|“The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they're okay, then it's you.”|
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Onion Girl or DIY: Mix and Match-Doll Parts
I find it interesting that Catherine Zeta-Jones is in the news this week for going to a mental health facility for Bipolar 2, the same day I decide to write about my own recent bout with some highs and lows. Why is it that celebrities can make mental illnesses the newest trend- along the lines of Loboutin shoes, purse chihuahas (or little pigs)? How do I get the commiseration of a nation for the mental blow outs we all have every once in a while? I'm not saying I'm mentally ill (though I have my days and there are people who would disagree), but I don't think it would be wrong to say that we're all getting sicker as a nation mentally, or maybe just showing it more. It doesn't seem right to have days when I'd rather hide in a closet than face the world, and even if I am a girl, and I fully believe that every now and again every girl needs a good nose honking cry, I can't seem to escape the notion that the world is simply too much today. Not that there's too much wrong,--it's just too much all together. I've spent the week feeling like I could tear my nails to shreds trying to pull off all the layers and masks I wear just to get through an ordinary day and at the same time feeling like I could break my own heart, slamming it against a wall, adding layer after layer of scars, and feeling like it's all right if my heart gets harder every time, because you just can't make it in this world with a tender heart anymore. I'm tired of feeling tired, and broken inside. If I could replace whatever it is that's missing in me- just replace my parts, like we used to do when we were kids- remember? When you could just switch heads (and even genders- how 'bout mutant Barbie G.I. Joe, huh?) If I'm a doll with broken parts, I wish I could just switch out all the stuff that makes me insecure, and mean, and most of all, most of the time, just...sad. I don't want every day to be a burden or a duty. I want to be happy for more than a few minutes at a time. I don't have the time to check into a mental facility (and I'm pretty sure my salary wouldn't cover it anyway- don't those people know how much better I could do my job if I only had the right drugs?!), so I guess I'll just have to keep doing the best I can, and posting the struggle here for all the world to see. Guess Catherine and I have something in common after all, huh?