Laughing Through the Pain

I must have woken up on the right side of the bed this morning, because my brain was quieter than usual, and although my physical body ached from sleeping in the same position for hours, (thanks tiny human for refusing to sleep in your own bed last night), my mental self feels pretty comical.

Just because I have a depressive disorder doesn’t mean I am melancholy from the start of the day, until my head hits the pillow; I do wake up with thankfulness in my heart, and at least attempt to have a purposeful/meaningful day. Things don’t always work out that way, and there are days, more times than not, that I wake up feeling like I am smothering, but even during the darkest days I try to find something humorous about life.

I don’t like to take life seriously, I never have, and this has often come with rejection, mostly from people who concluded my age didn’t match with my behavior at any given moment. Fuck em’, right!? I enjoy my snarky, sarcastic, smart ass sense of humor, and stifling the comedian in me is something I’m not willing to do.

Life is too serious already. We wake up to hectic work schedules, bills, illness, and massive amounts of responsibility of some sort, so why should we all walk around like uptight adults, trudging through the day with an occasional side smile, and a growing stomach ulcer?

I go through life trying to find the hilarity in things around me. I still laugh at farts, enjoy an embarrassing poop story, sing improper lyrics to popular songs, ( ie: Hold me closer TONY DANZA), and occasionally yell out random words in Walmart. WHY!? Because life is too short to not make a complete ass out of yourself in front of strangers!

My husband lost his grandmother last year, and although it was heartbreaking, and we had our sullen moments, we have one memory of her funeral, and it wasn’t death tears, it was the moment we couldn’t stop gut laughing, during the services, as the priest, who reminded me of Friar Tuck, busted out his acapella version of some catholic funeral hymn. I’ll never forget the way he belted out the chorus, like Kelly Clarkson during her audition for American Idol, I literally almost peed my pants.

Funerals suck, and everyone thinks you have to sit around and be all seriously depressed, and crying the entire day, but knowing Grammy, she wouldn’t have wanted that bullshit! Grammy always got a kick out of my sense of humor, and I know she would have lost her shit had she heard The Pope’s right hand man in all his glory, because it truly was hilarious.

I don’t have a sad memory of her funeral. I can remember her for who she was before she died, and I don’t need some crusty funeral service to be reminded of what an awesome human she was! Instead, I can look back and laugh at that day, because if she was watching, she sure as hell was laughing too!

The purpose of this post is just to remind you to laugh. It’s okay to act stupid, and immature. Be prim and proper when it’s necessary, but when that time is over, just go overboard with the funnies. Who cares who is watching.

You can find humor almost everywhere. So if you are ever in Walmart, and you see a girl imitating the walk of velociraptor, with her pants pulled up past her belly button, shouting, “HEN,” in random aisles, stop and say hello…..I might be able to teach you some of my sick moves.

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Hanging On Until Tomorrow

It’s 74 outside and I sit here bundled up on the couch with a blanket up to my neck, un-showered, and in no hurry to quench my thirst, or feed my growling stomach. My eyes can’t focus on one thing, my brain is moving like a locomotive, with an out of control engine, and every sound around me has me on edge.

If I could see the hypothetical thread I am hanging on by, would I choose to cut it, or would I attempt to make it stronger, as to hold me up longer? Sometimes giving up is easier than pushing through the same shit day after day; FUCK, who am I kidding, I’ve, “given up,” in the past, and where did it land me, the hospital……but damn it, the hospital was like an escape from hell, and I guess an escape is what I am aiming for right now.

Let me tell you something, it’s hard as fuck to fight through this bipolar shit, postpartum, AND deal with additional issues other than my own. Just when I think I am having a good day, some news bombards me, and ruins my chances of having a decent day. If it isn’t news that my mother has lung cancer, it’s a call that she fell again, or that something else fucked up has happened in her life.

You might think there’s a quick fix for this shit, but there isn’t! There isn’t a magic fucking pill that makes me feel better, because NOTHING changes. The pill might stabilize some depressed moods, but it doesn’t make me normal, and OH DEAR GOD HOW I WISH I WAS NORMAL!!!

What is normal? Normal is waking up without thoughts of dying, going throughout the day without anxiety about stupid shit, not worrying about every fucking thing that doesn’t even matter, and being able to properly cope with the massive amounts of family bullshit daily.

God, I hate this; I need a vacation from my own life. Sometimes the urge to die is so strong, but then the baby cries, and it’s like, “ok, hold off for now.” How sick is that crap!? How horrible is it that the one reason why I haven’t attempted to kill myself in the past few months, is because of the baby? Go ahead, judge me for that statement, but it’s the absolute truth. Sometimes I feel like my husband would be better off without me, so leaving him doesn’t seem as bad, but there is something about the way my daughter looks at me, and smiles when I talk to her, that makes me rethink living…..plus, I’ve seen my husband in action, the baby wouldn’t survive a week alone with daddy! Ha, even in the midst of feeling like shit, I find a way to make a joke, go me!!