So, I stopped on by to check my email only to find a bazillion emails from people worried about my mental state. Seriously, now you worry? If you have ever read this blog in the past you would have surely realized that crazy runs all through these veins of mine. What I’m trying to say is, thank you and I’m fine. No need to worry about me. Feel sorry for my sister, my friends, that poor guy that’s married to me. As for me, I am fine and dandy and moving along. My last post was nothing more than a momentary mental meltdown that I had to expunge from my head before exploding. Seriously. Life is good even when it’s not.
I noticed something interesting. People felt really bad for me or they kicked me in the ass. Which do you think made me feel all warm and fuzzy the most? Now, I am not saying kind words fell on deaf ears. I truly and sincerely appreciated every one of them. They made me cry because people care and that’s always a good thing. It’s just that I am ashamed I made people feel bad for me. Like I said, feel bad for the people I love that are truly suffering. They deserve all the love, prayers and compassion this world has to offer. I deserve a straightjacket. Just ask my sisters.
I started to wonder, why is it that kind words shame me and kick in the ass words comfort me? The answer was easy to find. My mother. My mother was a kick you in the ass person. It was how you knew she loved you. She was the first one to tell you the truth you didn’t want to hear.
“Have you gained weight?”
“Those people are not your friends.”
“Is that a pimple on your nose?”
“You are too big to wear that outfit.”
“You can be very funny when you’re not being ridiculous.”
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You can be such a martyr.”
Yeah, my mom had the gift of encouragement. Even so, the stinking truth is, she was always right. I hated that about her when she was breathing. I miss her desperately now that she‘s not.
Anyway, I am still working way too much but I do have a plan to make some changes. Ok, I am planning on a plan to make some changes. Hey, we martyrs have to take things slowly. It’s how we roll.