Hello World

I used to think I was different because of my job. I am comedian. People never get it the first time I say it and even then they think they have heard me wrong. When it finally clicks,

" YOU'RE A COMEDIAN? REALLY? TELL ME A JOKE! " Even better, " I HAVE A STORY FOR YOU AND YOU CAN USE IT IN YOUR SKIT! "

Years ago a soccer mom asked me if my act was dirty (tone was a tad accusatory, almost angry) and would she be able to bring her twelve year old son? I replied that I am not a blue act, however, the subjects are adult and I don't know lady, do you bring your children to night clubs? Is that how you spend quality time with the family? If you want your kid to hear about my uterus after child birth, say the word. I'll make sure you get front row seats. Then I'll ask you during the show, if you and the Mr. are still doing the nasty...or have the little pills killed your sex drive? (I note here that I am not an angry, mean, comic. I was not on stage when we had this conversation and the part where I hand her her ass during my set, was pure fantasy).

I know a lot of mommies take that little pill in the morning to stave off the blues. I remember when the playground lady was chasing it with Bailey's in her coffee. I also remember when I thought we had that in common. Not the Bailey's part, I am a dirty martini lover through and through. But not on my worst day have I shaken one in the morning. I can't promise you that it hasn't crossed my mind, I just don't remember. It's hard enough for me to find my car at Target.  Where was I? Right, having the little pill in common. No such luck.

It turns out that out of the four kinds of Depression a person can have, I have them all. Jackpot! There may be more but the book I'm reading says there are four. That's enough. I don't want to know about any others. The hardest one to recover from is the one that stems from my childhood. Stem my ass, more like a trunk the size of a four thousand year old Sequoia.

Throw in ADHD, Dyslexia, and just enough OCD to screw with me but not enough to keep anything organized. Not enough to actually be helpful. My hands are clean and my spices are alphabetized. That's it.

Running neck and neck in severity with depression is the chronic anxiety. Debilitating. For as long as I can remember, I have been saying that I only like crowds when they are seated neatly in front of me. It wasn't until recently, I realized that I have had this paralyzing anxiety all of my life. I didn't know it was a treatable thing with a name. I thought it was one of my many flaws and as such gave it it's due. In the hole of shame where I used to spend most of my time. I say "most of my time" because while I'm on quite a cocktail of meds and therapy and yoga therapy, it ain't all unicorns and martinis. Far from it.

While I am different because of my job, that just isn't the great separator. I have come to realize this at long last. I'd like to thank my most recent complete and total breakdown for getting me to this place. Finally. I have arrived at the acceptance stage. Sometimes I head back and visit anger, but I forge ahead with the love and support of an enormous village. 

 I give thanks to my husband, my beautiful and amazing children, my therapist, my massage therapist and my shrink. I am wildly grateful for my friends. You have saved me and helped me save myself. Thank you thank you to my dogs, Matthew and Ike. You physically cover me in dog love during the darkest of times when I feel paralyzed from the neck up. 

If you have come across this blog and are still reading, I thank you too.

Drive safely people, tip your servers, I'll be here all week.