Beth's Brazen Blurbs on Bitches and Being Brave While Being Cray

           It was a dreary day and I wasn’t in the mood to reflect on all my odd antics and idiosyncrasies and just plain out weirdness and write this damn paper.  I am the queen of random and by random I mean blunt and brazen and will tear you up one side and down the other with fancy words but wouldn’t hurt a fly and frequently hand out food to the homeless out my car window while 7 minutes later down the road I enjoy flipping off the asshole that cut me off.  I started thinking about the World though and what the purpose of life is and pondering what came first – the chicken or the egg or God or heaven or the Universe or just Oceans and Seas and Lakes.  Then I thought, "ok I know God made Adam and Eve but who made God?"   And then I had an epiphany.  Or as Oprah says, an “aha moment.”  I felt my brain start up like a mouse on a wheel and the more I thought about life and stuff - the more I realized that I am either on to something or quite possibly brilliant and need an invitation to join MENSA.  
          Sometimes my thoughts are eccentric and I think to myself, “Should I even write that?  Is that legal to say?”  or "can my professor or my psychiatrist report people for discussing shady drug deals and stupid pillhead bitches who steal a bipolar bitch's three hundred fucking dollars and Quarter Pound of damn pot?". At times I have been afraid that I would offend someone and I care too much what others think and while I love to make others laugh - I secretly wonder if they are smiling but are thinking silently to themselves, "omg that bitch is crazy!"  I know you feel that way when sometimes you say something that is not "politically correct", but I have quite a foul mouth like the other night I said, "fuckin shit!" in class when my folders fell out of my backpack and everyone turned around to look at me.  Ooopsies.
          But who cares and do we really need to think before we speak?  Unless it is a comment or statement that is disrespectful to a race, creed, or religion or puts someone down for no reason and would hurt someones feelings so much that it makes them cry - then I don't give a shit what I say anymore or who hears or who repeats it.  I got so tired of hearing my family members discuss that I said "fuck" or "cock" or "Penetration" on Myspace or Facebook and YouTube that it would worry and frustrate me and I'd be puking before a performance because I just didn't have the balls to try out my new blow job jokes and eventually it would make me mad that I was allowing others thoughts and opinions and religious views control what I said outloud and on stage.
          That will eventually drive a girl insane.  But then I have always remembered some advice I got from a comedian, “Always offend people.”  
          After finally turning off the TV and Pandora, and just sitting here still where the silence makes you nervous and you have nothing to do but bow your head and pray to God and apologize to Him for not praying more and in those quiet moments where you make yourself stop thinking about everything and just picture Jesus chillin' on the park bench with you smoking a Marlboro and you picture that and just "Be Still and Know That He is God"- you will never know peace and that emergency prayers do work and sometimes God doesn't have an answer that quick for other in-depth prayers, but you know "God is Good All the Time and All the Time God is Good" and that "I am a friend of God" and you break out and start singing "Blessed Assurance" in the shower and belt it out while you pretend to be the next Aretha Franklin and by that I mean SANG like you are the lead vocalist in the church choir.
          But in those moments - you know that you are in God's presence and you are never alone because He is always with you.  He's with you in the morning and He's with you at night.  And He's even with you when you drive up in Horse Creek bum fuck Chuckey to a dilapidated shed just because no one is smart enough to legalize marijuana here in this great Bible Belt State of Tennessee and although you know God probably might prefer you spend money on other priorities or charities and you'd rather not mentally picture Jesus watching you act like a bad-ass in a crime movie ridin' dirty. You know that God - In His Omnipresent power, you know He has promised you that He will give you the peace and the grace to get through the trials and tribulations and turmoil that life brings and yes, you have not been treated right and you have not ever been loved by a man or really loved by your earthly father and you have been discriminated and stigmatized because of your mental illness or substance abuse problem or you might have had a really hard life and not been given a fair start and have crappy parents who cared more about getting high than their kids or fake friends who just used you for money and were never there when you needed them or maybe you were spoiled as a child and given gifts instead of hugs and kisses and given money for every A you made but never heard a "I'm proud of you."  And you might just blame your "emotionally unavailable hoarder who just bought me cars and never picked out presents or signed a birthday card for you and cares more about watching TV and only talks to you about the weather and has never once said he's proud of you or that you are pretty" 73-year-old father who nags you every day about your smoking habit but was told to go on oxygen full time by his doctor because he has late stages COPD,  but says that he will quit smoking even though he's smoked for 57 years and never quit for good. You blame him for not being able to have a steady relationship because your heart has been broken so many times and you are afraid to love because how can a girl have a healthy relationship with a man when she has no relationship with her own father. 
          But then you stop and think and you know that you have a Heavenly Father who thinks you're pretty and would never make rude comments about your weight that make you cry and then you want to bitchslap the man who never once came to a sporting event or recital you were in and when you were in the Fairest of the Fair Competition chose instead to go see the good daughter in Memphis getting her White fucking Coat.  And you love how he discusses your bad habits and obesity, but then he shuts you down when you try to talk about life or men or why you are single. You know that God - your Heavenly Father - actually wants to develop a relationship with you.  And He will give you a Hug one day and there will be no more tears and you won't cry and wonder why even your own father doesn't like you.  I do hope all of you will know one day that God will give you the strength to hold on to hope and still have faith.            
          "This Too Shall Pass" even when you sometimes think you'd be better off dead.  And at those times of sorrow and it's been seven days since you've been manic and you haven't slept 6 out of 72 hour- you know you are not alone and there is a Higher Power who is omnipotent and Righteous and Just and you don't have to concoct a plan on how to get back at your bitchy friend for scamming you or your ex-boyfriend for cared more about sexual things than your personality and heart or the mental health company that fired you for moodiness even though you have a mood disorder.  
          You don't have to have you're whole career planned out yet when you go to college or even when you are 32.  You remember your mom saying, "Vengeance is mine saith the Lord" and know that - "God's got this, girl." And you take some deep breaths and don't even need to pray anymore because you are smiling and know that the "peace that passeth all understanding" has filled up your Heart and all is right with the world - in that moment because you feel God's presence and His undying, unconditional Love for you and everyone else in the world.  And what more do we need than that kind of love? 

          The world’s social problems prevalent here in 2014, I think in a way all revolve around money and the article “Making Ends Meet on a Welfare Check” would sum up and answer and make more people think in a more sociologically mindful way.  From my days telling jokes onstage and just because of the bipolar disorder I think, I am somewhat dramatic and exaggerate for increased humor but I hope this albeit comical essay has made you sit back and relax and maybe, just maybe it has made you smile and possibly have an out loud giggle and think:  Maybe God is cool or Let's just all get a bong.  Maybe everyone would be happier if they smoked a doobie everyday, you think?

I used to think that being blunt and offending others was quite rude and mean, but no more.   I’m bipolar, sometimes bitchy, and just plain out blunt and about to graduate with my Bachelors in Clinical Psychology.  I spent too much of my life biting my tongue and being that shy girl - and I like this Beth much better because she's a bad ass - a hustler - a little feisty - a little freaky - a little crazy - a lot of fun - and just groovy.  

So take some advice from my bipolar brain and I hope that this book...ok essay..will inspire you and is helpful for my girls with mental illnesses such as clinical depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety disorders, schizophrenia, and PTSD.  Do not be ashamed of your craziness, sleeplessness, irritatedness, bitchiness, and scaredness.  And do not be ashamed to talk about things and do not hermitize yourself and think that just because one guy didn't want to date a girl with 'mental illness issues' that all men aren't like that and God will provide a caring and loving and loyal man one day that could care less that you have to take meds every day to remain stable.  "All the women who take Trileptal….Throw Your Hands Up At Me!”  Isn’t that a Beyonce song?  But I digress.

Say stuff that offends people.  That makes someone stare.  That makes someone think outside their judgmental bubble because sometimes if you talk about things then others can relate and you might meet new friends and if no one brings up or discusses certain topics, then how would there be change in the world?  Like all those women who once burnt their bras?  What if some were too afraid or afraid what others may think or afraid their elderly grandmas would find out and didn’t do anything?  All social problems became a problem somewhere back in history because the issue was taboo or unheard of or “out of the box” or outside someone’s Bible Belt Bubble.  So if you have something to say, then say it.   After all, Dr. Seuss says, “Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”   

My therapist says, “Something is not a problem, until it creates a problem” and how many issues can you say that with?  Surprisingly I have enjoyed this essay assignment as it has provoked many feelings and thoughts on certain subjects that I am passionate about.  The one thing I am most passionate about and want to educate others on is the stigmatization of those who suffer from mental illnesses.  But that will be Part Two of this Essay or Chapter 2 when this essay becomes a New York Times Bestseller one day – hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?

Think about this for a moment:  If a person has cancer and enters the hospitals for chemotherapy and radiation…then what happens?  Friends and family visit and the cards and flowers start coming.  Dinners are pre-made and dropped off and people from your old church come by and you are put on prayer lists that are prayed over by whole church congregations throughout your community.  Ok, but what happens when an adult female or male or an adolescent  is involuntarily committed to a psychiatric hospital and held against their will and even when she comes down from the manic and psychosis state she was in - Who, I ask you,  shows up for visitation to the local mental hospital or “looney bin” or “crazy house” where you know from middle school on the bus when you would hold up signs out the window that said "WOODRIDGE OR BUST" and laugh about that girl that was emo or the boy with thick glasses and braces who you got a kick out of bullying but always wondered why he changed schools or the beautiful girl who secretly cuts her arms and legs at night and cries out to God and wonders why no man has ever loved her while she loves freely and gives relationships with friends and men more time and a bigger priority over her own sanity and  why she gets tattoos and piercings and enjoys the physical pain and gets off on the physical pain because the physical pain is a temporary band-aid for the emotional pain and turmoil she has been in for years.  And at least if she doesn't feel loved or wanted or cared about - she feels something in that moment.  What about that girl who melts and then bangs too many opanas and lays there in the floor with the needle still pierced into her vein and her prayers to God to just end the pain are her last words before her last breath.   Who, I ask you, comes to see those women and men? Not a damn soul.  That’s who.

  I can assure you that even with 7 days and not a breath of outside air or a hint of the sun except once when one of the nice nurses let you sneak out for a few quick puffs off one of her Marlboros.  No one calls.  No one is concerned.  No email.  No chocolates.  No cards.  No pastors.  And no visits.  So think of that next time you pass by Johnson City Medical Center and just glance for 30 seconds to the right at the Woodridge and think of those women and men, trapped inside their thoughts that became so delusional they cried in angst because they knew they were the classic bipolar disorder type 1 psychotic bitch up in Cedar Unit with the crazy eyes who has got others riled up and still walks the red line in front of the nurses station and keeps repeating "Don't Cross the Red Line!" in a taunting way so creepy that the nurses get out her chart and document her words and then she ends up in a padded room because she was really freaking out the psych nurses.  Think of that girl who cries in her room at night looking over at her sleeping roommate who once was a former client of hers where she worked as a Residential Tech at the Rehab but the poor girl is so strung out that she doesn't remember you.  Think of that girl who goes by her first name in the psychiatric hospital just as a disguise because she's walking around all the other clients in no bra with hard nipples and hopes no one will remember she's the cool, fun tech at the rehab they were once in and she wonders why they ripped out her underwire in the bra she had and can't even use a tampon when she's on her period because you might choke yourself with a tampon.  And no conditioner or soap of course so she gets used to the generic, non-lathery all in one secret elixir shampoo and soap formula and the non-alcohol mouthwash and no hair products of course and learns how to use pink baby lotion as hair gel to tame her wild and crazy curls that need actual shampoo and conditioner and a brush instead of a tiny black comb.  
That girl ponders how she ended up here when just last year she had an interview on Laurel Unit and God sure is funny because she was put on  Laurel unit but is so pissed off because even though she passed the drug test they make her strip down and squat and cough even though they hear she works down the road at a rehab.  That girl looking at the director that hired her and the director not even remembering her and who probably thinks you are delusional and just thought you got hired here and that girl who quit her other job at CCS only to find out her offer of employment from Woodridge was "retracted" once she told them of her mental illness and daily psychotropic medication intake and even though she got a letter from her psychiatrist stating she was compliant  with her medications and who was so excited and felt blessed because she had a new job as a Psych Tech at Woodridge -the psychiatric hospital she was committed to when she was 21.  And here she was 10 years later and felt oh so proud that she is doing ok now and trying to pay it forward and just wanting to work there as a tech because she can relate to those men and women on her unit and vividly remembers the room, the dayroom, the smells, the single file walks to the cafeteria with the other crazy girls with hard nipples and no bras and biker shorts.  She remembers how she felt sitting on the toilet and uncontrollably crying and taking 2 hours to pee and asking for a catheter because she was that anxious with a pulse of 140 and traumatized from the days events and scared she would lose her job because she was supposed to work the graveyard shift but instead she's in the psych ward and all she wants to do is punch that bitchy cunt of a nurse who told her "that attitude's not gonna get you anywhere missy".  That girl reflects and wishes she would have never called 911 even though she couldn't breath because she was just trying to make a funny when she said she was driving 94 mph and almost hit a tree.  I didn't want to hit a damn tree - it was an exaggeration for comical relief, but apparently 911 operators don't have a good sense of humor so now she's back in the big W on an involuntary 5150 hold because the doctor she cussed out at the ER decided to be a little bitch and fill out the committal papers instead of just giving her something for her anxiety or her damn Vistaril.  She wonders how she ended up here and wishes she had more common sense like McGyver and could figure out to bust out the thick double paned windows like she once did at her parents with a huge rock because she would love nothing more than to bust out of this bitch and just run and run and keep running in her hospital gown until she is safe and secure.

  Just want you to picture us - us girls in my room talking about sex and life and boys because it passes the time and us girls flirting with and getting the number of the younger attractive Schizophrenic boy that smiled at us.  
Think of us next time you drive by Woodridge.  Us that are locked in the psychiatric hospital and us who are contemplating an escape and us who beg and cry and plead for the psychiatric doctor on the unit that day to let us go because we are finally feeling fucking normal.  But we remain locked inside the ward.  By the state of Tennessee.  On a 5150 hold.  Because there is a lack of understanding from lay people and idiotic legislature people who don’t know anyone with mental illness or have skewed views from the media on those with mental illness and think we should keep the "mentally ill locked away for a long while" even when we get better and have stabilized moods.

People that get well in the psych ward don’t get to ring a bell when they are done or get a roll out in a wheelchair by the nurses and doctors with flowers and balloons. We get prescriptions and the lovely scar of a 5150 Hold on our record.   And the day that girl realizes that all because she called 911 for help with her breathing and thought she was having a heart attack but did not know it was just a severe panic attack.  That girl that cries when she finds out that she cannot ever become a cop or correctional officer because when a 5150 hold shows up on the background check – ain’t no way they givin’ some bipolar bitch a concealed weapon carry permit.  

Depression is very common nowadays and a lot of research has been done on Postpartum depression after a woman gives birth and now that there are more celebrities coming forward and saying, "hey I have bipolar disorder but I'll be ok" like Demi Lovato and Britney Spears and Amanda Bynes.  And there aren’t too many “Tom Cruise’s who think medicine is not the answer to mental disorders because mental illness ceases to exist", but bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and even Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder aren’t discussed that much and people still ask me to describe what it's like to have bipolar disorder.  On a date a while back a guy said, “yeah my last relationship didn’t work out cause she had that bipolar crap and her life was like a rollercoaster and she had to take medication.  You’re not on any of that anti-depressant shit, are you?”  How does a woman who has been involuntary committed three times in her life and has taken daily medication to control her mania and depression for over 10 years respond to that question?  I changed the subject, but needless to say, that relationship didn’t last long once he found out about stints in the big W and my hospitalization in my adolescent years at Ridgeview.   But I digress.

Why is it that some days you just want to eat Pringles in your bed while you watch re-runs of Roseanne all day?  Knowing you have work to do and errands to run and easter food to make but instead of making progress you procrastinate and before you know it, you’re in a full binge fest and on your third can of Pringles and then you feel guilty for eating all that and just decide to take a nap and not think about school work due or your eating disorder that may result from compulsive binge eating.  But alas, you finally get out of bed and put down the remote and the Pringles and make yourself drink coffee and accomplish some school assignments because you know you’re smart and can do good in school even though you are going through a lonely, depressive time in your life and you are super manic and starting to have euphoric and delusional thoughts but you haven't slipped over yet to psychosis so it's all good.  And albeit not suicidal, you contemplate the purpose of life which leads you to contemplate the purpose of school which leads you to contemplate the purpose of this class and what if Jesus blows the trumpet and all these 14 years I’ve been trying to get a 4 year degree – all that is wasted?  It seems as if I only have the “what if” thoughts when I have a big test or paper due.But I digress...

What do you think of when you think of the word stigma?  Does bullying or physically handicapped people or mentally ill people come to mind?  Do you think of those of other races who experience racial prejudice or the funny women in comedy who fight sexism or those who are transgender, gay, lesbian, or bisexual who have to answer to some people why they chose to be gay or the elderly man or woman who knows their family thinks they should be in a home instead of living in the house they have lived in all their life and don't want to leave because it's where their husband or wife took their last breath.

  I remember the day when my parents told me that I better never date a woman because that is wrong in God’s eyes and it is a sin.  I said, “Well you think pre-marital sex is a sin and that’s archaic thinking!”  My mom still assures me that God is not pleased with my pre-marital sex doings and pre-marital fornication and slight obsession with oral sex but she won’t answer me when I say, “Mom, I’m 32 and haven’t had a relationship longer than 3 months….what if I never get married?  Then I would have never got to experience sex and just how great an orgasm makes you feel!”  I mean seriously.  I can’t believe I was taught that sex is bad and wore my True Love Waits ring and passed out pledges at school from my church and was like some teenage Abstinence Ambassador.  I got my nipples pierced while I was virgin.  I didn’t have sex until I was 21 and most of my friends did it when they were like 14 or 15 and I never kissed a guy until I was 16 I think with this hot older guy named Tyler.  But alas, I wanted to wait because I was taught that your virginity is a gift that you get to give your husband on your wedding night.  That’s how my parents did it in 1966.  That’s how my sister and her husband did it in 2006.  And I was expected to wait as well.  Well finally the cat came out of the bag when my mom found condoms and a porno in my room at 21 and she freaked out.  Even though I was an adult, I still had to follow “their rules while you live in this house” so needless to say, I quickly found a crappy apartment so I could have my devious fornication and masturbate in private without watchful, overbearing, prudish eyes and a mom who would say, "This couch smells like a butt!  That is a butt smell!  What have you been doing down here, young lady?"

But I digress, what I would most like people to do is be more open minded.  I was raised going to church in a Southern Baptist denomination with strict rules and almost primitive beliefs and was warned by my mother to not “straddle the fence” and that “as for me and my house we choose to serve the Lord” which is from the Bible but often taken out of context and applied as if you have to choose between ‘good’ and ‘evil" or between 'God' or "the world" and that you have to walk the straight and narrow and never even take a slight detour or experience what it's like to stray or maybe make your own path.

It amazes me when I think of my childhood and how I was made to memorize scripture and participate in those Bible drills where you win a prize for your memorization of scripture skills.  Don’t get me wrong, I am a follower or Jesus.  I say that because the term “Christian” is used so frequently that “follower of Jesus” is what I tell people.  I know I’m going to Heaven and that my name is in the Lamb's Book of Life and all that.  And I definitely believe that once you are saved you are always saved and you cannot lose salvation so don't listen to those Free-will Baptist freaks.  And You can’t gain salvation by good works so please don't listen to the Mormons or Latter-day Saints or Jehovah's witnesses who wake you up from a dead sleep on a Saturday morning to "Share Good News!" with you and you say, "I'm already saved" and go back to bed and shake your head in disbelief that some people still don't think it is strange to go around like a door-to-door meat salesman and share weird pamphlets and tell you that only 220,000 people are getting into Heaven so you better repent from your evil ways.

I believe that becoming a Christian or “getting saved” as some call it, is when you admit you are powerless over your life and you need God to intervene and come into your heart and life and fill you with His Love and that you are choosing to let Him help you and be your co-pilot through life. That’s it.  It’s a simple prayer that anyone can do.  I became a Christian when I was 8 years old.  And though I have not been the most righteous Christian and devout – I know God still loves me and I love him.  God doesn't make tally marks every time you enter a church or temple or mass.  You can choose whether to pray to God and have your own church by a creek or watch Joel Osteen at home while taking notes and reading your Bible or if you want to experience organized religion and sing "Shall We Gather At The River" with your friends and famil and try to listen to the pastor preaching "fire and brimstone" while secretly thinking he's "preachin' to the choir" and wouldn't church be more interesting and useful if we get practical tips on how to apply the Biblical principles to our lives instead of preaching that homosexuality is a sin and makes the lesbian lady that came to church for the first time in her life have a skewed view of Christians and Christianity and never wants to hear about God again?  Sheesh.  And we Christians wonder why no one accepts our invites to come to church. 

I love to tell others about God and His amazing love and share stories of how God has answered my prayers.  I’ll drink a beer and be talking about Jesus or something Joel Osteen or Joyce Meyer said about how to live and walk with Christ. But I don’t want to get into a religious rant.  I just think that Atheists or Agnostics or those who believe in Something or Someone would be more open-minded and not just “God has never answered my prayers so why should I believe in him” and I understand that people have been forced to attend church or had a bad experience, but  I think Christians are tolerant of Atheists and Agnostics and although some Christians may be preachy and such and weird you out when they write a Bible verse on your Get Well Card - you realize they are doing that out of love and concern for your eternal life.  Because who wouldn't want to learn how to have eternal everlasting life and experience unconditional love from a God who knows the count of the hairs on your head?

Because what moral person would want to live with the fact that the person they knew and once talked to about God may not know Jesus and  could possibly die one day without ever realizing just how awesome God and His promises are.  I struggled with that recently so let me explain.  I had a former client that recently overdosed and died.  That makes the Seventh person I know from my job at the last rehab who had finished the program, stayed clean and sober for a long time, and then relapsed and died on the first or second relapse.  I guess one's body had a tolerance built up but then get clean and sober and with one relapse they used the milligrams they used to use and I guess one’s body is not used to that amount of the pill or substance and it’s way too much and the body goes into shock and just stops.  But I remembered all or mine and that client's conversations and I remember her telling me she didn't believe in God and you cry because you could have possibly said something that made her believe in God or at least gave her some hope and told her that God loves her.  I don't like thinking about death, but it's a fact they we all will eventually die so I think death is ok to discuss and think about but the thoughts about death definitely need to be addressed by a professional if the thoughts become suicidal or homicidal.  

I want to start a support group through DBSA - the Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance - and possibly pursue a career fighting stigma of mental illness like in an organization or maybe become a lawyer that fights for justice for those afflicted with mental illnesses.  Those who have been stigmatized and not treated properly (i.e. How I was terminated without notice for alleged “moodiness” when they are a "mental health company" and had been aware of my “mood disorder")

Nothing makes me angrier than those who treat others unfairly albeit physical handicap or mental illness or developmental challenge.  I don't have hallucinations or homicidal thoughts and I don't feel things crawling on me or use illegal narcotics.  I take my anti this and that drugs that are prescribed by a psychiatrist to control the highs and lows of my bipolar disorder and yes – I have delusional and sometimes euphoric thoughts - but I'm not manic all the time.  Sometimes I'm depressed.  Not just sad.  As in too depressed and haven't had a shower in 9 days depressed.  Or there is a mixed state at times which is mania and depression mixed.  Or there is hypo mania which is the state before the full blown mania and the best feeling kinda like you just snorted some cocaine and have all this energy.  Then there is the full blown mania where you start to act impulsively and have hyper sexuality and have delusional thoughts like thinking the sun is shining down just because of you and that you are gonna be the next Larry the Cable Guy or that you are going to go down in history like Janis Joplin or Marilyn Monroe and maybe you should just kill myself and be like a bipolar martyr and maybe people will realize just how smart you were and how all your writings were wonderful if you were dead because maybe then they would take you seriously and and take the time to read your blogs and pages of ramblings and jokes.  And the men whom you loved with all your heart would realize that maybe you were the "girl that got away."

Men, or immature boys, make me maddest.  The maddest!  I am a never been married 32 year old woman and know a manipulator when I see one so don’t try to force or coerce a woman into being sexually on the first date and don’t even get me started on men who don’t show respect to a woman.  Men like to complain about not getting respect, but don’t realize they are disrespecting a woman by sending her a random picture of their junk.  “Ain’t nobody got time for that” when you are in school and want to just get to know guys and start out as friends and who just sends naked pictures to someone when they didn't even ask for one.  How is seeing how big your package is going to benefit me or make me want to be with you?  Sorry there, buddy.  Keep it in your pants.

            Another thing that lights my fire is the people on Facebook who post every single detail of their life and 27 daily pictures of their ugly kids that make the girls who don’t want a kid and like cats more feel insecure.  Ugh.  Get over yourself and stop with the “15 years ago I met my soulmate and we lived happily ever after” crap.  I can’t.  I mean, I just can't.  But I digress.

            Aside from the Men who don’t respect women and weird people that keep having more than 2 or 3 kids to live their life vicariously through and Women who treat men like shit and wonder why their marriage is in trouble need to do their homework too.  If no one tries to do anything different, then don’t expect different results and that your man will be motivated to get a job and want to  get off the couch and get him a job to support his family.  Life is too short to be stuck in a bad relationship and just give up and think you won't ever find anyone better so you settle for the loser who doesn't treat you write or the girl who constantly flirts with the opposite sex and has never been loyal in a relationship.  And what is it with babies having babies?  A girl on Dr. Phil got pregnant at 11 and gave birth at 12.  I didn’t even know how to have a baby or what sex was at 12 years old.  Sheesh.  And religious zealot fanatic people having 19 kids like that Duggar family.  Oh my – what is happening to the world when we give people that are overtly over-populating our already in-debt nation a damn show on TLC which is The Learning Channel?  You know what I’m learning from that show?  Wear a damn condom.  And give side hugs?  Who in their 30s still gives side hugs like a thirteen year old.  And double dating with your parents at the Putt-Putt?!?!                           

My parents really make me mad and how they still try to control me and my decisions and my dad still driving by to see if I went to class and then coming inside and lecturing me like I purposefully skipped class.  He has no clue what I go through and says I would be fixed if I took my medicine at the same time every day and thinks anti-psychotics and anti-convulsants and anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds are some magical pills or combo of an elixir and I would never be moody or depressed or sad or suicidal or get fired from good jobs ever again if I just take this magical dosage of meds every day for the rest of my life.  But what he doesn't know is that I do take my meds daily but yet sometimes the mania is overpowering and overrides the medication  and of course I'm going to be fucking moody at times because who isn't and I realize that life is a Bitch and when an ex that a girl is still in love with texts her  it fucks up her brain and thoughts and then you are up for weeks and then  the 10 year roller coaster ride you've had through all of your adult life takes another upside down loop and here we go again.   You think "why me?" and "can't a bipolar bitch catch a break?" and think about the time when you were 17 and committed to an adolescent psych ward and you were sure your cute and sweet new boyfriend Brodie was never going to understand why you are here and no one talked to you and you just sat beside the cute emo girl and cried because your parents left you and told you that you were crazy and “just needed help” and  that if you “tell the psychiatrist everything they will help you” and you won’t be our burdensome, wayward, daughter afflicted with a tragic mental incapacity and Thank you Jesus that our other daughter is a doctor.

  Sometimes I wish I was born in the early 19th century when they had insane asylums and locked up all the mentally ill.  Just lock my ass away in a psych ward for disobeying a law or my parents or society’s rules and the church’s strict regulations.  Just leave me alone to my thoughts and ponderings and opinions and delusions and paranoia and let me laugh while you and the state pay for my room and board and I give you the crazy eyes and then that crazy laugh like Angelina Jolie in Girl Interrupted.  Yeah.  Not really.  But could you imagine how many people would be in asylums these days if they still existed?  
I used to want to be alive in the 1970s and I wished I was the Janis Joplin of my days and have the balls to walk around town in my feather boa and with all of my mental illness in full view and with my scarfs and fancy clothes and long cigarette and laugh when I think that people probably either think I’ve gone insane or that I’m due for another psychiatric hospital stint. 

So next time you drive on State of Franklin headed towards ETSU - Look at that Woodridge sign and think of those men and women and girls and boys in there half smiling on the outside but dying and being flooded with emotions on the inside.  Thinking they are alone and looking out the blinds in the cafeteria wondering why no one comes to visit and You think of those who sit beside others and hold their hand just because it is warm even though the person has a flat affect and you just saw them pick and flick a booger on the ceiling.

  The next time you think “oh yeah, that girl crazy” or "well she's got that mental problem, you know"  or "that’s the comedian bitch who’s a smartass and bitter about life” - Look in those tinted windows with blinds and shades to hide the sunlight and think of the census at the full capacity in all the different units there at the psychiatric hospital where even most of the nurses and psychiatrists and fellowship and med students even hate their fucking job and tell me you wouldn't be fucking bitter too.
Think of us crazies while you pay for your $6 coffee at Starbucks and we scrape up pennies that fall from the pockets from a catatonic person  just so we can buy a candy bar because eating is all we have to do since there is no smoking.  The girl that gets her room raided and apples and candy bars that were hidden are found and thrown away because no one understands that food makes you feel better especially when you are traumatized.

  How do you explain the feeling of your freedom being ripped away and your mental stability deteriorating right before your eyes and even though you know you probably did need inpatient treatment but you just don't understand why you can't leave once you feel somewhat normal because all you want to do is return to work and talk to the girls that just got out of Poplar Unit at Woodridge and settled in for their 28 days of alcohol and drug rehab and who tell you that you are the only tech who makes them feel comfortable and makes them smile and laugh.  And you love those girls and share your Woodridge stories and they can relate to you and they get you.

 Just google bipolar disorder.  Google Mental Illness.  Listen and share YouTube Stories.  Join Active Minds or NAMI or DBSA or start your own support group for loved ones who know someone with a mental illness.   

And think of us crazy girls loved by the Eli Young Band and the Rebels and the Rowdies and the Round Holes in Square Pegs kinda girls that wear mismatched clothes and don't always do our hair or even wear make up.  Think of those and be mindful of how your laughter at certain De-moralizing jokes about "the crazy people" affect others.  Be mindful also of all the hell one goes through and the never-ending roller coaster of not only emotions but of life experiences and trauma and anxiety.  Think of us who cry because they overheard the nurses and doctors talking about us in the break room.

Many things get me angry.  What gets me angry is when people think I’m fat because I’m lazy.  What gets me angry is the feeling after I binge eat to the point of sickness.  What gets me angry is when I lower my standards and settle for any guy who says I’m beautiful.  What gets me angry is that People don’t notice personality because they are too focused on outside things such as beauty and weight.  People don’t notice a woman’s intellect and intelligence because they are too focused on her fake nails and fake nose or if she has Ugg boots or Kmart blue light special boots on.  What gets me angry is that my ex would text me when he was married and I wanted nothing to do with him but now that he is divorced he won’t reply to my texts and wants nothing to do with me.  What gets me angry is when you are finally over your other ex, that he sends a sweet text and you dream about him all week. What gets me angry is when people think I’m just some dumb naive blonde.  I assure you I am not.  I’m just a girl.  Waiting for someone to say, “I get you, girl.  Thank you for inspiring me and making me feel like I'm not the only one who is crazy."

People don’t notice that a girl just needs a hug or a warm body next to her at times and not just a quick rendezvous.  People don’t notice that a girl is trying to succeed in life and judge her for taking on a full time job at a fast food joint but don't know she is busting her ass by going to school full time and a couple semesters away from a Bachelors.  People don’t notice that a married couple really is trying to work things out and even goes to counseling because others want to create more drama and other family or friends try to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.  People don't notice that sometimes a girl just needs a cheerleader and someone to say, "You Go, girl!"

 If you want to sing, then sing.  If you have something to say, say it.  That is how I wound up doing stand up comedy.  I didn’t chose to have crazy life stories like calling 911 once for a canoe and then when I experienced the racing thoughts and sleepless nights and days in my mania states, it allowed me to think creatively and write and write and write until all my crazy rambling thoughts were down on paper and then once I verbalized those crazy thoughts and people told me that I was hilarious and owners of comedy clubs said that I was funny – it boosted my self esteem

People talk about weed and drugs as a problem, but what they don’t talk about or notice is that people are in jail on retro and insane marijuana charges and marijuana is now legal in 2 states and medically approved for use in over 20 states.  These people that just bought their quarter pounds of pot because the herb is the only way to make them relax and have less anxiety.  These innocent people who never drive high and just sit at home and mind their own business are taking up space and making the prisons and jails overcrowded and then there is less room for the violent offenders and child molesters, pedophiles, sex offenders, murderers, rapists, and the losers who don’t pay up their child support to their 5 different exes to support their 5 babies.

People talk about why they think a school shooting happened , but what they don’t talk about or see is that the public and police officers and 911 Dispatchers should be schooled on warning signs for someone experiencing a psychotic break or psychosis episode.  Schizophrenics have been killed in the street just because the police thought they were violent, but what they don’t realize is that when you are out of touch with reality, you don’t understand why you are doing what you are doing.  

Like the time I jumped in a pond with yellow dishwashing gloves and got out my scuba diving equipment and then put a mattress on a hill because I thought I was getting married.  Then ripped a cops shirt that responded to my hang up call when I stated to the 911 dispatcher, “This is my house too and I can do what I want and my parents are gone and I know the neighbors called ya’ll but I’ll be fine.”  In my delusional, paranoia mind, I thought the neighbors had called the law because they were standing in the yard watching me like I was a circus act – which it probably did seem odd that I was busting tv’s on huge rocks and ripping pages out of Bibles at 8 oclock in the morning.  But still – the cops didn’t have to be assholes.  If they were trained properly, they would have known that I was experiencing a psychotic episode because they initially thought I was on drugs.  They even searched my parent’s house and asked if my parents wanted to press charges on me for destroying some of their belongings.  And what's with the fucking straightjackets?  Damn asshole - sorry about the mud wiped in your pretty patrol car out of anger but I assure you handcuffs are enough.  They did do one thing right and took my crazy ass to Woodridge and I was in Cedar unit which is the worst cases of people with either mental illnesses, substance abuse, or co-occurring disorders. But seven days was a little overkill for a naive psychology student who just lost her virginity and who thought her boyfriend would respond to the Social Workers calls and was telling everyone in group therapy how she was in love for the first time ever and was just asked to go on a vacation with a man to the beach and then find out said man has disappeared and won’t answer any calls because his girlfriend being committed involuntary to the psychiatric  hospital is “too much for him to handle” and that I was “getting the help I needed.”

         Sometimes you just need to let things go and say fuck it.  Who cares that a "narcissistic fucking momma's  boy who still lived at home with his parents until he was 36" never loved me?  Obviously God knew what He was doing and saved you from more heartache because his wife left him too.:-)

         I do need to forgive those who have wronged me and I will get to that place of forgiveness one day and I try to always "Do unto others as you would have done unto you."  But I think Forrest Gump had it right and that Life really is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what kind of life you’ll get but you can unwrap the gift of life and live it.  Just live it, girl. 

And Remember to Breathe.