Okay, so you know Jekyll and Hyde, Right? Or, actually, that’s a little too 19th century, dreary, cold and creepy for me. How about Tigger and Eeyore? You know those guys?


Well, I am those guys. Both of them.

I never know when, why or how I am, but I am. I can wake up one day and the whole world is bright and beautiful. I don’t have a care in the world. I’m happy, ecstatic even. Nothing and no one can bring me down or take away the absolute joy I’m feeling.

I can accomplish anything; and on those days, I normally do. I clean, do laundry, work, hang out with the kids, work out, spend time with the hubby, find time to do something I enjoy, watch movies, or tv, plan my other days, the list is endless and the day is perfect. I can and do, accomplish anything. I love those days. I cherish those days.

The bad thing is…

Those days don’t happen every day.

To be honest, I never know when those days will happen.

Or even worse, when those days will end.

But when they do…

They. Are. The. Worst.

I’m not myself. I don’t recognize the person I hear or see. It’s like, I don’t exist anymore. Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t one of those “Sybil” type things where I’m altogether a different person. I’m me, but I’m far from the me I want or wish to be. It’s so much more than just being upset, sad, frustrated, stressed, whatever you want to place the blame on. It’s like being engulfed in a million different emotions, not knowing which one is what you are really feeling and yet, still being able to watch yourself from the outside and going, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Lunatic Asylum

You feel helpless and frustrated and angry and sad and you just want it to stop. Logically, you know that it doesn’t make any sense at all. And when someone asks you, “What’s wrong?”, you can only respond with either 2 answers, or versions of these 2 answers.

One being, “Nothing, I’m fine.”


Or, “I don’t know.”

See, “I don’t know.” is the easiest of the 2 answers. It’s honest. It’s as truthful as someone can be in the situation and it is one of the hardest things to actually get yourself to say. 9 times out of 10, it’s not just said, it’s screamed. It’s through tears and gritted teeth and pain that won’t stop. But once it comes out, it’s like the world stops. For just a second, it clicks in your head that you have no f***ing idea what the hell is wrong with you or how to fix it. You don’t know why you can cry at the drop of a dime. You don’t know why the ASPCA commercial hits you right in the feels. You don’t know why the man that you are 1,000,000% percent in love with can irritate the living daylights out of you, just by breathing a little too loudly. You. Just. Don’t. Know.


And it sucks. And you just breathe and you deal with it in the best way that you know how and you move forward. And you make it through to that next breath, and then that next thought, and that next minute, hour, day, week, month & year. You just do it. Some people do this with meds. Others with alcohol, drugs, smoking, eating, exercising, sex, work, shopping. You name it and people use it as a coping mechanism; as their form of medication.

I prefer quiet. I just want to sit and stare aimlessly into nothing and just let the storm that has been brewing take its course. I just want to be calm. I want to have control over whatever I can. Because I can’t control this. I can’t control the emotions. I can’t control the feelings. But I can sit. I can wait it out. I can just pick a project. It can be a puzzle or organizing my closet or cleaning. Something that I can hone in on and focus. I choose not to do anything destructive. Because, I feel like if I go that route, I’m no better than the monster inside of me; and that, is something I have control over. That is something I refuse to do to myself or those who love and care about me. And in the end, I am thankful for the ability and strength to be okay.


Now, as people have seen and heard, “I’m fine.” definitely doesn’t mean what it should. But for me, personally, it’s so much easier to say it, then to try to explain what I’m feeling; or worse, get sympathy for something that I know is crazy. It makes no sense. At. All. I know this. I understand this. I get it.

It’s like trying to explain the Theory of Relativity to a preschooler. It’s just gibberish. It means nothing and will only either validate that you are completely out of your mind to that person or put them in a position where THEY feel helpless and want so bad to understand, but don’t and can’t. They then will go into the normal stance of being empathetic and just feeling sorry for you. And not sorry in the negative sense, because they don’t mean any harm at all, they’re just doing what they know they CAN do. They are caring about you. They are being there for you. They are worrying about you. They are trying to understand you. And ultimately, it comes from a good place.

But, truth be told, no one wants that. No one wants to be seen that way. If someone looks at you like you are some delicate flower, it takes away from who you know you are and how you feel about yourself. It goes deeper than just a, “I’m so sorry you feel that way.”. It comes off as pity. For me, hearing that, is like hearing the equivalent of “I’m so sorry to hear that you are so pathetic that you can’t be normal.”

My whole life, I have been everyone else’s guidance counselor, therapist, adviser, teacher, “angel” and SuperWoman.


That is who I am. That is who I will always be. I love being all of those things. I wouldn’t trade the conversations, the hours of talking and comforting and laughs that have happened between me and soooooo many people throughout my life. I can do anything. That’s what everyone tells me, and on my good days, I believe them. Hell, even on my bad days, I can believe them.

But, what I can’t do, is stop those days from happening. No matter how hard I try, they happen. They take every single ounce of strength that I have, to just make it to the end of the day without breaking down. And despite the fact that, in hindsight, I’m being strong, I feel like the weakest person alive. I feel like all of those compliments and nicknames and adjectives that people use to describe me are lies. Like, I’m a huge fraud and it’s only a matter of time before someone figures it out and blows my cover.

And with my luck, that someone will be me.

Published by Amy Estrada-Campbell

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