I look back now, at pictures from about 2004, and I'm shocked. I was way too thin, between sizes 1-3, yet I remember thinking then, that I was "fat." Now I'm between a size 8 and 10 and I struggle like crazy. It's not really about "fat" so much as it is that my body is changing SO much as I age. The bad thing about my own negative self-evalutation is that people may think I look at anyone my size, or bigger, and think they're big. I don't. Not at all... I don't see in others, the negative things I see in myself.
Enough about that... I want to talk about something else.
I want to talk about mental illness. Someone posted a question yesterday, "For those who are mentally ill, what will happen if you decide to stop taking your medicine?" I still remember that question, mainly because of how it was phrased. I guess I have a very skewed idea of what mental illness looks like.
In my little ADD/ADHD/OCD head, mental illness is my mother. A paranoid schizophrenic who thinks everyone is after her, talking about her, plotting against her. Her eyes have that "look." Her movements aren't smooth. She can't go anywhere, or do anything in public without causing some sort of scene, and she can't possibly hold a job. She's been this way since I was a kid, and I have no sympathy, empathy, or gratitude. Had she actually raised me, or allowed one single household/person to raise me, I would be able to look back on my childhood, and know she did her best, but I just can't do that. This topic, by the way, is going to be a whole blog on it's own, one day... BUT, for now, she is my definition of true mental illness.
I don't look at depression, bi-polar, or anxiety disorder as mental illnesses. SO many people suffer from one or more of the above named, that I'm beginning to think that you have a disorder if you don't suffer from any of these things.
In my moments of depressed panic, I am non-stop cleaning, organizing, go, go, go. My way of feeling in control is to clean. These past few weeks, the house has never looked better. I at least want Xanax to help when I feel like this, but the wife doesn't want me on anything. I'm meeting a friend for lunch next week, and she's going to give me some books and cd's for the car to help me relax through a panic attack, since the car is usually where they hit. Probably because I'm sitting still for a period of time, without at least three distractions (computer, phone, television). My friend said her husband finally relented on the meds because she isn't nearly as grumpy when she has them. Maybe, after my all-day house cleaning spree, and fitful mood, the wife will relent? Probably not... the house has never looked better, and there hasn't been a thing in the laundry hamper in days. Yep... it's all real here folks. Real crazy...
On that note, I'm leaving you with some pictures of tonight's sky...