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It is an interesting word: crazy.
I throw it around so it ceases to have power, you know what they say: “the truly insane don’t know that they’re crazy”.
Ask me about myself and chances are I’ll disclose the details of my mental illness to you. My entire life I have been an anxious person, and most people who meet me think I’m a perfectly normal, rational human being. I mostly try and put a face to the “crazy”
Until recently, my special brand of post adolescent/pre adutlhood insanity was easily kept under wraps by therapy, sometimes as little as once or twice a month.
But in March, when things went to shit, therapy ceased to be enough. I began medicating myself…or more specifically my mental health provider began medicating me. I was the one who decided I was “well”.
truth is, I was well on my meds. I was well enough to focus and get a new job and travel and make big decisions about my life without having panic attacks. But then they came back. and just like that. I’m back to square one.
I know that it’s not a fun thing to admit that you may not be well. It embarassing and frustrating and irritating. There are a lot of social stigmas attached to mental illness. But being well…being mentally stable…that’s so amazing.
So tomorrow I take up my mothers offer of paying for my medication (even though it’s not the best fit for me) until I can get set up at ASU with a therapist and a new course of meds. I want to get healthy again. To feel like I did this summer…
So let me be the first to say: Hi. I’m Meg. And I’m crazy.
