Angry Mentally Ill Fuck Up

So apparently I am too negative in my writing. I’ve been told so by several people. I’ve tried to think up topics, that are more light-hearted. Nothing comes to mind. Whenever I start one, I get a few minutes in and it just feels hollow. I can only write what I feel. When I start a post, I have no idea if it’s going to be shite or not. I just type until I am done. I usually read it over for mistakes, which I seem to be good at making, and then publish it. Sometimes a lot of thought goes into my posts, and I research a lot, reorder things, edit over and over again. Other times, I have an idea while my iPad is open, and I just go for it.

My post on The Syrian War, was the most researched and planned I have done. The topic came to me, because I had donated some money (not a huge amount) for humanitarian assistance in the country. My Facebook feed kept reminding me of it, which for once was a good thing. I couldn’t get Syria out of my mind. I also had the very tenuous link, that one of my doctors last year is first generation Syrian. He mentioned it when we were talking one day. It got me thinking about how I would feel, if Ireland fell apart at the seams, and I watched on the TV while people were blown to bits, had chemical attacks inflicted upon them, and could not feed their children, in Dublin, Cork, Galway and Belfast. Every day I look at Syrian children, I can only see my own. For me not to post on the war, would have been strange, at this stage. It is a very real and huge world-scale crisis, that should not be ignored. My post probably won’t do a huge amount of good, but I know one of my Facebook friends donated because of it. Maybe that was reason enough for me to post.

Many of my posts focus on Mental Illness – more specifically my own. I have been fighting severe Mental Illness for almost two years. What parts should I not write about? The parking lot I stared at out the window in the art room on the psych ward? The thirteen medications I am currently on for that and heart disease? The injuries I have inflicted upon myself? My admission of alcoholism? All the doctors, who I now know so well, and am so grateful for, for getting me to where I am today? The fact that I spent a total of four months in the psych ward in 2017? That is what has shaped me over the last year plus. That is what I know. I don’t remember sitting on a beach sipping Margaritas – only two of course, or going on vacation with my family – because I missed it. I was in the psych ward. They say write what you know, and that’s what I’m doing.

One of my other major posts was on my heart surgeries. Once again, I felt compelled to write it. It is one of the events, that has left a lasting scar on my soul. I am not trying to be ‘literary’ or to use ‘fancy’ words, that is honestly the best description that comes to me. It is what it feels like. I am mentally damaged by the surgeries, especially the first one. It chewed me up and spit me out, and then jumped up on down on top of me. It and its complications traumatized me. I haven’t felt quite as bad over the last few years. I wonder if a relatively (though still extremely tough) smooth go in 2014 somehow helped me get over 2006. Is that what I should not have written about?

All my other negative posts, about real life, or me, come from a genuine place of me feeling a need to get it down on paper (or the web). I’m not doing anything except what is coming out of me at that moment. The other negative fiction pieces, are just that. Fiction. I think we can all surmise that I have a dark view of the world. Not that it is all bad, but that’s where my mind naturally goes. If I write a piece, that I think is compelling, I will post it. A few of my favorite pieces are the most heart-wrenching: Horror, Clocks, and Stupid.

Rereading this post (it is one I’m actually editing before posting), I can see it comes across as negative (shock horror), sarcastic and defensive. That truly is not my intention. I genuinely want to explain why I post what I post. The beautiful photo at the top, was the day I got my head shaved while in residential treatment. After you build up enough trust, you get two two-hour passes per week, to leave the treatment center. I was not at my most ill at this point, but not far from it. This is Angry Ingry.

If I have some divine inspiration for more positive posts, I will by all means post them. In the meantime, to quote millions of parents everywhere “You get what you get, and you don’t get upset!

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