There was a time when being called ‘crazy’ felt like a good thing. Crazy was a compliment. It meant I was wild and eccentric, silly and absolutely bonkers. That was always a good thing to me. Alice in Wonderland told me that all the best people are.
What changed? When did ‘crazy’ take on such a negative connotation for me?
Lately, I feel just completely out of my mind. Or maybe too far into my mind. I feel like I’m just stuck inside my own head full of my deepest insecurities, darkest secrets and absolute insanity. I feel crazy. I can see it. Everyone around me can see it. That part is no secret. Maybe it’s the weather change. I always seem to be at my lowest when the days get darker and the nights get colder. Almost as if it’s completely out of my control.
But it is in my control. Well, at least it should be. I’m entitled to my own decisions and opinions, to my own life.. right? I should have control over what’s important to me, the things I do, and my own feelings. So why is it that I feel so helpless? Why can’t I seem to take the right steps towards a happier future? Am I dooming myself to a life full of lies, of unhappiness, of uncertainty? Some of my wounds are self-inflicted. I’ve let these things happen and they fuel my downward spiral. I need to stop myself.
The hardest part is that I don’t know how. I need help, and I’m horrible at asking for it. I need answers, and I’m too afraid to hunt them down. I need reassurance, and I haven’t done a thing to seek it. The only thing I can do, that seems sensible, is change. I need to look towards the future with excitement instead of dread. I need to embrace the positive side of being insane, of being absolutely fucking crazy.
Maybe this post will make no sense when I read it tomorrow. But right now, it’s almost therapeutic. I just need to get out all the bad, so I can accept all the good.
I recently watched ‘On The Road’, the movie based off the novel by Jack Kerouac, and absolutely loved it. Probably because I felt a strong tie to his character. I understood everything he did and everything he said. And my favourite part is when he’s describing the people in his life. That it’s okay to be mad. Because the crazy ones really are the best people.
“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”
Chances are if you are a female, under the age of 25 and have a tumblr - you’ve been heavily exposed to the obsession that is Lana Del Rey. There are many contributing factors as to why people are so obsessed with her, and trust me.. I understand them, but the list is just too long to write. And where would I even start?
I believe one of my favourite pastimes is learning about a musician/band before they were famous. I have this obsession to learn about their past life, what made them what they are now, what experiences they went through that (most of the time) end up being their inspiration for their work. Lana has an extensive history in her personal life and career. However, she remains a wild, glassy-eyed mystery to most of the world.
I couldn’t have been more thrilled when Born To Die came out. I listened to it over and over and felt like I could relate to every word. I started my research and learned she wasn’t the overnight internet sensation that people pinned her as. She had been trying to break into the music industry for a very long time with little success.
Recently, I came across an unreleased complete collection of all things Lana Del Rey. And it’s definitely better than anything I’ve heard from her before. It’s much more interesting, has a bit of a different sound and, for me, is a whole lot more relatable.
Here is a 10 track playlist to prove it. I think it’s almost impossible to be disappointed.
I am an infested feeding ground for all kinds of personality disorders. Nothing good has ever come from the hours that I’ve spent self-diagnosing myself from the internet. But I occasionally become obsessed. I won’t have a single rational thought.
I can’t stop.
I am thankful for the help I’ve already received. Doctors, nurses and therapists have all tried to help me come to terms with my feelings, my thoughts and my actions. But I can’t help feel like something is missing. I need to talk to somebody who can tell me what few of many personality disorders I do have. I need to know. It’s become an obsession, a craving, for this knowledge and understanding. Anyone I have talked to in the past has never put a serious label on any of my conditions. They acknowledge all the symptoms, they help me realize them too, but I need a label. I feel like I’ll receive more peace in my mind. That I need some professional to look me straight faced in the eye and say, “You have _____”. I just want somebody to not sugar coat it with promises of “things getting better” and “you’re just an average young adult” because I know it’s more than that. Maybe that’s the Narcissistic Personality Disorder in me. But I’m starting to obsess. I’m becoming strongly overwhelmed.
I play a big part in my happiness and getting myself help. It doesn’t help that I haven’t talked to my therapist in months. It doesn’t help that as the seasons changed and the weather gets cooler, that I haven’t already started preparing myself for my emotional mood swings and changes in behaviour. It happens every year, and it’s never come as a surprise. It’s also my fault that I boycotted any kind of medication I was on to help these issues. And I’ve had a huge epiphany that maybe I’ll feel better if I start fixing some of these things. This post is a promise to myself to get better and do something.
In the past I’ve never been very open about it. I thought talking about these things would push away anyone of importance to me. But it’s time to start being honest with the world. I’m not posting this as some cry of help. I’m not posting it to receive any attention (good or bad) at all. It just makes me feel better to write about it.
I can feel it. It sounds cliché, but I can. I can noticeably point out the differences: I was 19, and then I wasn’t. I was young, naïve, wild and fun, and then I wasn’t. Almost as if a switch on the circuit board of my life was turned off - I was no longer young. I was old. I can remember a year ago wondering when things were going to change. I figured I’d feel it after I turned 30, when the wild days of my youth and innocence were over and done with. 30 seemed like a good target age to finally figure things out. But it came early. 10 years early. I feel the weight of the world and it’s wearing me thin.
Any person I have mentioned this realization to over the past couple weeks have made expected comments like, “That’s crazy! 20 is sooo young. You have your whole life ahead of you!” or “You have nothing to worry about. You’re still in college! You aren’t old!” But I can feel it. I don’t feel young anymore. But I’m not sad about it either.
I’ve thought, back and forth, on a lot of topics of life and my views on them and how they’ve changed. What is important to me now compared to then. How I feel now and how I felt then. And I often find myself lost in thought. Lost in comparison of the past and present. And then constantly fretting about the unknown consequences of the future. Is this just a phase? Will I ever feel young again? Maybe I don’t actually feel old? I could just be under this miserable weather that has felt like a 3-week-long slap in the face. As I’m writing this, the ladder of the few choices seems the most comprehendible. Time is of the essence on this one. But here, I’ll humour you.
19: “Who cares?! I’m YOUNG. I’ll worry about the serious stuff later. There is so many people in this world, so many great young fun people. I won’t be in a real relationship until I’m at least 28. Whatever. Let’s party.”
20: (To my serious real relationship) “Sweetie, it’s 10pm. I’m tired. It’s getting late. Wanna play UNO or Monopoly tonight? Can we watch Bridesmaids?”
19: “School is fun. Well, the social part is. Wanna look at cat memes during our 3 hour lecture today? Oh that assignment was due today? Whatever. Let’s party.”
20: “I’ve never been so organized in my life. No thanks, I’m busy tonight.. I have homework. That class was so interesting, I’m going home and researching more.”
19: “These people don’t understand me. I’m moving out. I can’t wait to move out. How long until I move out? They’re giving me consequences like they WANT me to move out. I don’t want to talk. I love them… but I need to move out. and party.”
20: “Let’s hangout. Why don’t you make time for me? I came home to see you. Wanna have Sunday dinner? Can I move back home? I cry all the time because I miss you guys so much. You guys are my best friends. Sit with me so I can tell you my life story.”
19: “SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS ERRRYBODY. WOO LET’S PARTY.”
20: “No thank you, one beer is good enough for me. I’m already feeling tired. Can I can home now? I think I’ll go home and go to bed. You see, I have some laundry to do and some dishes to clean. I’ve been here half an hour, that’s long enough.”
19: “I can’t wait to quit this minimum wage job and move to a different city. I’m going to make so much more money somewhere else. I have so much money now as it is. I could quit my job and just live off all the money I have. And I could party.”
20: “Did you say minimum wage? Did you say job? YES! I’ll take it. In fact, I’ll take 2 of those. How about 3? Is it humane to work more than 80 hours? I’ll do it. I need more jobs! I need money or I can’t afford rent. Or ice cream.”
19: “I have like 2000 facebook friends. I have so many friends. I met so many friends in college. I’m so blessed to have like 10 best friends. I’m never bored. One of my many friends is always free. Guys, let’s party.”
20: “Hey cat, want to be my best friend? Hey boyfriend, want to be my best friend? Hey mum, want to be my best friend? Hey stranger on the bus, want to be my best friend? I have no friends. I’m bored. I’m lonely. Where did all my friends go?”
- The Jack of Diamonds had tattoos on his arms, was an indie king supreme and was the only real man I thought could ever understand me. I grew to realize this was a very different kind of love. It was a soulmate love, a best friend love.
- The Ace of Spades was my summer romance, filled with long sunny afternoons and jokes that would make my stomach ache with laughter. But the seasons changed and so did he. He was suddenly filled with words that felt like paper cuts.
- The Seven of Clubs was rational when I was emotional, taught me how to be strong (and that it’s okay to feel weak) and we had sleepless nights full of stories of travel and dreams and loves and fears. I invested myself into something I thought I was sure about but I was never certain enough. I had never been that brutally honest.
- The Five of Spades and I had a relationship loaded with ‘firsts’. We grew used to each other, with him growing more and more possessive as time went on, but I had finally learned what it meant to really be there for somebody. We were so young, unsure and extremely dysfunctional. But he would always be my first love.
- The King of Hearts calls to me every day in a voice that tastes like honey. He whispers softly into the back of my neck, each word tangling itself in the ends of my hair, as my eyelids grow heavy and my legs start to weaken at the end of the day. We spend our time hidden away from the world’s watchful eye and I always feel at home. Love fills my days, my nights and my eyes.
My star sign is Pisces; girl who dreams, girl who creates, girl of the sea.
I’ve never really been one to believe in superstitions, never been afraid of black cats or walking under ladders. I often doubt the existence of anything that cannot be proven by at least one of the five senses, unless you spend hours convincing me (and even then there is little to no guarantee). But ever since I was young, I’ve always been fascinated by horoscopes. I think I have those Scholastic Canada book catalogs to blame, just one book about Astrology of many that I begged my parents for. I spent a lot of time completely immersed and captivated by the idea that there was a greater magic out there in the world, something out there that understood who I was. It was the only spiritual connection I had ever made at that point in my life. I was lucky enough to grow up free-spirited and my parents never pushed any beliefs on me - they let me choose for myself. So when I was 8 years old, I chose to believe in stars.
I would look out my bedroom window at the stars and ask myself, “What does it all mean?” Nobody ever really explained what it all meant. Nobody ever really explained if there was any actual science behind Astrology. Or how it works. Or who decides what’s what. All I knew was that it was the belief that the stars and planets are controlling influences on our lives. I figured the stars were real and the planets were real - Astrology was real. And I received a lot of peace in my mind about my apparent scientific hypothesis. It’s something I still believe in. It gave me a sense of character and all the traits described my very existence impressively. A dreamer, scatterbrain and escapist who was sensitive, intuitive, creative, unrealistic and aloof. Who liked poetry, freedom, nature and magic. Who hated large crowds, authority and letting anybody get to close before being able to trust them.
Maybe it’s not so absurd to look up at the sky and wonder. It’s not ludicrous to search the environment for who we are or why we are or where we are going. I like to believe we are fashioned out of stardust, that there is a magical explanation for our human existence. Maybe we are just landlocked constellations with our own untold story.
AKA a bit of an introduction on what to expect here.
Do me a favour. Think back to 1985. Think of a big empty library. Think of Saturday morning detention. You have a jock and a princess, a geek and a badass - and somewhere, at the back of the room, wearing an over-sized lumpy jacket, unbrushed hair, a wide-eyed gaze and a smirk.. is me. The basketcase. The one everyone knows of, but nobody knows.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t actually in The Breakfast Club (or even alive in 1985), but I always strongly identified myself with Ally Sheedy’s character: Weird. Awkward. Insecure.
And I couldn’t pick more effective words to describe how I’ve felt my entire life. What I portray may be one thing, but how I feel is another. However, there has been many things I was always very sure about: I love to write, to feel creative and to be inspired. I want to inspire creativity, happiness, reality and lots of writing.
I chose the name lion heart and me. To be a lionheart, by definition, is to be considered ‘extremely extraordinarily courageous’ which is everything I am trying to be. I’m working on that and we’ll have to wait and see where it goes.
This is a place for relevant (or irrelevant) thought, stories and conversation.
So, think of me of that awkward back of the class basketcase. Think of me as Bridget Jones and Carrie Bradshaw’s Canadian wild lovechild. Think of me as your new best friend. Or don’t think of me at all. Anyway the wind blows..