Alternate title: Life is crazy, when you are.
Sometimes, I just don’t know where to start. When Bailey was 4 months old and we brought our first house just before I was diagnosed with cancer? The first memory I have of my Dad being in hospital, his Doctor sneaking me into the ICU and being so frightened of the screens, the beeping, finally seeing what his eyes look like behind glasses after hydraulic acid pouring onto his face? The first time I was assaulted as a child? As an adult? My Mum ringing to say she’d found a house overseas, and would see us on holidays? When I witnessed a suicide? When my husband left us? When I left our house? When I (finally but inevitably) developed delayed C-PTSD?
My mind is so fucked up, that if nothing horrible and life altering and traumatic happens for awhile, I get so anxious, and feel sick and heavier in my chest every day, until something does spazz me out.
And then I deal, and recover. And feel normal – whatever that is, for a little while.
I’d really like the normal patches to last longer.
I’d like to not feel as if I need crisis, instability.
I don’t think I come across ‘crazy’ to most people, I’m lucky to make friends very easily. I probably come across happy, or ‘a bit of a hippy, really centred’ (from my newest friend) even while I’m counting down the hours until I can get out of my head with a drink, or write here, or crawl out my soul and into someone else’s.
‘I like the frantic. I like you’ said another friend ‘but you have to like it too.’
I don’t really, but I’m bored without it.
I remember when I was first really sick, some distant family member gave me a copy of ‘You Can Heal Your Life’. I was really offended, because (unless I’m missing something, I didn’t read it cover to cover) it pretty much insinuates that you kind of choose your own illnesses – I think cancer was hanging onto resentment or some such thing. I was actually at a really well, happy point in my life leading up to being diagnosed.
So I don’t buy that, to that extreme anyway, but I do believe that stress can manifest itself in physical illness. Of course it can.
So I end up in this thought loop, is my life crazy/intense/dramatic/whatever because I am, or is the other way around?
Things have been quiet lately, my neighbour has stopped calling me a whore over the fence, treatment is ok with no major ups and downs, things are still static with Craig, I’m not dating, I’m making a conscious effort to not bring drama into my life…
I’m. so. bored.
And I feel boring socially, because I don’t have a funny story about the latest date I went on, I haven’t been in any life threatening situations, no-ones seriously upset me, I’m not getting drunk…
I think I got so used to being extreme, I don’t know how to not be.
How does everyone else do this ‘normal’ thing?