Be Yourself

“People always say how you should be yourself. Like yourself is this definite thing, like a toaster or something. Like you know what it is, even.” ~ Angela, My So Called Life

Right on Angela. We’ve been hearing this one forever, right? Almost as long as “He bullies you because he LIKES you.” 

“Just be yourself and everything will be fine.”

I don’t know about anyone else, but trying to pin down what ‘being myself’ looks like, is right up there with answering, “What’s on your mind?” Ummmmm. Everything, actually. Every.fucking.thing. 

The majority of “myself” is wrapped up in hiding my crazy, or at least making it more palatable. I let some of it out, in a comical, endearing way. But day in, day out, I’m doing and controlling all of the things in my life. My home, my appearance, my schedule, cultivating the joy and being helpful and generous. And NICE (always be nice, in every situation, or everyone will hate you and for good reason). Above all, I control my reactions, because “When you can’t control what happens to you, control your reactions. That’s where your power lies.” That was a meme I saw somewhere, and now it is my mantra. All of this, in an effort to show myself that it’s all good. If I wrap myself up in silver linings and only put my little victories on display, no one will ever suspect that I am, in fact, whackadoodle. Nothing to see here, totally sane human, living a normal suburban life.

It’s exhausting though, because on the outside, I’m making smoothies, decorating Christmas cookies, playing board games, doing laundry, working in the office, running into acquaintances in the public. While, on the inside, my brain is bombarding me: Intense paranoia, continuing old conversations in my head with what I should have said. Remembering past mistakes with a shudder. Having pretend sessions with my therapist. Analyzing why people behave the way they do. I know these are things that everyone thinks about. This is just an example of a good day; I am not exaggerating when I say these thoughts are as constant as my heart beat.

On a bad day, the litany of paranoid and erratic thoughts can get so loud, I can’t leave the house. It’s debilitating. Eventually one of them has to give; the brain or the body in motion. The brain will never, ever throw in the towel, so that’s when I end up on the bathroom floor. Sometimes I’m in there 20 minutes, just taking a breather. Sometimes hours. Sometimes crying hysterically. Sometimes just sitting there numb, while the brain just keeps.fucking.going. If I stare at myself in the mirror too long, I start to not recognize my own face. It looks like somehow it doesn’t belong. I can’t describe it.

So how exactly am I supposed to be myself, if I don’t always know my own face? It’s hard to be yourself, if one chunk is floating above your head yelling at you, another is hiding in the bathroom and another is baking banana bread. What I’ve determined, is that these different versions of myself, while not a bad thing, need to be integrated. Integration starts with not hiding them in plain sight. Integration has started with writing these blog entries. If I write enough of them, maybe I’ll start carrying them into my real life. Who am I? I’m a whackadoodle control freak, but I’m really nice and I make great banana bread.