The dictionary defines a madman as a man who is mentally ill. An extremely foolish or reckless person is another way to put it. I am in neither of those categories, though I feel I walk the line more days than not between mental health and illness. So in a sense, I’m a self-proclaimed fargin madman.
Welcome inside my head
Overall, I think I do a fairly bang up job of holding things together and multi-tasking my way through each and e’r day. I believe the term is Adulting. It comes rather easy, improves with age and can be pretty danged stressful. Then there are days like today where I am up Shiznits Creek without a life preserver (or a paddle).
The theft of my truck then its return, though not road worthy, has me down. The not thriving financially has me asunder. And the pickle I’m mentally in over trying to reinvent my parenting style with my girls as they digress mentally themselves has me in a massive quandary. Too much at once, I do declare.
A persons thoughts bottleneck. They spiral. I get tired of carrying the “look on the bright side” rhetoric. Pretending to be okay when I’m really not. Fully losing it and delving into a rocking catatonia is not where I am headed but slightly losing my grip on the responsibilities and trials an adult deals with is moreso what I’m referring to. And you know what? I deem that to be okay. Not a-ok but okay.
Pop the hatch and take a breather
The line between Mister Altogether and the full-on whack job is more of a wide berth than so much a line. I don’t know about you but it’s a common dwelling place for me. For a guy who doesn’t drink any more, do drugs, have a wife, many friends or a life, one needs to escape to somewhere. It makes sense in my head at any rate.
The ship I run is probably no more tricky than your own schooner but the steering wheel can get awfully sticky amidst lifes daily storms. The crap comes from all angles. And my crap deflector sometimes doesn’t open in time so not only am I dealing with the unpredictable weather of the day but I’m also contending with somehow wiping the extra junk off of my kisser and it isn’t easy.
Hence, the vacay from reality, as mini as they may be. When I’m down, I feel it fully. I bathe in it. I lose focus and do that backwards fall like when your feet are planted but your body bends, comic style. I shut down to the degree of coasting. But an hour or six later? I’m good to go. Right as rain as I write in the wrain, am I wrong?
Dangit, talking this stuff out really does me wonders. And obviously by talking, I mean me fingering letters for anyone in the universe to read at their leisure. Still, ’tis therapeutic.
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