Crazy? I wish. That would make things so much easier.

So…in case you are wondering…

I’m not crazy…

Or even truly depressed.

My therapist sez so.

She is fairly amazed at my awareness and understanding and ability to articulate.

[Doesn’t surprise me. I’ve always been told this.]

Somehow that gives me little relief.

[And never has.]

I told her awareness and understanding doesn’t make me able to resolve my anxious state of mind or my negative feelings.

I wish I were crazy…then it would absolve me of the responsibility of fixing the problems.

Or, I could simply take a pill so the crazy goes away.

Or take an extended vacation in a loony bin.

I’m turning 40 next week…Tuesday, in fact.

[When I was an angst-ridden, rebellious teenager I’d sometimes scream to my mother, “oh, yeah? Well I don’t want to live past 40, anyway”].

[I wonder if I’ll go *poof* at 8:32 pm…exactly the moment I turn 40].

I’m going to see my dad too. I haven’t seen in him in 29 years.

Yeah. THAT is crazy.

My therapist asked me if I was going to ask my father a lot of questions.

I said I wasn’t planning on any.

A few months ago, I would have said yes, and would have had a list of questions I’d been dying to ask for years.


On a particularly shocking story of something that happened over 40 years ago, there are two decidedly different versions. The version my father has, and the version my mother has.

It was one of the major reasons for their divorce.

Which means…someone is lying to me.

Which is NOTHING new.

Someone was always lying to me…telling me untruths about myself (that I was fat, ugly, crazy, stupid) or untruths about my abilities (you’ll never survive on your own), or untruths about my reality (sorry, I don’t have any examples of this at the top of my head).


In the comments below…it came to me, as I paused a moment to collect my thoughts…

A voice from within my head (my mother or even maybe my grandmother), “You should be ashamed of yourself”.

Yeah, I am.

Sometimes I hate me.

No…many times I hate me…more so now that I became a mother.

Because I can be mean…just like HER.

My therapist has pity for me…that I am a motherless mother…that my insecure attachment to my mother to me has left me the way I am…

Yeah…so what do I do about it?

Claw and scratch my way back to some sort of healthy self-respect???

My therapist says I’m much too hard on myself.

But I say, if I’m not hard on me…then I won’t change.

[or maybe I simply miss the abuse, so I abuse myself.]


I’m hoping that the 18 hour train ride to Colorado will provide me with ample time to reflect and write and discover something of use to me.

I’m hoping that I come back a changed person. That some missing piece will finally slide into place and everything will all make sense.

That suddenly I’ll “straighten up and fly right.”

That’s not too much to ask, is it?

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9 Responses to Crazy? I wish. That would make things so much easier.

  1. Rick says:

    Yep, it’s funny to admit it, but for the talk therapy I did at 14, and at 24, and at… 38 or so… I became more aware and analytical, but I never felt differently — at least not for long. C’est la vie. 🙂

  2. Papa T says:

    …poignant point there, Mr. Rick.

  3. raisingsmartgirls says:

    “Nothing happens by chance”…

    Yesterday, I stopped by the local library, to pick up some books I had requested. I also checked out their books for sale…I found one with a curious title called, Veronika Decides to Die by Paul Coelho (who was involuntarily committed to a mental hospital in Brazil by his parents for wanting to be an artist).

    Weirdly enough…it’s supposed to be uplifting.

  4. Papa T says:

    Only to the extent that we have resolved our sense of dread regarding death are we able to truly live. The path to this awakening is fraught with reflections on mortality and morbidity.


    So, it’s worth the toe-stubbing to me. I’ll sacrifice a couple of toes to get and keep my heart…my self.

    [I might even suggest that Coelho’s parents’ actions could very well have stemmed from their own unresolved ‘death issues’. Many parents ‘enlist’ their children to live on ‘for’ them — staving off the dread of their own inevitable demise. (The kids don’t sign up for this task.) When the you’re-so-wonderful-you-can-do-anything-you-want-with-your-life offspring fails to fulfill the expectations of the parents, they are devastated; once again faced with their own mortality. So…maybe they weren’t imprisoning their son. Maybe they were protecting their delusion. I’m sure they did it ‘for his own good’.]

  5. raisingsmartgirls says:


    But what do you do when it’s not death you dread…but LIFE?

    Hmmm…I’m tired…

    I probably should not comment when I’m tired. I often get into a really morbid mood when I’m tired….

  6. Papa T says:

    Excellent question:

    But what do you do when it’s not death you dread…but LIFE?

    I’ll make a considered response soon…

  7. raisingsmartgirls says:

    Go easy on me. I’m sensitive, and I’d like to stay that way…


  8. Spacemom says:

    But what do you do when it’s not death you dread…but LIFE?

    Is it life that you dread, or is it the life your mother gave you?
    Is it the fear of becoming your mother and giving your girls the life you were handed.
    JK Rowlings once said (and this is a paraphrase), “At some point, you need to let go of what your parents did and be accountable for your own decisions, for they are no longer raising you.”

    Just some thoughts…

  9. raisingsmartgirls says:

    Spacemom –

    great points. I have to update on some new discoveries…but I have to make some lunch for the girls first.

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