I’ve never really understood the phrase, “You’re mental.”. What does it exactly mean? That your behavior is over the top questionable, or that you’re acting absolutely out of control. The description itself is a statement of fact that carries a very negative connotation. You create a mental picture of a person with popping eyeballs and erratic behavior, but the truth is that it usually means that your acting in way that’s not normal.
|photo credit: morgueFile photos|
Another little phrase, which I don’t care for much either is, “You’re crazy.”. Again the word game about how we go upon acting in a way that’s not “normal”. But, what is normal anyway? Not being wacko, nuts, loony or the one I like the most eccentric. You know what, I’ve got news for you almost all of us have a thread of crazy in us. But we try real hard to conceal it because we don’t want to be judged or considered different.
We’re hesitant to look for help if we need it because it’s a burden to be viewed as somebody that’s almost in the “loony bin”.
Our insecurities or fears are basically monsters that are well hidden in our thoughts.
“Yeap, I said it, I actually used the possessive pronoun “our”, because I’m one of them.
I’m one of “what others” may consider different. That’s why my blog is named whatothers.
Your probably thinking what’s wrong with my head? Well the thing is, that I’ve always battled against fear most of my life.
It’s my reality, it’s my life today, yesterday and the day before yesterday. My fears are the scars of surviving a very difficult childhood. Don’t pity me because I don’t and never have pitied myself because it’s a waste of time and energy. I move forward and really don’t dwell on it for long.
My monsters have become friend and foe, they are always there. I’ve had to learn to live with them, not for them. The sad part is that I’ve lived with them most of my life on my own. Never sharing, never telling, just because I didn’t want to be judged or better said misjudged.
I don’t know for others out there, but for me the nights are proven to be nerve wrecking. During my nights just the sounds of crickets and other nocturnal bugs would play in my head as so many other things. Even if I would battle my fears using logic sometimes they would overpower me and leave me scared and weak. My fear would paralize me to the point that after my husband would go to sleep, I would spend hours just feeling sheer panic.
How do you fix something like this? I don’t have a clue, you see I’ve never sought help. I’ve been hiding all these years, just surviving.
|photo credit: morgueFile free photos|
I have a built-in panic button, that was constructed during my childhood, and it turns on and off suddenly without giving me notice. When as an uninvited guest it comes lurking by, I oblige myself to deal with it. Only until recently was I able to share this with my husband and children. So, I’m taking my therapy a step forward and writing about it.
It’s been my secret for years.
It’s been more than a burden! It felt great to get it out in the open and just talk about it, now I’ve found a support group in my family.
Each time it comes around, I talk about it the next day and everyone listens, they don’t give me the odd look and my youngest son just hugs and comforts me. When they see me too quiet, they look at me differently, but it’s a look of concern and love as they quietly ask me, “Are you okay?” , “How was your night?”. We’ve even talked about going into counseling, which I am considering.
The part that made me feel silly was when mornings would come around and I opened my eyes and thought, “I’ve survived another night”. During that precise moment I would brush my fears aside as nonsense. This was one of the things that kept me silent all these years.
My fear has been my Achilles heel. I don’t know how in the world I was able to deal with my husband’s liver transplant.
Having to deal with our vulnerable points has or never will be easy, but it’s doable. We just have to take one step after the other and begin dealing with our inner monsters. Nevertheless, just by sharing my secret with my family has been a therapy in itself, I finally feel free. Next time my closet door opens and my own personal monster called Fear comes lurking by I’ll open my heart and find comfort in my husband’s arms as he helps me win a battle I thought I had to fight all by myself.