I’m Not Crazy, I’m Just a Little Unwell

I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell—
I know, right now you can’t tell.
But stay a while and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me.
         — “Unwell”, Matchbox 20

I feel completely and totally ashamed to tell friends I can’t meet this year that it’s because I’ve been ill.

Because “being ill” has basically meant “being crazy.” Because in the end, when you’ve had a bad PTSD year (or even two in a row)… well, by society’s standards, you’re a little bit insane, and that has an unfortunate stigma.

I hide out at my blog for various reasons, one of which is that I’m convinced that my IRL friends will… not hate me, but… sort of… think less of me. I know, I know, I play a somewhat floozy role in real life (but a smart floozy). But it’s one thing to be funny, and another to be a bit scary. I seem to be more triggery this year than in years past, for reasons that probably have to do with getting settled and unfortunately having more time to reflect (but I suppose it’s part of healing, rather than constant denial). And maybe due to writing it all down.

At times, whenever I’ve felt normal-ish, I’m reminded I’m not normal at all, and in some cases I’m downright impaired. Seriously impaired at times; impaired enough to soak up vacation into getting help (but fortunately not committed).

Recently it’s remembering that Jeremy Brett had a phase inbetween seasons of portraying Sherlock Holmes of going crazy with the scissors, and with the berating of friends, and a serious breakdown when his wife died. All thanks to bi-polar. And he was committed.

Or what about Margot Kidder, the actress who portrayed Lois Lane in the first Superman movie? She also had bi-polar disorder. And was committed.

My father probably was also bi-polar, on top of being psychotic. Or maybe he was psychotic because of his bi-polar. He probably should have been committed.

I have bi-polar disorder, of course. On top of the PTSD.

So… will I become psychotic, too? Will I also lose touch with reality (although hopefully not in a violent way)? Will I get committed as a crazy?…

I have nightmares of being chased down and committed, because imprisonment is exactly what my parents wanted to do to me, and I don’t think I could survive being committed.

I worry a lot about this if I let myself think about stuff. (Oncall nights that pulse between action and quiet, or are deadly quiet, do this to me. I would prefer horrible things to happen for hours… but on the other hand, that would suck for a lot of people and our customers, so I don’t wish for it.)

Maybe the fact that I’m blogging this and have educated myself and have an awesome bartender and candy man, means that I’ll be able to avoid the fates of two of my most beloved actor people and my father.

Or maybe I’m fated to go insane.

Who wants to befriend or even love a crazy person?

I want to be far away from people if I ever lose it. Perhaps that is why I’ve decided to become almost entirely digital for a while, except for work.

Uh… sorry for the emo interlude, especially on today of all days.

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