Hi. My name’s Allison and I’m crazy.
“Hi Allison. Welcome to the newly minted Crazys Anonymous.”
Already, I feel the need to backtrack. Although contrary to the last two sentences, while I am crazy, I’m not what you’d probably imagine when hearing that word. Crazy. It conjures up images of straight-jackets, tin-foil hats that prevent mind-reading, and that sad homeless man you see every day having a conversation with everything around him, except anything that might actually talk back. I don’t hear voices. I don’t normally talk to myself. I’m not a Scientologist.
But I am crazy. I’ve decided to finally own up to it, in the hopes that if I accept my emotional and mental flaws I might actually be able to crawl my way out of the never-ending hole I find myself trapped in (ugh, that was a disturbingly emo sentence, wasn’t it?). I suppose now would be as good of a time as any to explain why I’m a card carrying member of the crazy club.
Where to start? Let’s see. How about the diagnoses the medical profession has bestowed upon me? Major depressive disorder with seasonal affective components. Bulimia nervosa. Generalized anxiety disorder. Alcoholism. Chronic fatigue syndrome. When the new DSM comes out, which is a gargantuan list of what the world of mental health considers to be diagnosable psychiatric conditions, I’m sure I’ll have another two or three to add to the list.
The reason I’m penning this blog is to try and figure out how my life got so out of control and hopefully document my way back to sanity. My goals are lofty- I want to live without being constantly drugged up on a cocktail of mood-altering medications. I’m not striving to be happy, but rather just find a way to not be unhappy.
I don’t expect anyone to read these ramblings, and if you have stumbled upon it, thanks for visiting, and wish me luck.