Every time I start cleaning the abyss which is my home office, I find something weirder than the last time I started cleaning it. This time however, I might have found the great, great granddaddy of The Strange.
For those of you who didn't already know, I used to be nuts. Certifiably. It all started with depression, which lead to antidepressants, which lead to anti anxiety meds which lead to more meds and more meds more meds until HOLY HELL I was on anti-freaking-psychotics because all those hundreds of other psychotropic meds?
They were making me paranoid and under the impression that the TV was talking to me and about me, amongst other fantastically bizarroland things.
In a nutshell, I was suffering from drug induced psychosis. I was drugged quite literally out of my mind. Fortunately, after the "doctor" who was treating me vanished (and was presumably relieved of his medical license) I got a new doctor who weaned me off of the shit and got me back on my mental feet.
Anyways.
While I was on the Crazy Train, I used to write a lot. VOLUMES. Truckloads of Crazy. And today I found a large pile of it buried under underneath the most mundane of things - like old bills and bank statements, etc.
WOW.
I couldn't shred up that shit fast enough lemme tell ya. Because the thought of me having an accident or dying suddenly and leaving that crap to be discovered by my daughter or my Dennis scared the hell out of me. It's a time that I'm embarrassed about and don't like to think too much about because well, I said and did some REALLY cuckoo stuff but thankfully, by the grace of I don't know what, I managed to screw my head back on and move forward and I never looked back.
It would break my heart if the last things they had to remember me by was a bunch of twacked out nonsense rambled by a woman in the clutches of insanity. You know? I would far rather have them remember me how I am right now:
Blissfully happy.
Unquestionably loved.
And last but not least... (relatively) SANE.
