The Girl With 10 Souls

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I’m a freakish mutated creature of some parallel universe. I mean truly.  I’m like, part intoxicated hyena, part ferocious neon pink tiger, part manic depressive turtle, part Dory from Finding Nemo, part Unicorn on crack. 

Essentially, I’m pretty convinced that I’ve been genetically blessed with some form or level of- multiple personality/bipolar/identity disorder or a concoction of it all.  Do you have ANY idea, how emotionally frustrating and physically debilitating it can be to change your mind 78,456,343, 837 times within a 24 hour period about what style of handwriting to use (because I literally have 45 completely different handwriting styles and the choice reflects my mood)? Obviously you’re thinking to yourself- this is NOT what it takes to have a mental disorder. Because really? Handwriting? But it’s so much MORE than just handwriting. It’s the massive impact that making such a stupid choice can have on me as a whole! Seemingly mild, meaningless things have tsunami effects on my behavior. It’s a domino effect.

At this moment, this jig-saw puzzle of my so-called life seems like it’s  finally coming together for the first time. But this means nothing to me. Because I know that any second now, I will feel something absolutely different. And this realization tells me that I’m pretty sure I should be seeing a therapist or a psychiatrist. Or a voo-doo doctor. Or some other wizardly fuck who can figure me out because more often than not, I’m spiraling off into the sort of thought processing that really wouldn’t make any sense at all to a normal person. I feel like I’m constantly being pulled in a million different directions at the same time.

My mind NEVER rests. It does not shut the fuck up. Ever. It’s possessed by so many different ideas and thoughts and dreams and fear and they’re all shouting and laughing and crying all at once like a fucking orchestra of musicians on cocaine and sedatives. And I wish they would all just drop the fuck dead so that I can bury the noise in my head.

But it never stops. And I never really know what or rather, who’s next.

Some days, when the sun is sparkling and the Universe is smiling, I feel like a total flower child. I’m all, “let’s not pollute today” and “let’s read up on zen and magical stones and get in touch with our inner peace” type of bullshit. Other days,  I wake up and I’m just a fucking badass, fierce, nothing-can-stop-me, time-to-plan-my-next-5-tattoos, lets-go-skydiving type of chick.

When I get to work and I’m the perfect, sophisticated, professional, and efficient employee- making the lists and doing the things. After 6 pm, I’ll be stuck in traffic and now a raging fucking bitch by the time I’m home. I want to lock myself up in a room and NEVER come out. EVER. But to no surprise, while I’m in the midst of this enraged self-inflicted lockdown, I suddenly turn into a writer and a bookworm. I grab some coffee and I’m calm again, writing the pain away.  Then the guilt kicks in, and I want nothing more than to cuddle with my children and read to them.

I’m many other people too. Some days I can’t focus on anything BUT baking or designing a cake and I spend countless hours planning out my short and long term business goals and researching, budgeting, and pinning for hours at a time. Some days I’m just so sad and regretful of many events that have taken place throughout the course of my life- that I question my purpose. And I question it so profoundly that it almost seems like this has all been pointless. This is the darkest version of myself. It’s the one I fear most.

And I mean let’s be real- we all have mood swings right? Everyone has good days and bad days. But it’s the way it happens to me- how quickly and suddenly and randomly my day and my mood and my entire perspective on life can do a complete 360. This is the part that leads me to question my mental state. That, and my hubby constantly, and whole-heartedly pointing it out. But being the non-compliant human that I am, it’s very unlikely that I’ll ever get myself checked out.

If I know I have some issues- what’s the point in paying someone to further validate my thoughts? What purpose-other than permanently STAMPING me with a diagnosis that will trail behind me for the REST of my life and possibly affect my career,  would that serve?

No. I’d much rather feel every single thing that I feel, process it, write it, and deal with it. I mean… after all, it’s all in the mind isn’t it? 

Unapologetically Yours,

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Author: Ely

Stormy-day-Chaser, Wit-Warrior, Unapologetically-Cool-Mom, Humor-Junkie, Queen-o-Drama, Caffeine-Addict, Self-Made-Cake-Hustler, Ranter-of-ALL-things, Word-Thug, Pet-Unlover, Sassy-Introvert, Effervescent-Soul.

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