When People Think Your Crazy
You live in this odd place between the reality you know and the one they try to put you in. It winds itself around you and at times becomes a crazy you learn to live with. It tends to become the very thing you try to deal with each time your around certain people who try to force you fit some mold they have.
It is getting colder. The windows are being shut more often—a train echoes in the distance. The sky is grey and cloudy and there is more time to reflect. Things slow down and the ghosts of the past call me to sort and empty old things.
To look and listen. To accept, forgive and discard. Knowing that all will be well, but that it will take time. As the leaves gently start to turn and the memories fade I want to run and hide and just cry—days I do just that. Days and days of grief that seem to be unending. Then it lets up and I realize how fortunate I am to be able to begin again.
Slowly I sort, ever so gently not really knowing what to keep or discard, eventually it happens and things just seem to find their place. Falling ever so gently into that place that makes sense—renewed. I become hopeful and grateful.
It rains, pouring and dark. The sun peeks out—the days unfold and the rhythm returns. The garden was never tended this year—flowers scattered here and there, not in any real design. Vegetables were never planted, shrubs never pruned, but somehow I needed a break and the unorganized natural suits me better.
Yes, I guess I am officially crazy according to some people.
Have you ever had mental health issues before? Mental illness? Well I said, being an artist I do seek out the edges, the frayed parts, the parts people walk by. Yes, I guess having an attraction for the different, not normal, unique would lend itself to getting lost at times. So yes—yes that is me.
It is okay now as I laugh and cry and realize that the reality I occupy can shift pretty drastically at times and it is okay. It all becomes one anyway—the shifts and valleys, the heartaches and laughter between what is expected and the joy of the unexpected. When people think I am crazy I just gently laugh to myself and know it is okay they don't understand and I can go on in the spaces in-between.
You live in this odd place between the reality you know and the one they try to put you in. It winds itself around you and at times becomes a crazy you learn to live with. It tends to become the very thing you try to deal with each time your around certain people who try to force you fit some mold they have.
It is getting colder. The windows are being shut more often—a train echoes in the distance. The sky is grey and cloudy and there is more time to reflect. Things slow down and the ghosts of the past call me to sort and empty old things.
To look and listen. To accept, forgive and discard. Knowing that all will be well, but that it will take time. As the leaves gently start to turn and the memories fade I want to run and hide and just cry—days I do just that. Days and days of grief that seem to be unending. Then it lets up and I realize how fortunate I am to be able to begin again.
Slowly I sort, ever so gently not really knowing what to keep or discard, eventually it happens and things just seem to find their place. Falling ever so gently into that place that makes sense—renewed. I become hopeful and grateful.
It rains, pouring and dark. The sun peeks out—the days unfold and the rhythm returns. The garden was never tended this year—flowers scattered here and there, not in any real design. Vegetables were never planted, shrubs never pruned, but somehow I needed a break and the unorganized natural suits me better.
Yes, I guess I am officially crazy according to some people.
Have you ever had mental health issues before? Mental illness? Well I said, being an artist I do seek out the edges, the frayed parts, the parts people walk by. Yes, I guess having an attraction for the different, not normal, unique would lend itself to getting lost at times. So yes—yes that is me.
It is okay now as I laugh and cry and realize that the reality I occupy can shift pretty drastically at times and it is okay. It all becomes one anyway—the shifts and valleys, the heartaches and laughter between what is expected and the joy of the unexpected. When people think I am crazy I just gently laugh to myself and know it is okay they don't understand and I can go on in the spaces in-between.
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