I am an anchor

Here's the thing. Despite my smile, I live in darkness. I want to let the sun in but my mind is always thunderstorms.
I am an anchor. I weigh down the people around me. I drag them deep into myself and my darkness. I fear I am doing that to my husband.
He is a tree. Strong, resilient, protecting what needs it. Trees don't belong in the ocean.
The depths of the ocean are cold and lonely and that's how I should be. I feel guilty. Because no matter what, my brain will say he deserves better. I am never the best; I won't let myself be.

Listen. I was on hormonal birth control for years, since before I even started having sex really. I am now not and haven't been for about two months and it's getting interesting. As time moves, I lose more water weight that the hormones made my body hold but also, I get a stronger and stronger sex drive too.
Having anxiety is not ideal for that. I am still on birth control, just not hormonal (in case you can't figure that out, I have a copper iud) so I don't worry about being pregnant. That's too ordinary. I get convinced my husband doesn't find me sexy. I also don't know how to ask for sex.
My only previous sexual relationship involved an unsatisfactory man who was mentally abusive and manipulative. So naturally, I never wanted to ask him for it. But how am I supposed to swallow my anxiety and say I need something? I can't even pee in other people's houses because it foreign and anxiety said don't do it.
Those of you not struggling, congrats on doing normal things easily. But this is how my fucked brain works. It inhibits me from doing things I want and sometimes (like the peeing) need. Anxiety is a mother fucker, dudes.
I forgot the point of this. Oh, wait, yeah, what the fuck birth control? You kept me constantly bloated and made my depressive episodes so much stronger, way too strong.  Sure, I had no babies but this new, non hormone version is much better. Am I still depressed sometimes, of course, but I think much less about how I could easily end it all. People don't tell you these kinds of fuck ups. That if you're mentally unwell, it will make that worse. That's why I'm telling you. No one needs extra weight on their shoulders. Especially when you're already carrying a water buffalo.

Butter.

I have seven and a half cups of butter on my counter. Because hard butter is like llama spit, no good to be around and very annoying. I haven't been spit on by a llama but I imagine it can't be pleasant. I did get bit by a donkey though and that was super weird and undesirable.
But that's not the topic at hand. Even though llamas should always be discussed. They're fuzzy and silly looking and inspired sonatas.
Butter. Seven and a half cups. That's a shit ton of butter for a shit ton of cookies. Baking is the thing that's always helped me feel more controlled and less like everything is sinking and my body is falling apart. As a bonus, it's delicious. I am making four types of cookie to give my people for Christmas. I mean, some are for me, obviously. It's very important to make sure I am not accidentally poisoning someone. Cookies are better than llama spit (see how I brought that back around, so professional).

I dyed my hair a festive green for the holiday season. Only problem was I dribbled hair dye down to the floor. It's easy to clean up, no worries but it did get my toe. So now, I've got a case of hulk toe and for a moment debated doing the whole foot.
This way, I could play games and be like "Help! My foot is turning green! Is this supposed to happen?!" And people would be all "oh, shit!" Because who knows what to do with hulk foot? Truth is, if you have hulk foot you should probably just smash.

Today, I am sitting on my couch, waiting for my sister. She's been training in town and we have big plans for the evening. It involves so much chili and cheese, photostips, booze, and snakes on a plane. Basically, we're having the most fun we can.
Living a state away from your best friend sucks. But, we make up for it. We video chat and watch movies together. Life lesson friends, distance does not mean you can't hang.
In other news, my husband got me the best, silly birthday present. It's a phone case with king boo from Mario on it. I got all the boos, bitches.

It's been a good week or so since I showered. Because depression that comes with anxiety will do that to you. I get home exhausted for no real reason. It can be a simple day and I'm just as tired from work as I would be on the biggest truck of the year.
It's because being up and happy and facing life as if my brain isn't screaming at me is hard. It's hard to fight with yourself nonstop. So, I come home and rest. I rest so I have enough strength to cook dinner for my husband and myself. I can create strength from no where when he needs it; when he needs me.
One day, I dream that simple tasks won't feel so taxing. That checking the mail won't drain me. Some days are better than others though and that's just life with mental illness. My mental illness doesn't make me weak or lazy or make me any less of a person. I am not my brain. You don't have to be defined by your disorders as if they are bad. They just make you far more interesting.
"My brain told me I should pee in a plastic bag today," for instance, you could say. Now you're full of life and flavor while Sharon is rambling on about if her donations will be tax deductible or not. Come on Sharon, you don't even have salt on that dish and I'm over here giving you paprika?!
I might not be squeaky clean but damn it, I have seasoning (not that you should eat me, that is ill advised) and I would rather that than be bland.

Here I Come.

I am not sure why I get a feeling writing everything out will help people understand themselves and maybe help me feel, but I have convinced myself it will. So, welcome friends. Welcome to my nightmare life. Really, welcome to my nightmare mind.
The thing is, we are all a little fucked up. It's just we show different levels. I'm here to start bearing it all.
Writing is something I have wanted for a while now. And if I do start a book, you guys will get insight in to that. So come, sit, laugh at my useless ramblings. Chances are we can relate at least once to some shared experience.

PS: A word of thanks to a brilliant author for show in me what I should call my life story. Stephanie Keuhnert is a gem to the YA field and without her books, I would be lonely. So if this ever reaches you Stephanie, thank you for your words and my friends.