A bag of cats

My brain has something in common with Loki the trickster god. It's a bag of cats. You can smell the crazy coming off me. 

My mental health practitioners would frown upon me using the word "crazy". My therapist two therapists ago used to ask me if I thought I was crazy when I said I was crazy. But you get the idea. I've been in country since September and I'm on my second psychologist and my very first psychiatrist ever. It's really very exciting to have someone who specializes in crazy drugs! 

I was first diagnosed with depression in a round about fashion when I was something like 16. My family doctor thingy prescribed me an antidepressant. That was it. No, you have depression, go see a therapist. Just meds and on my way. So I took them cause duh. And they worked for a really long time until they didn't. Then about three? four? five? years ago they stopped, so I switched to a diffrent antidepressant. It worked out alright. With a side of antianxiety for those hail mary moments. Then a death in the family, a move, some kind of strange world with no real purpose that was kind of a purgatory of sorts happened. About 32 appointments into my prolific career as a patient of the most patient therapist I've ever met, she diagnosed me with borderline personality disorder. WTF?!?! But it's true. All of it! Bag of cats. Then a month later we moved again. And now you're all caught up.  That was my Doofenschmirtz flashback.

Anyway, I'm now on my very first antipsychotic. I feel very Girl, Interrupted, except not really. It's really really helped. I've made it through multiple "cycles" without wanting to run away or cause immense physical harm. So, naturally, I'm psyched!!! (see what I did there?) I actually had a moment last week when I was just fine. We were half way through the day and all of a sudden I had one of those Keanu meme whoa moments. 

So, Yay, me!!! That's pretty much all I wanted to talk about was that I'm finally on some meds that I think are actually doing really good. They make me hella sleepy, but they're really good. And things are good. And I think I might actually be coming out of some kind of funk, so that's exciting. And this is a good time to have a mental health thing. There's awareness out the wazoo! Yay, interwebs! Yay hashtags! Yay! 

How Jehovah's Witnesses Taught Me to Never Trust Anyone.

I live in Germany. It's like An American in Paris except Germany and no cool musical dance numbers. Just a lot of rain. And bread. Lots of bread. Anyway, I was recently visited by two very nice Jehovah's Witnesses. Here's the story:

I'm helping the kids with their laundry and the doorbell buzzes. Thinking it might be our landlord, I go down to open it. On the other side of the door however, is not our kindly landlord with the goofy hat, but two smiling German women with cute hats. And yes, I said smiling Germans. It happens.

The younger one introduces herself, first name only, and this is her mom.

Okay. Good for you.

 Then she says she wants to ask me a few questions about government, says she's looking for English-speaking people.

So I'm thinking this is some kind of survey thing or this girl is gathering info for statistics or something.

She babbles something about corruption, and asks why I think that is.

So I give some sort of answer and she says yes, here, let me show you this bible verse that gives an explanation.

So I'm like, ... o... k... I'm being polite at this point, but I really want them to go. My hair's a mess, I'm in sweatpants, and to be perfectly honest, I was using my sweater to cover up my non-bra.

I then learned that the kingdom of god is the corruption-less government that god promised us. I even got a nifty pamphlet... and caught completely off guard.

So the lesson here is that when some nice person comes to your door implying that she's just trying to get an American's opinion on European governments, close the door and run because she's a politician for Jesus. Okay, I mean seriously, here I am thinking I finally got asked questions that might go into some kind of poll results or something and then all of a sudden, Jesus walked the earth. That's very disconcerting. I mean, how am I supposed to trust anything anyone says ever again? I feel so used...

Derpin' hard or hardly derpin'.

I recently tried to take a selfie. It didn't work out well for me.

I mean, I'm not a classic beauty, but I'm not a toad either. I'd say I'm right smack in the middle of average. If I apply a little effort and an ungodly amount of cosmetics (not tested on animals), I even think I look quite foxy. Then I get a little cocky, and think, “The world needs to know how damn good I look today.”

And then it happens. I take the selfie and every single one looks like I'm about to sneeze or have just been goosed. What is that crap? I'm over here looking adorable, but all I can come up with is some kind of horrid school photo quality selfie. All I need is that weird blue and purple hazy background and you wouldn't know the difference.

I derp hard. If only the word “derp” were around when I was growing up...

Well, it's actually probably a good thing it wasn't or I'd have been the ermahgerd girl. 

You know, if I really think about it, that's not true either. Like I said, I'm smack in the middle of average. Always have been. I wasn't derpy enough to be a meme (hahah like those were around then lol) and not popular enough to be noticed. I tended to hover just out of the way, in the shadows of the recesses of teenagerness. In some kind of popularity limbo. I was always trying to make my way up and out, but only until I got my shit together and realized I was in the best place ever. Where else can you judge the entirety of man, but back in the corner where you can see everyone?

So, I wouldn't have been a meme. That's a little depressing in itself, but not really. And as for those defunct selfies, I figure those are the faces you get when you talk to me, so what the hell. I mean, it's not like I hide the derpy faces when I'm around people. I let my derp flag fly! I feel like Chris Farley, 

and have been told not to make myself ugly. Meh, it is what it is. I'm doing the best with what I've got. This is the part where you think of Anne Hathaway in The Princess Diaries where she looks in the mirror pre-princess, and says, “This is as good as it's gonna get.” 

And it for real is. Besides, I don't think funny people are supposed to be the uber pretty ones, it just wouldn't be fair to every one else.

By the way, popular kid, I saw you pick your nose. You didn't think I noticed, but I did.

O Captain, my captain.

I'm angry. And sad. And on the verge of tears. Seriously. Robin Williams has committed suicide. It's terrible news, folks. Celebrities die all the time, but some how, for my generation, this is our first real big guy to go. He was in our children's movies. We thought he was just the funniest thing ever! I remember watching an interview thing on tv with Robin Williams and John Travolta about the movie Wild Hogs. The interviewer asked Robin what it was like to work with a great actor like Travolta. I was like, excuse me, kid. Robin Williams is WAY better than creepy ole Travolta. Totally. I was actually mad at that poor little interviewer. lol.

So, I've seen people saying things like "I don't get it" and "Why would he do this" or "But he was so funny". I'd like to address these things. I certainly don't know Robin  Williams, but I know his ailment. If you've never been depressed, you can't possibly know what it's like to feel like that. No, you can't. Normal people get sad or even FEEL depressed, but that doesn't mean they have depression. The difference is that those of us who suffer from clinical depression can't just "snap out of it" or "cheer up" or even "fix what's wrong". Most of the time, nothing's wrong. Or everything's wrong. But when someone thinks of taking their own life, it's often the only way they can see out. It's not a selfish act. It's not about other people. It's about life. About not being able to see that there is a life in front of you. All those things people tell you you have to live for are just more things you feel bad about. They're just more things you're screwing up or not doing right. You feel like people would really be better off without you because you honestly cannot see the good. Good doesn't even register. Winston Churchill called it his "big black dog" that followed him around. It's accurate. J.K. Rowling used her experiences with depression to influence the dementors. All I can think of is Ron Weasley's comment that he felt like he'd never be cheerful again. And it's true. I think of it as a big pit. A giant hole, and when you're in the pit, you can't see a way out, or how you'll ever feel anything but that gut wrenching emptiness, guilt, and pain. And you know, sometimes, the funniest people are the most messed up. Look at me, I'm freaking hilarious. And messed up as heck. I think it's the depression lens that you see through that makes it so you can view the world in that funny and yet depressing way that is so common.

Now that I've cleared that up, I'd like to say how angry this makes me. It feels personal. Not like it was about me, but it hit me in a personal way. I've been thinking of Ernest Hemingway as my personal and professional hero for a really long time now, and I've just now gotten over the romance of living hard and fast. Living for the experience. I mean, I'd still rather regret the things I've done than the missed experiences, but I don't want to just do everything I want until I can't deal with it anymore. That was a huge thing for me. HUGE! And now, at about the same age, and able to grow the same beard, someone else I held in esteem has taken this way out. No, it's not the easy way out. I would argue it's the hardest way there is. I just wish someone would have been able to help him. I wish that he would have been able to see how much it was worth it, how much his work and his life meant to so many people. Now we're left with a deficit. One of the truly funny, not just crass people in the world has left it. Imagine what he'd have had to say about getting old.

So I'm going to watch some of his movies and wish him safe travels into the afterlife. May he still be making them laugh.

Short Story- Somehow It Was All Beautiful

Today I walked out into the tiny village in which I live. The work day had only just begun for the shop keepers on the main street. It was all of ten A.M., for, you see, things move more slowly here in Turkiye than in many other parts of the world.

Living in Turkey has ben like living on a completely different planet. Live moves along at its own pace here. The shops open whenever they please, which is why, at the not-so-early hour of ten, I was witness to the opening rituals of my village.

Normally, the dust and disorder seem to grate against my nerves, turning me vehemently against this friendly and haphazardly cohesive culture. But today. For some reason, today was different. The sky was brighter. The air was cleaner. It was all really quite charming.

This tiny street in this tiny village has been puzzle pieced together for at least the past twenty years. The result being that the sidewalk is not a sidewalk in the strictest sense of the word. In reality, it is simply a pathway made of a myriad of paving materials including, what I am almost certain is kitchen tile. It is all in varying heights, widths, and states of disrepair.

This morning, as I set out on the important task of checking for new movies and procuring lunch from my favorite doner shop, I owned the street. There were no men out to call, "Abla, you need carpet/haircut/watch?" The shop keepers were occupied with hosing down their bit of the sidewalk or sweeping out their store fronts. The old men were sitting down to tea on the tables set on the side of the street. So relaxed, in fact, is the attitude of my street, for it has become MY street, that the men leave their shops, wide open, to go and sit down for their tea.

And it was today, as I walked around the parked cars so as to not disrupt this most inane yet sacred of rituals, that I saw the beauty inherent in the simple. Today, I saw the little old man who makes the doners. I saw  him ready his knives, saw his skill with the meat on the spit, saw how things are done here. This man is always assisted by a young boy whom I can only assume is a relative, as nepotism seems to be the rule here rather than the exception. This man - these people - take pride in their work and the simplicity of life. As well they should, because today it was beautiful.

My, that antidepressant sure looks nice.

You ever get depressed? Happened to me. Like when I was a kid. I'm on medication though, so I'm better.

Then some of my friends who are, if you can believe it, bigger hippies that I am started talking about how they got off antidepressants after like seventeen years. I was like, WTF? You can do that? I'm gonna do that!!! Because, you guys know, I can

So, after much research on Dr. Google and talking to my therapist who by the way was not so much with the on board thing, I decided I can do it!

Except that then I discovered the true depth of my disease and decided, eh, maybe not.

And it's a good thing too because then shit got real. Like really real. I sort of lost my shit. So, that's not happening. I'm working on it. It's a journey, but I've definitely decided that those antidepressants sure do look nice.

Catching up with the synapses

I've really needed to blog for a while. I've been having really weird thought and super trippy dreams. We're talking Lucy in the sky with Walter bishop trippy. So, I bequeath to you a sampling of gems from the past time period.

I noticed that all old people everywhere look like old people. Like no matter where you're from, you're going to end up looking like a gnarly apple when you get old.

Dogs don't like taking selfies.

Neither do cats

I was in a play. It was a great experience and super fun. However, it's not something that I'll be doing again. It made me bat crap crazy! Between having real kids and pretend kids, I almost lost my crap. The good news though? I totally looked like mrs. Patmore.

I swear there was more and you all were going to love it, but it seems I'm old and so I can no longer remember the dumb things I was gonna talk about.

On another note, I deduced the crap out of someone based solely on the knot of his scarf. If by deduce, you mean I could tell he has a Pinterest account because I've seen that knot zillions of time on there, then get me a Watson cause I'm amazing!