Who ordered the Cup of Crazy with just a dash of Paranoia, sprinkled with Soul-Crushing Fear?

Just once I’d like to get up in the morning and not be crippled with anxiety

Can that be arranged?!

When I die and get up “There”, I’m going to be giving the Man/Woman/Floating Orb a sharp telling off, unless I’m going to Hell then this is right on the money.

So, it’s been a week since I’ve written. I’m not going to say I’m sorry because I need to start learning how to be kinder to myself and saying “sorry” for taking a much needed break is in a way counteracting that.

This post is going to be an odd one so apologies in advance.

Fuck sake – That lasted long. Slow clap it out, Shrin 😂🤦🏽‍♀️

It’s been a weird old month (and it hasn’t even finished yet) lots of ups and downs which I’m finding increasingly harder and harder to deal with. I guess that’s the nature of having BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder)

I dunno if any of you who suffer from mental health illnesses have this but do you ever feel that most days you’re just treading water?

You know me, (probably more intimately than you’d like – You’re welcome!) I’m always or at least try to be, as positive as I can and I always want to think things will get better but lately the monkey on my back has been weighing me down and it’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.

I know some say we make our own happiness but when you have a mental health disability or illness sometimes that choice is taken away from you. Some days you just can’t make the choice to get up and at least try to make today slightly happier than yesterday. And then what’s worse, you beat yourself up for not being able to give it the good old college try (American turn of phrase there)

It feels like to me that I’m waiting for something.

I’m waiting for my luck to change and one day I’m going to wake up and I’m not going to be anxious, I’m not going to get depressed half way through the day, I’m not going to get super paranoid about my existing friendships, ex boyfriend, work, car, dog, my health, oddly shaped toe or that thing I said six years ago to that person I knew.

But what I’m slowly realising is that day may never come.

And do you know what else I am slowly realising? I am slowly realising what it truly means to say: “I have a mental health disability.”

And not only is that really hard to understand (especially for the sufferer) but it’s also fucking terrifying.

I don’t want to be like this all the time – I want to be like the chick in the magazines and movies, the cute, blonde, blue-eyed one with the long, luscious bouncy hair, who’s a size 8 but constantly eats McDonald’s with her other size 8 friends whilst a guy stares at her wishing he was the Big Mac she was taking a bite into. You know the one, right?

The super confident girl who has guys falling at her feet, an amazingly perfect job, with a shed load of friends, her own killer apartment, an immense amount of self esteem and of course NO MENTAL HEALTH ILLNESSES!!!!!

Ah to dream..

I guess I’m scared. I’m scared if I truly accept that I have this incurable mental health condition it will forever define me and I don’t want it to.

I want to be defined by my character and my actions rather than something that is out of my control and often judged so negatively, but by resisting this I think I’ve gone too far. I’ve started to judge and berate myself, for not being able to do “normal” things that other “normal” people can do (or what I consider is normal)

Maybe it’s time to stop subconsciously resisting the fact that I have a mental disability and start accepting it. And accepting that I am limited to what I can achieve for now. In time, once I learn how to manage my condition things may get better and that’s always an option but for now I need to accept what I can do, accept what I can’t do and love myself for it all.


Surely there’s a “Love Your Mental Illness Guide For Dummies” out there somewhere?!

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Just some ramblings from ME - a "crazy" yet happy lady living with mental health and trying to navigate my way through this weird thing called Life.

One thought on “Who ordered the Cup of Crazy with just a dash of Paranoia, sprinkled with Soul-Crushing Fear?”

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