|I hid under a rock, but I wasn't alone.|
So why the new blog?
Well, I'll tell you, since you asked so nicely.
I happen to be surrounded by people. All the damn time. Many people are also surrounded by people, but not all of the people are surrounded by small people. I'm actually not even surrounded by small people, since all of the young people in my life are actually big people.
I haven't yet decided how to refer to the children I live with, so for now, we'll just go with children, shall we?
Anyhow, I have many of them roaming freely about my house like they have every right to use the living room whenever the hell they feel like it.
One of them creeped my Twitter page, found my old blog, and told another adult about it. That child was a little freaked out by what she read (apparently I do a pretty good job of hiding the crazy from the kids) and therein laid the problem.
The adult that the child showed the blog to contacted a lawyer, and suddenly it was off to the races.
In case you were wondering, the things you put on the interwebs? Yeah, they're there forever, and also are admissible in court. Or at least I'm guessing they are, since I wasn't actually allowed in the court room during the hearings and appearances that all hinged on whether or not I was too unhinged to keep kids safe. But the blogs and tweets and facebook posts I had made under the old name were all hauled in like some sort of Deep Throat proof of corporate espionage or something (I also have no idea what Deep Throat or corporate espionage actually are) and even though I wasn't permitted to actually defend myself in person, I was required to submit to having my medical and mental health history put under a microscope.
After several weeks and many hundreds of dollars, it was decided that I am, in fact, not going to go ballistic and choke a bitch. How lucky for everyone involved.
In the meantime, my old blog, which was a safe haven for me to let my crazy out, suddenly became the site of my own personal hell.
You'll learn this quickly enough about me, but I don't actually like most people. The old blog was a place where I could cherry pick the people I interacted with. Most of them had something in common with me- a deep-seated desire to not be known only as someone's parent, a diagnosis that included letters and abbreviations and required medication, a willingness to poke fun at any and every single small and large thing that ever occurred in life, or just a desire to use technology when attempting to avoid housework.
These people, who usually had something in common with me, became my friends, my confidants, and my Twitter followers. Suddenly, they were wrenched from my life- by my own hand's clicking "delete account" on Facebook, Twitter, Google +, and Wordpress.
I no longer felt safe, and therefore, overreacting neurotic crazy person that I am, I felt my only recourse was to disappear from the internet.
Depression reared its ugly head and the only thing I could think about was pretending to my family, including the eleventy dozen children around me, that I wasn't completely bananas.
Now I'm back. I'm still depressed. I still have OCD and anxiety. I still have DID and bipolar disorder. But you know what? I'm no longer ashamed.
My special crazy is as uncontrollable to me as being born with green eyes. Hating those parts of me are like hating being left handed. Which, actually, I think is awesome, because left handedness is rarer than you think and also means I am using a special part of my brain that the rest of the world doesn't use the same way I do.
Depression? Yeah, that uses a lot of my brain, too. But I'm not alone, and I'm not ashamed.
I've been, mentally, to hell and back, and the conclusion I came to was this: fuck them.
Fuck people who stigmatize mental illness.
Oh, and also? My friends live in my computer, and I missed them.