Maybe it's much too early in the game...

It's here!  It's here!  A new year, and a time for reflection, resolutions, casting out the old, bringing in the new.... blah blah blah blah sentiment blah blah blah blah.

Basically, this is the time of year when people figure out who they want to be when they grow up... or at least who they want to be next week.  I have decided that I want to be a thin, organized and happy individual in 2012.  That's also what I wanted to be in 2011, 2010, 2009... you get the idea, gentle reader?

I believe that part of the issue I have with de-cluttering my home and my body comes partially from my own belief that, in and of itself, I am NOT enough.  I am not smart, talented, attractive, or witty enough to live in this world on my own.  So I accumulate STUFF.  I accumulate books, CDs, magazines, gadgets, clothing, shoes, and food food food food food.  I have accumulated so much stuff that I have no idea where it starts and my own person begins.  It's frustrating and embarrassing.

From the age of 8, I fell into that gushy, warm American materialistic belief system that if I just had those Esprit sneakers, or that IOU sweatshirt, or those Z Cavaricci pants, I would be happy.  I would be fulfilled.  The mean girls at school would finally stop making fun of me, and the boys would realize that I was just as cute as ... those mean girls.  The thoughts that took up space in my 8 year old, 12 year old, 17 year old, and 23 year old brains just make me angry.  Those thoughts are some of the same ones I have now, with more "grown up" traits.  The cycle, my friends, must bloody well stop.

Where do we go from here?  Thanks so much for asking, Mr. Lloyd Webber!!!  I have made a decision.  I watched myself go through all kinds of ridiculous cycles in my brain over people and things and whether or not I was popular enough.  I watched myself earn a high school diploma and college degree.  I watched the possibility of a high-profile singing career die a quick death at the hands of mental illness.  I watched myself crawl on hands and knees through the trenches of coming back from said illness.  You know what?  I'm fucking tired.  You know where we go from here?  We go home.

Home!  What a concept!  I have one of those!  It's full of all the things that my husband and I accumulate because we're unhappy with ourselves.  This cycle ends here, my friends.

I am armed with a shit ton of organization books from the library, a phone number for a dumpster service, and beautiful beautiful ebay.

I am enough without all this crap in my house and my brain.  I am enough with my husband, our satanically-minded cat, and a home in which we can start anew.

I am, quite simply, enough.

Happy Freakin' New Year.  

As promised....

In the midst of playing Mrs. Lovett in a local production of "Sweeney Todd", I made a blog promise to myself that I would delve into the shadier side of my brain for awhile.  My hope is that those that read it will understand a bit more about what having a mental illness means, at least to one human being out there, and that I may gain a bit more insight at the same time.

I mention the production of "Sweeney Todd" because it was an incredible experience, but more importantly the trigger to the re-visiting of the "old days", the days when Laura couldn't get her ass out of bed for more than 2 hours at a time.  The days when I would spend more time in my bedroom than anywhere else in the world.  I can still vividly see my husband's face and defeated demeanor as he left for another day of work at noontime, leaned over me, kissed me on the cheek, and said "Try your hardest to get out of bed for a little while today."

The setting for "Sweeney Todd" was Fogg's Asylum, one of the places of action for the story itself, and through the opening number, the inmates of the asylum (our cast) would slowly tell the story, and become the characters of the story.  When our director first told me of the setting, I was intrigued and scared out of my mind.  The "pre-show" was going to be a day in the asylum, with members of the cast dragging onto the stage and portraying mental patients for a good 15-20 minutes before the opening number.  I would be one of those patients.  My mind immediately flashed to the many common rooms of psych wards I'd been in.  There was Caritas Carney, Emerson Hospital, McLean, Pembroke, Bayridge, Holy Family, Mass General.  I saw patients young and old, with all manner of mental illness, and saw the mannerisms I could portray.  How would I play this?  Loud?  Quiet?  Creepy?  Desperate?

My mother is an incredibly wise woman, who once said to me "Your illness is like a friend you'll never get rid of.  Sometimes it's living in the next town, and sometimes it's got a hand in your back pocket.  But it's yours, Laura.  No one else's."

So I was Laura.  I walked out on that stage and felt myself slip into that old skin.  It was frightening.  It scared me because I didn't know if I'd be able to get myself out of it again.

But I did.... and went on to sing the hell out of a great show.  And that, gentle reader, is what made all the difference. ;)