to save me. I was so grateful. Although I had to live in an unsettling place, I had the Densley’s and I had Boo to help me survive. But nothing is guaranteed.

Right before my senior year, Boo told me she and Tyler were moving. I was so sad and disappointed. I remember thinking selfishly, “How could she leave me just before my last year of high school?” Once again, I felt like I was being abandoned again. That year, I almost didn’t graduate high school. I was depressed and distraught. I felt like nobody cared. I felt like everyone would leave me. And in numerous ways, I stopped caring about me. Because if nobody cared about me, why should I?

A lot has happened since I graduated high school. I wish I could say so much has changed. But I don’t think any real change has happened until very recently. I spent many years still wishing and hoping to be rescued. Even though I was no longer in a place I needed to be rescued from, I still yearned to be rescued. For years, I hoped a charming guy would come and sweep me off my feet and take me away from all the shit I faced. (That’s what Disney teaches us, right?) When I gave up on that dream, I went back to wanting to be saved by my best friend. If she couldn’t save me, what was the point of living? If nobody was coming to save me, why should I? Because clearly my existence doesn’t matter, so why the hell should I continue to live if I am in such agony?! That is seriously what I thought.

Sometime in the last 7 months, I ultimately learned this truth. Only I can save myself. The Densley’s couldn’t save me. The Abernathy’s couldn’t save me. Boo couldn’t save me. And they can’t. In my darkest moments, hours and days, there were times when people would reach out and times when nobody reached out. And amidst that I was all over the place about how I felt in reaction to that. Some days I was grateful to be heard, thought of, remembered, and loved. Other days I was angry and ignored people trying to contact me and wished I could disappear. On those days when I didn’t hear from anyone, I was hurt and I was proved right… nobody cared, nobody loved me, nobody would notice if I took my life. 

I desperately wanted to be saved. And I was infuriated that nobody would save me. When I figured out that nobody COULD save me, even if they really wanted to, I was beside myself. Because that was the one thing I had longed for my whole life. And I couldn’t have it. I never would.

When my counselor in San Diego told me I had become the abuser, my gut reaction was to be offended. Why would I abuse my own self? But my next thought was, she’s right. As much as I didn’t want to be like my parents, I was following in their toxic footsteps because that was what I knew. That was deeply ingrained into me against my will. I reflected on every year that had gone by since leaving my parents’ house. 13 years. How does 13 years go by without me realizing what was really going on?! How has nothing changed after all the counseling, the hospitalizations, the medications?! Why am I continuing to relive my traumatic childhood?!

I didn’t fully understand that only I can save myself.

My current journal says, “You had the power all along, my dear,” on the cover. Glinda tells Dorothy that in The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy was on this journey to Oz because she wanted to find someone to solve her problems. But really, it was a journey of self-discovery. Oz had no power. He couldn’t give the scarecrow a brain, the tinman courage, or the lion a heart. In a way, I was looking for an Oz of my own. I felt like I had no control over my life. I wanted control, but I felt powerless. I felt incapable. I felt stuck. But I’ve always had the power.

We have this misconception that we could have prevented someone from taking their life. We feel guilty for their actions. We blame ourselves for what they did. We talk endlessly about if we only did more they wouldn’t have died by suicide. But it is all wrong. We don’t have that much power.

Only I can save me. Only you can save you. If someone really wants to end their life, nobody else is going to stop them. If someone chooses to end their life, it is on them and nobody else is responsible for their suicide.

Yes, how we interact with each other can help or harm them. But at the end of the day, one has to decide that they are worth saving and that they want to be saved. Then they have to save themselves. They have to reach out and find help. Only then can others help them. Only then can they change. Only then can they start the path to healing. Only then can they save themself. #stgeorge #rescueme #saveme #onlyicansavemyself #youhavethepower #youcanchange #anger #suicide #suicidality #suicidalthoughts #unrealisticexpectations #codependency #mentalillness #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthawarenessmonth #mentalhealthinthetimeofcorona #coronavirus #covid19 #corona2020 #letsbereal #31in31at31 #agamutofgrey #lifeisbeautiful #may2020 5.31.20

No Two People Ever Have the Exact Same Experience 5.30.20

Mental Health Awareness Month Day 30.

No two people ever have the exact same experience.

As I’ve mentioned previously, I grew up in a dysfunctional house. I am incredibly grateful that at 9 years old, I met the Densley’s. (Honestly, I don’t think I could have made it through my childhood without them.) When I met them they had two kids. (They are about 3.5 and 6 years younger than me, which at the time felt like a HUGE difference. Later they had two more kids. And they are are 13 and 15 years younger than me.) I remember hearing them complain about their parents, as most kids do. I couldn’t understand why they seemed annoyed about their parents, who to me seemed like the best parents. Because I was SO much older than them, I felt justified thinking that they had no idea how good they had it. To me, their life was great because their parents were amazing. I wished they could see that.

Now that we’re all grown up, I have realized that no two people ever have the exact same experience. In my eyes, the Densley’s were the parents I always wished I had. Each of their kids has a different perspective on how they were raised. And that is okay. When I was little, it was aggravating to me. Why couldn’t they just be grateful for their parents?! But I saw their family through the lens of my own family. So it was easy for me to wish for something that looked better than what I had. They didn’t know any different, so how could they feel the same way I felt?

We are constantly comparing ourselves to those around us. In essence, we’re seeing everyone else’s life through the filter of our own. We think they should do this or not do that. We judge people on what we see in passing based on our own experience. We forget that their story is a novel, and we have only seen a page or a chapter of it. We don’t even see clearly the people we’re closest to. We overlook the fact that another’s decisions are based on everything they have faced. We think we know better because we’ve been through more or had a harder life. But the truth is they are trying their best just like we are.

People tell us about something that happened to them. We try to relate by sharing what we think is a similar story. But the reality is no two people ever have the exact same experience. We are all uniquely different. Just because of our individuality, we will never have the very same vantage point. We may both ride a roller coaster, but I come off it never wanting to do that again. Meanwhile, you had the time of your life. 

Each one of us is who we are because of the collective experiences we have had over our lifetime. What we believe, the way we think, how we feel, what we say, what we do is all based on that collective experience. Instead of judging and trying to convince people our way is better, we need to embrace our differences. We need to accept that there is more than one way to reach our goals. One woman can breastfeed her kids, work, and still be a wonderful mom. And another woman can bottle feed her kids, stay at home, and also be a wonderful mom. There is no one way to do things. We can have differing ways of living and still love each other.

Let’s remember to validate each other’s experiences and listen to each other instead of comparing ourselves by making their stories seem not as incredible or not as awful as our own. Life isn’t a competition. And no two people ever have the exact same experience. #stgeorge #individuality #stopcomparing #validate #listen #acceptance #lifeisntarace #mentalillness #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthawarenessmonth #mentalhealthinthetimeofcorona #coronavirus #covid19 #corona2020 #letsbereal #31in31at31 #agamutofgrey #lifeisbeautiful #may2020 5.30.20

Be Compassionate with Yourself Too 5.29.20

Mental Health Awareness Month Day 29.

The beauty of a good therapist is they let you realize what you need to do instead of telling you what to do.

I wrote that as one of the 31 things at the beginning of the month. I was trying to sum up why my counselor in San Diego was SO great. That is definitely one reason she was so amazing. 

What’s funny is I had a counseling session (via Zoom) last night where this exact thing was demonstrated. My new counselor talked to me about compassionate voices. He showed me a video about them. Then he role-played the non-compassionate voices and what they say regarding a current problem I’m super frustrated about. Next he role-played compassionate voices about the same issue. He asked me how each felt and what the difference was. I told him the “mean” voices were impatient and made me feel obligated like I have to do this thing. The “nice” voices were understanding and validating and they heard me, but at the same time reminded me what would be best. 

Nobody wants to be told what to do. Not as a child, and not as an adult. We are averse to commands and demands. It’s like once you tell us we have to take out the trash, we are most likely not going to take out the trash. But if you feel heard and are reminded that taking out the trash is in your best interest, you’re more likely to do it. Another difference between the two approaches is that the first seems to just want it immediately and is focused on that one thing and doesn’t care about how you feel or what you think. But the second seems to be patient and caring and focuses on the bigger picture.

There are many voices in my head the majority of the time. And for most of my life those voices have been cruel and unrelenting. Those voices have been ashamed of me and continued to put me down and break me apart. However, over the last few months I have been trying to be aware of my inner dialogue and change the voices. I have been trying to quiet the degrading and demeaning ones and instill kind and loving ones. It may sound silly. Does it really matter how we talk to ourselves? But it does!

If another person said mean things to us, we would be hurt. It would make sense that the mean thing they said hurt us. Why then is it we permit ourselves to speak so viciously to our minds and souls? Why is it acceptable to treat ourselves like shit but nobody else? We won’t put up with the slightest rude comment from someone else, but we allow ourselves to stone us.

We need to be our own best friend. After all, we know ourselves better than anyone else. We deserve all the patience, kindness, understanding, acceptance, validation, care, and love in the world. Who best to give us all of those things than ourselves? If we can’t be gentle with ourselves, how can we expect that from anyone else?

The way we talk to ourselves matters. The way we treat ourselves matters. The way we help each other matters. Let’s be more forgiving and merciful with ourselves instead of cracking a relentless whip of harshness. #heber #compassion #innerdialogue #voicesinmyhead #speakkindlytoyourself #beyourbestfriend #begentlewithyourself #lovewins #mentalillness #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthawarenessmonth #mentalhealthinthetimeofcorona #coronavirus #covid19 #corona2020 #letsbereal #31in31at31 #agamutofgrey #lifeisbeautiful #may2020 5.29.20

People Aren't as Crazy as We Think 5.28.20

Mental Health Awareness Month Day 28.

When we call people crazy, we justify ignoring, avoiding, and dehumanizing them.

We see someone talking to themselves pacing back and forth in public. We call them crazy. Someone tells us they see things that aren’t really there. We call them crazy. Someone screams bloody murder as though they’re dying and we see no blood or sign of injury. We call them crazy. We see someone on the street who clearly hasn’t showered in a while. We call them crazy.

It’s easier to call them crazy and pretend they aren’t real than to acknowledge they are just as human as we are. Because if they are the same as us, then we worry that what has happened to them could happen to us. As long as they’re “crazy”, we will never be like them. If we see them as human, we feel obligated to not let them suffer.

The first time I was hospitalized I spent my first night with anyone and everyone. The next morning someone accused me of refusing to let a tech take my vitals. I was shocked. I tried to say it wasn’t me, but they weren’t convinced. Soon they realized they had mistaken me for a woman named Christine. (My name is Chris-tin-A. That is NOT the same as Christine.) Her hair was unkempt. She would yell, resist the techs/doctors, and say strange things. I was SUPER offended because she seemed “crazy” to me. How could they get us confused. Because clearly I was NOT crazy. I learned that Christine was detoxing. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through. Her behavior seemed so abnormal that I had labeled her as “crazy”. But maybe the only difference between me and her was her addiction to drugs. 

Later that day, I was moved to a different floor with patients more like me. I was surprised to learn that pretty much everyone I met who was hospitalized, with the exception of Christine, was normal. I was so shocked. I had spent my entire life thinking that mental/psychiatric hospitals were full of crazy/psycho people. But they weren’t.

I am aware there is a medical definition of crazy. But the majority of humans don’t fall into that category. Even if they are technically “crazy”, that doesn’t make them any less human than us. It doesn’t make them less deserving of all the things we all need and want. And it doesn’t justify us treating them worse than we would treat those we consider “normal”.

We need to label and judge others less. We need to be more loving and caring. People aren’t as crazy as we think. There is much more to their story than the eye can see. #heber #crazypeople #crazy #weallwantthesamethings #weareallhuman #wearealldeserving #namecalling #judgenot #youneverknow #mentalillness #mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthawarenessmonth #mentalhealthinthetimeofcorona #coronavirus #covid19 #corona2020 #letsbereal #31in31at31 #agamutofgrey #lifeisbeautiful #may2020 5.28.20