Becoming Unapologetically Crazy

Tonight I saw Silver Lining Playbook... not because I know anything about movies or the Oscars, but because a friend asked if there were any good movies out. And I shrugged, and said "I think my co-worker said this one was good." Honestly, I wasn't even sure I had the title right.

So now that I've fully disclosed my utter lack of pop culture knowledge (or even interest), I shall proceed.

I loved this movie for many reasons. But the most important one was that there were unapologetically crazy people in it.

Since my brother died, I have been especially crazy. We can use a different word, but I like to practice reclaiming that one anyway. Crazy.

It's not even being crazy that really bothers me -- though sometimes, it is inconvenient and painful and a little heart breaking (for me and everyone around me). Really, what bothers me about my reaction to my brother's death and my varying levels of mental wellness in the aftermath was that I was so apologetic all the time about what I was going through.

I didn't want to make other people uncomfortable.

I'd tell people my brother shot himself, and then find myself comforting them, because the news was hard to hear and they didn't know what to do and... well, that pattern just played out. I had bad days and I'd pretend I was fine. One day I went to urgent care to get anti-anxiety medication, and later that night insisted on going out with ten friends. Another time, I reached two days I will describe as my rock bottom in this whole thing, and I insisted on showing up to a friend's house for dinner. When I should have been at home. Curled in a fetal position. In both of those instances my boyfriend was with me, and I'm pretty sure everyone thought he was kind of a jerk, because he clearly wanted to go home. No one had any idea however that it was because I was a train wreck. And after both instances, I listened to car ride-long explanations about how he wasn't going to tell me what to do but I wasn't taking care of myself. He didn't tell my friends how poorly I was doing, because I didn't tell them. Because I didn't want to tell them.

I just couldn't bear to be crazy and ON TOP OF THAT, have everyone know too.

But I liked this movie because there were people in it who were at least as crazy as I have been, and they ran with it.

I think about how much pain I've caused myself, trying not to make other people uncomfortable, and trying to handle things with some small amount of public (if not private) grace. There is of course a gender component to this. I have been trained in how to be pleasing. But it's more than that. It's like I think my own pain of what I'm experiencing is somehow less important than the discomfort it causes in other people. And it's like if I pretend everything is OK, maybe, in some small way, some small piece of my life still gets to feel normal?

So this movie inspired me to embrace my crazy. Which maybe all of you thought I was doing anyway...

Right now the hardest thing for me is my ongoing fear, my ongoing paranoia, that people close to me are going to die. Any moment. ANY MOMENT. This is a completely normal response to an unexpected and traumatic death, but nonetheless, I feel like it's pretty unreasonable. I wake up in the middle of the night to check and see if my dog is breathing, because I am regularly afraid he is dead. I mean, I wake up, panicked that he has died in his sleep.When my mom visited, she was napping, and at some arbitrary point in time, I became terrified that she wasn't sleeping, that she was dead and I went into her room to check. I woke her up, in terror, and of course, she was fine. You don't even want to know how that manifests in a long-distance relationship...

And the thing is, none of the people (or dogs) I have this freak out around seem bothered by it. Bandit just rolls over for a tummy rub and falls back asleep. In fact, I think he's started snoring more to reassure me. Or because he's imitating someone else... My boyfriend told me it's nice that I care enough to worry about him dying. Even though really it's more about complete and utter terror. And he just makes a point to check in. Like it's not a big deal.

But I lack that level of compassion and understanding. Their responses mystify me. I get so caught up in how irrational it is, and how I should be able to chill out and not stay awake all night, terrified someone else will die... Because I don't want to be that girl who sits up in bed in the middle of the night and looks around to see who is breathing. And I don't want to be the girl who can't sleep, or who is weirdly needy because she wants to check in and make sure people are alive. "How exhausting THAT must be for the other people in my life!" I say to myself. Apparently because I'm more worried about the inconvenience of them responding to a text message than I am about the fact that I am completely terrified. Apparently because other people have more compassion for me than I have for myself. And apparently because I fail to realize how much worse I'm making it by judging myself on top of what I'm already going through.

So, this movie has inspired me. What if I just accepted that I am going to have waves of terror where I think my dog, my boyfriend, my family, whoever, has just died or might have just died? Sounds pretty horrendous. I know. But what if I just shrugged and said "yeah, I probably won't be able to sleep tonight." And what if I took it one step further and was unapologetic about it all. What if I actually planned around my intermittent insomnia with relish?

I've decided it is time for that. Because I can handle the "crazy," if that's what we're going to call it. It is something I need to move through. And I'm not afraid of it. But the self-judgement is not constructive at all.

So tonight, in anticipation, I am putting pajamas on Bandit and we are going to have a slumber party and stay up late watching deliciously terrible movies. I will try to talk him into a round of Clue (since it's the only board game I have here). And if he's not too sleepy, I think facials are in order.

Because that is what I have right now. Good, bad or indifferent. I do have entire weeks where I'm fine, and then I have waves of fear. So what? Why am I apologizing for that?

And when was the last time you got to have a facial at 3 AM?

So thank you, Hollywood, for a rare moment of insight from one of your films.

Normally I'd try to go to bed around now... but I've got big plans ahead.

Namaste.