Happy Birthday to... my blog!

It's been a year since I started this place of senseless ramblings.


It's been a crazy year. Not that you, Joe Reader, would know. At least not to the extent of what has happened. There are a few, very few, that know the bad things that have occurred. You know who you are. I trust you with that information, or else you would never have known.


I don't really write about the bad stuff. For one, I don't like depressing other people by unloading my issues on them. It my life, I have to deal with it. And another, if I write about it here, then it's in black and white and seems more real. More permanent. I don't like to dwell on things... I deal and move on. If I have to look at it in writing every day, then it's difficult to move past it.


That said, I'm gonna unload a little today. It's my anniversary, so get over it!


So here we go...


I'm crazy. No really, I am. It's okay, I've accepted it. I'm pretty sure my husband has too. Also, the "voices" in my title? They've been real from time to time.

I suffer from Social Anxiety Disorder. Basically, I'm scared of people. Not one-on-one people, but groups or crowds. Parties are torture. I hate the mall. I used to work in retail, so you can imagine how well that worked. Put me in a situation like this and I'm very likely to have a panic attack. My hands and feet go numb, my throat closes up, and I hyperventilate. Good times.

I also have suffered from pretty extreme depression since I was about 14. I've been medicated and to counseling for both issues. One (meds), seemed to make it worse, and the other just felt like a huge waste of time. I'm not big on medication of any sort, and I hate talking to people about my problems- especially strangers.

Shortly after my son was born, the "voices" started. Those fist voices scared me. They were menacing and had nothing good to say. They were the only ones that have ever talked directly to me. It was at that time I first saw something that wasn't there. I've seen bunnies in the grocery store, birds in the basement, and I once stopped my car dead in the middle of the highway to avoid hitting a horse. Once I noticed no one else was stopping I drove on. The horse just looked at me.

My "voices" in recent years have become less menacing, and no longer talk to me. Just around me. At our old apartment I heard a baby crying all day, even though there wasn't one in the building. I also heard knocking on the outside wall of the apartment. No big deal until you know we were on the 2nd floor.

Now I just hear what sounds like someone left their tv on. Hopefully it will go away, though somehow I doubt it.

It has been suggested that I'm bipolar. Whether on not I am makes no difference. I won't medicate for it, so what good would a diagnosis do me?

I make jokes about my neuroses, and don't often share the more "gory" details. I live my life just fine. Occasionally I melt down and just cry for a couple days, but for the most part, you wouldn't be able to tell me from your average "normal" person.

I don't think that all people with mental illness need to be medicated. I think honestly you can overcome a lot of it on your own. I know my "voices" aren't real. I know that whatever depressing thing happened this week will be old news by next week. I don't dwell on things. That helps more than anything. I avoid upsetting situations whenever possible.

I'm crazy, but that doesn't define me. It's part of me, like my blue eyes or ugly feet- but it's not who I am.


So, happy birthday to my blog! And hopefully it will be another year before I share some "depressing" secrets with you all.