Some Observations from the Land of Crazy

Once upon a time, I wrote 3 blogs: one for family updates and just plain sharing, one as a personal journal, and one for RP-related things. Between the three, I wrote fairly regularly, and while none of them ever gained a significant "following", I liked writing in them and expressing the sides of myself that each blog represented.

Eventually, the journal got moved to an undisclosed location, then abandoned altogether. I'd started taking medications and going to therapy, and it felt as though I really didn't need that outlet anymore. The RP blog is still there, and I still post occasional stories and character profiles to it. Truthfully, it's probably the most active blog I've kept over the last few years.

And then, there was this blog - the "main" blog - which was relegated to family updates and pictures from vacations and announcements of important family-related information. Once, I was fairly vocal, but it became clear that a lot of what I said had offended this person or that one, so I stopped expressing my opinions and views so as not to upset anyone else.

Most often, when I first wake up for the day, it's a lot like being what I think I'll call "emotionally naked" - lacking in the usual trappings of emotional armor that one wears throughout the day to safeguard ones own feelings. Every thought, dream remnant, and memory that begins to fill my mind seems like an assault - too bright light turned on in a darkened room without warning so that the eyes water and burn to the point that you're holding your head against the sudden ache. The things that come to me are varied and rarely the same, so that examples are useless, because today, it could've been leftovers from a vivid dream about being in a car crash or the once distant (and now all too easily accessed) painful childhood memory, and tomorrow, it could be remembering that I need to get up and check on the crockpot. Because of all this, it can take me a while to get from "waking up" to actually being "up and awake".

I've been off my medications since October, and these "waking up" sessions seem exponentially harder. Well, hell, it seems like everything's harder. Medications don't make the symptoms of Bipolar and Anxiety go away so much put a leash on them to make them more manageable, so this is not all that surprising. During today's seemingly endless process of getting myself on my feet, I asked myself the question I have found myself asking a lot since October: "How did I DO this before medication?"

The answer - for this at least - was surprisingly simple. I wrote.

I wrote about my feelings, and I wrote about what was going on in the here and now, and I wrote stupid little stories for RP that tapped on the insecurities and fears and frustrations I was feeling. I channeled so much of it into that. And it didn't matter if it was good or if anyone else read it. It only mattered that it was out. A little steam escape hole on a pressure cooker.

Why did I stop writing? Well, someone got upset, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt anyone.

So, here I am some 5 years later, give or take, pushing 40's doorbell. There are some significant differences between now and then. My circle of close family and friends is much smaller, much tighter. Those are the only opinions of me that matter now. I've learned that whatever anyone else takes away from what I say or do is their responsibility, not mine. If I write something that offends them, that's their offense, not my responsibility. If anything, this all makes me more honest and will likely make me more blunt.

I've spent a great deal of my life trying to figure out who I am and trying to be accepting of the answers (and trying not to hate that person). I don't fit into any one category and the labels people have assigned me keep falling off. Occasionally  someone sticks me on a pedestal which prompts me to take a jackhammer to it. All in all, however, I keep having to break down things from my past that inform the person I've become, but have no business doing so; I have had to understand that I don't fit into societal norms or religious norms or even my father's expectations of failure; and in truth, there is no reason for me to live up to anyone's expectations but my own.

So, I think I'll go back to this silly little outlet of mine - to write whatever is floating around in my head and let some steam out of the pressure cooker. I won't make another blog or go back to the journal, though, because I just don't see the point. I write in this one so rarely anymore that it seems like it's sitting here dusty from lack of use, so why not just use it? I'm not going to put any rules into it or push to make sure I post every so often, because in the end, those requirements I place on myself become shackles that I resent.

Hell, I don't even know if I'll keep writing once I'm back on my meds in a month or two.

I only know that this is something that I want to do, and that this is one of those things I'll be doing for me. The difference this time has to specifically be that I'm doing this for me.

For your sake, however, I will be labeling these posts under "Lela Emo", so that you, the reader, can feel free to skip them. I will be disabling comments for them, because they are a matter of self expression that I don't wish to debate or defend. I suppose you can consider this my disclaimer and warning.

--Lela