To the tune of Simon and Garfunkel's "Feelin' Groovy"
Slow Down, The car horns blast
Ass-Clown drivers go way to fast
kick the neighbour kids down a hill of stones,
Don't own a gun cause I'm feelin' Craaazy.
Ba da Ba da Ba da Ba da... Feelin Craaaazy!
Around this time last year I was feelin' a little crazy. Not like G.W. Bush crazy, just a tiny bit crazy.
The kind of crazy that makes you want to kick your infant child down the stairs, run other people off the road in a fit of rage, or kill your self crazy. So really, just a little tiny eeensy weensie bit crazy.
Following a rather heated
Freak Out discussion with Stone where he dutifully tried to persuede me that it's everyone else who is crazy, I convinced him that I maybe needed some professional help. Screaming at him in a restaurant full of people and throwing a plate at his head may or may not have helped to reinforce the point.
Following a rather heated
Seriously, I've never felt as out of control and frightened as I was feeling then. Because a Year ago, I couldn't stand living in the old neighbourhood for One. More. Fucking. Minute. I wasn't sure if I could stand living with my family for another minute. The barking dogs, the heat, being unemployed, attempting to mother an obnoxious toddler and an obnoxious teenager simultaneously, and the horrendous neighbours were totally doing my head in.
So I visited a psychatrist and cried my eyes out and begged for drugs or a giant rubber hammer or something, anything that would chill me out enough to prevent me from hurting myself or someone else. Tears, wailing, snot. In hindsight, I made kind of a scene.
And the highly trained Psychiatrist was like "I'm from Pakistan, and I know about life sucking. Your life is pretty good, so you should suck it up" All of that is completley true, but it wasn't quite what I had in mind as far as mental health advice went. He charged me 60 rials for 20 minutes of his time and sent me home with a package of anti angsiety pills and some really potent sleeping pills. He said to come back in three weeks.
Un helpfull psychiatric advice aside, the drugs were sort of good, and even better was standing up and telling my famiy that I really needed help. They listened, and were really supportive. Within a ouple of weeks, the angry girl inside me got a little quieter, a little more manageable. A few months later when the neighbours broke into our house (Twice!) instead of opening fire on the local elementary school, (or hunting down the little fuckers and ripping thier toenails out one at a time) I put my foot down, leaned on Stone, and we moved out of the neighbourhood the next week.
And it's like, a year later, and things are still pretty good. I could do without the racket from the construction next door, but I have only once marched over there in my bathrobe to scream at them, which I think is progress.
- The new neighbourhood is like something out of a norman Rockwell painting.
- I now have a job, which gives me things I enjoy doing, and also gives me things to bitch about that are relitavely minor, and which I am empowered change instead of wanting freak out and kill a neighbour over something major that I have little or no control over.
- I only took the pills for a week or two, though I still use sleeping pills occasionally so I can sleep through the night. I never realised how much I need sleep in order to be a functioning, rational person.
I don't really know why I wrote this post, except to express some gratitude that I have a life where I can remove 90% if the stuff that is driving me crazy by taking sleeping pills for a week and making a single phone call to a moving company. If only everyone's problems could be resolved so easily.