Ok – all of you who just said bipolar before even glancing at this post, I love you too, but you may now be excused. Thank you.
For everyone else…hello and welcome!
Today’s topic is really more of a debate…a debate in which I am currently representing both sides (sigh, vote 1 for bipolar). This is where you come in. So please, for the sake of my mental health, don’t leave me alone in this one.
“Let’s begin,” she says in her head…
I would like to start by saying the question of whether I am crazy is not what this is about. That has long since been decided. We all know the answer to this one. If you didn’t, I’m sure you figured it out 5 seconds into reading this, so consider yourself enlightened.
Instead, this is a question of whether “my crazy” is more crazy than “their* crazy”.
It’s like looking at any health chart, there’s a high and low and anything in between is the safe zone. As long as you fall somewhere in there, you’re good to go. Well, lately, I feel like I’ve been dancing all over the damn chart, pole vaulting from one extreme to the other and, yes – on occasion – sticking my brave little pinky toe outside of the safe zone.
Just for a second.
Just to see how it feels.
Ouch. Ouch. You’re on my hair….oh wait, wrong movie. Back to what I was saying (I know, vote 2 for bipolar)…
One second i’m over-the-moon-happy, life could not possible get any better. Next thing I know I’m sobbing like a child with a melted ice cream cone. Two ticks of the clock later and I’m laughing.
I’m driving to work admiring a beautiful sunrise and generally loving life, then BAM. I get cut-off by some jerk and I’m instantly in I HATE EVERYONE zombie-attack mode. Then the phone rings, it’s Christian calling to tell me he was thinking about me and just like that I’m back in my own little bubble of bliss.
oh my, even I can’t keep up with this. It is physically exhausting.
I read what to expect when you’re expecting…I thought I knew what I was in for. Much like my mid-section, my hormones would never be the same post-baby and I was prepared for that much.
However, much like labor contractions, I was WILDY unprepared for how intense my hormones would be (yes, i’m throwing the ‘mother’ side of this debate a bone here). How they would cause my emotions and general demeanor to violently test the bounds the safe zone. Bouncing back and forth like a pin-ball.
And I have no say in this. There is no reason or rationality. If my hormones want me happy, I’m happy, if they want to yank me from my pedestal and drag me through the mud, then there I am all tough-mudder style face down in the dirt. I’m just along for the ride.
All of which has me questioning – is it just another ‘mother’ thing that I grossly underestimated. Or is “my crazy” crazier than “their* crazy”?
*their in this little scenario of mine, is quite simply ever other woman. We are all crazy (yes, you too) so I’m just going off average craziness here.