Conversations with Matt. Now before we get started, I mentioned I’m OCD, so sanitary and clean are the same thing in my mind. Once I get cleaning everything has to be bleached. I can’t just stop at picking up and say this is good enough. Oh no no! So here is our conversation.

Me: I’m trying to figure out which is more important, sanity or sanitary?

Matt: What do you mean? I think both are a little equal.

Me: I mean just what I said, is it more is my sanity more important than my house being sanitary or vice versa?

Matt: Well one feed off the other but then with Reece (our 2 year old) it is hard to say.

Me: Excuse all the typos and incoherent jargon in that text and decipher that as: Is my sanity more important than the house being sanitary or vice versa?

Me: Exactly! It’s a hard call so I’ll just keep mulling it over for a bit before deciding. Let’s also consider my sanity has always been in question so why is it so important now?

Matt: Just walk in McKenzie’s (our 12 year old) bathroom and see how you feel. That may answer it.

Me: I may also need to call in back up and use my phone-a-friend option.

Matt: Who is your phone-a-friend?

Me: Manda, her sanity is mostly in question too, so it evens out the playing field.

Matt: Nice dear. (His general response which means I’m being ridiculous)

Me: True story.

There is always one Negative Nancy in every group. I absolutely loathe when I’m on a tirade about something, and being hysterical (hysterical funny, not hysterical crazy), that someone has to pipe in and say that I’m looking at it all wrong. This is the point where I’m like “hey, shut up, this is my story!” so stay the fuck of out it! No one wants your input and my views are much better than your intrusions with the so called facts. You don’t know me!

At this point make sure you go onto your Facebook and make sure you delete that asshole from your friends list so the next time you go on a tirade they can’t ruin your awesomeness. Delete, delete, delete.

You say the word drugs and you get everyone’s attention! Now, don’t get too excited it’s not those kinds of drugs. I’ll start this from somewhere in the middle of my life. I am Bipolar and OCD, legitimately, diagnosed, medically crazy. Don’t ask me specifically when it started because I’m not exactly sure, but probably somewhere near the middle-ish beginning.

Now my brain is normally somewhat erratic, completely untrustworthy, has poor life and judgement skills, and that bitch smokes like crazy and has the listening skills of a toddler. It can be a bit overwhelming for people around me as it puts them as well as myself into some very awkward and potentially life threatening situations. It gets a bit intense for me sometimes too, so don’t worry you’re not the only one.

My brain on drugs is more stable, less efficient, less brilliantly entertaining, with slightly better adulting skills (it’s still iffy). It’s quite underwhelming for me when I’m on drugs, which is not nearly as fun as other people who are on drugs, and I definitely feel much less amazing. Yeah, yeah, I’m amazing blah blah, this is about me and my feelings, so no comforting or flattering me right now. Save that for the comments below.

I keep getting told I’m better on drugs, but every once in a while I like to spice things up and keep my family and friends on their toes. Those are the times when I stop taking the magic pills that make everyone else like me better. Sometimes things get a little too spicy and I become paranoid and try to rip half of my face off. This face ripping is literal. I feel around for bumps and imperfections and scratch them off, making me look like I have flesh eating disease.

Not to mention I’m an insomniac. I tend to stay awake until 4-5 in the morning and realize my husband is about to wake up to get ready for work. At this point my paranoia kicks in and I make a mad dash for the bed, crawl in with my total lack of stealth, and pull the covers up and pretend I’m sleeping. This way he wont know that once again I’ve been up all night.

Yes, I know he knows, but it makes me feel like I’m not letting him down when I pretend to be a normal human being, it also discourages him from pointing the finger at such an early hour. He’s not a bad guy and I love my husband, but I just can’t let him have any finger pointing or “I told you so”‘s. He has to work for those in cases that don’t have to do with my mental intrigues or insomniac escapades. Just like the time he won the debate over almond M&M’s, he rightfully won and I was wrong, and credit was given where it was due.

By the way, my husbands name is Matt. Thankfully he loves me and can put up with me for long periods of time. I think he loves me more than I love myself, but either way he looks out for my well being and generally tries to keep me from falling off the wagon with my meds (good luck sweetheart), which I occasionally forget to take. I will probably talk about him a lot in this blog as he is the only constant person I have here, and he has to live with me. We have lots of good talks and I’ll make sure to post them so you can enjoy them too.

Honestly I have no idea how to blog at all. I decided I would get a blog for no particular reason but to write down all the rambling that goes on in my head. I am not a writer, as in I don’t write novels, not as in I don’t ever write because apparently I do. I just refuse to write via pen and paper and prefer to type. That being said, I’m Racheal and welcome to my blog.