Mental Health in Two Steps

Mental Health in Two Steps

Step one: Alternate between denying your mental illness and seeking naturopathic treatments for twenty years. 

Step two: Sing the praises of Prozac to all who will listen.

I received no congratulations for battling anxiety, depression, obsessive compulsive, and premenstrual dysphoric disorders without medication.

There were no points awarded for putting forth every molecule of effort I had in order to remain highly functional while horror scenes of irrational fears, and self-loathing monologues played behind my eyes.

I deserved a medal.

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Pulling the Trigger

Pulling the Trigger

He is right because he yells the loudest. The truth isn’t what you heard him say and saw him do, it’s what he says he said and did. Everyone in the room is a weirdo but him. Everyone a suspect. Greeting strangers with a dirty look. Always shifting blame away from himself. Never an apology that doesn’t somehow accuse someone else’s feelings of being the problem. You’re being emotional. That makes you crazy. You are not entitled to an opinion other than his. It’s his way or the highway. Just who the hell do you think you are?

This man raised me and this man broke me.

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Here I Am Blog Again

Here I Am Blog Again

The first thing I posted to my website (the one with the domain name that sounded like a McDonald's menu item) was a five thousand (one thousand) word story about making blackberry jam that didn’t turn out. The jam or the story. My initial plot was to begin writing publicly by throwing everything I could think of at all sides of an Internet I was just discovering. For some reason this included posting recipes and crafts. It was more than a year before I realized roasted brussel sprouts in a gorgonzola cream sauce and nursery mobiles made of wrapping paper scraps from baby shower gifts are not literary devices.

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Finding Dog

Finding Dog

When my husband and I first co-habitated, he asked me to pick a safe word, but not for the sexy reason. It was meant as a tool for keeping him safe in the morning, when he was happily awake and for some reason talking to me like I was the same. For those days when I awoke especially murderous, I’d simply growl, “sassafras” through gnashed teeth, and he would understand I meant to go for his throat if he didn’t immediately cease his goddamn pleasantries.

Children complicated this procedure somewhat...

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The Voice of PMS

The Voice of PMS

 

"Good Morning! Everything sucks. Especially you. You suck."

“No, don’t shower today. It’s too much effort and it won’t noticeably lessen the hardcore self-loathing we’ve got going on here."

“I hate your clothes. You look like a bag lady. You know you don't need a bra for those, right?"


“Hey! You should cut your own bangs. Yea, like that, that looks pretty good. Just a few more snips so they’re too short and you’re crying. There. That’s it.”

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