If you're crazy and you know it...

I still remember the day Brian fake diagnosed me as "manic depressive" and "bipolar".
We were at Woodward Park, in the middle of the afternoon in SUMMER, for WHAT reason only God knows.
My response? Throwing my sandal at him - hard. (A big deal, considering, I loved my Reefs and proceeded to storm off about 1/4 mile without even giving the shoe a farewell glance.)
"You're calling ME crazy? While YOU are a part-time pushover and part-time verbally abusive? Bitch, please!"


But now, 6 years later, I can't help but think there might be some truth to what I thought was complete bullshit. I mean, c'mon, my mom had just died after battling cancer for 4 years. Wasn't I allowed to be a trainwreck, all over the emotional map?
I still do this. Still play the "if only game". "If only___ I could be happy."

If only my kid would fucking listen to me so I wouldn't have to resort to screaming "STOP!" in his little 3 year old face...

If only my husband would act differently, and have a little more patience with our son...(I'm not knocking the not-plugged-in-controller-thing. It actually works pretty well, IF your kid will sit still.)

If only I could keep the house clean...

If only it wasn't so Goddamn HOT outside and I didn't sweat like an offensive lineman...

If only I had a "real person" job, a job that didn't let me wear track shorts I got when I was 19 and sing songs from WordWorld...

If only my creative muse was alive and well, and I could write and process out all the morbidity...

But you know what? At the end of the day, it's ME. It's my problem, or more like I am the problem. My happiness seems to have a shelf life of about 2 hours tops. What the fuck is wrong with me? I cannot seem to stay happy. I want to. I can't. I try coping in the different ways...


I exercise. A LOT.

I RUN. even more A LOT.

I sometimes stress eat. That shit does. not. work.

I sometimes restrict myself. That makes me shaky and cranky. Shaky, cranky Sarah = shitty Sarah. Just saying. I'm better with a side of calories in my stomach.

I drink a lot of caffeine...and take the edge off at the end of the day with booze. Let's face it, no matter how badly I don't want to drink, muscle memory tells me a bottle of vodka is an awesome icepack. #numbftw

I don't think I'm "crazy", per se. I do think maybe there is some chemical imbalance or something inside of me that causes me to become an inexplicable headcase with zero notice. And then, it goes away with even less notice. Voila, I'm "fine". Obnoxious. I wonder if I'd stuck out therapy back in '07 long enough to get the good stuff, I'd notice a difference. I know from using other people's medication experience that Xanax takes away panic attacks. However, everyone and their Grandmother (craziness IS biological, right?) is on it, so I'm not sure what that proves...

I didn't really write all that because I thought it was going to provide some epic breakthrough. I did need to spend the time being introspective (these days I have the attention span of ONE Law & Order SVU. I know. I've measured a million times.) I also needed to laugh at myself. Mission accomplished. But then again, self-deprication has never really been an issue for me.

It is an interesting thought though. How much of happiness is circumstance? How much is brain wiring? And how much is good, old fashioned, "I'm just going to choose happiness, damn it!"?


Pursuit of Happiness- Kid Cudi ft. MGMT

I'm on the pursuit of happiness

And I know

Everything that shine ain't always gonna be gold

I'll be fine once I get it

Yeah, I'll be good