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“The Crazy Eyes.”

Oh, where do I begin?

Well, it’s been a while since I wrote. A lot of things have happened. Nothing drastic. Just a lot. I won’t go into details, but, hey. If you think to pray for me, I would not be ungrateful.

Due to recent situations, I’ve been at home a lot. I’ve spent a lot of time watching Netflix with my cat, which, for the most part, I can’t complain about. I’ve gotten back into the show “How I Met Your Mother,” and I have forgotten what a gem the show truly is. It has great life lessons, a stellar cast, and a really funny and intricate plot line. I’m glad I went back to it.

But.. I’m also disappointed. Let’s explore Season 2, Episode 7. For hilarious reasons, it’s called “Swarley.” Watch it. It really is good.

I just can’t get over one thing. There’s a girl that one of the characters starts dating, and when his friends meet her for the first time, they tell her he has to dump her right away because she has the “crazy eyes.”

What kind of world are we living in? I mean, really? That word is so… Sad. Offensive. Archaic.

I’ve seen all kinds of pictures and statuses and campaigns on Facebook and Instagram about the “R” word. “Spread the word to end the word.” And I am SO SO SO SO SO SO for that! I hate that word as much as I do the one I’m talking about right now. It’s so unfair, and no one should have to be subjected to that kind of discrimination and hatred.

But doesn’t that apply to us too?
Shouldn’t we get the same respect?

I’m crying right now. I hurt so much for people. I’ve watched discrimination my whole life, and yet it’s never felt like this. I mean, why? Why is that okay? Why is THIS okay?

When you search the dictionary, this is what comes up…

1. mentally deranged; demented; insane.

Why have we, as a society, given people the right to make others feel like this because they’re sick?

We’re just sick, people. Mental illness is no different from heart disease, or cancer, or diabetes. Yet those people don’t suffer under slang terms that impose a stigma on their condition. I take medication. Sometimes, I can’t get out of bed. Hell, sometimes, I see things that aren’t there. I’m getting real with you guys right now. Does that make me less of a person, and more of a stereotype? We’re not all the same. We don’t act “deranged” or “demented” because it’s fun, or because it’s the label we want slapped on us for the rest of our lives.

Why do you get to decide who I am based on one small fact about me? Why do you get to throw around words like they don’t actually mean anything?

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”
That’s the WORST lie I was ever taught as a kid. Words are powerful. Words are meaningful. Words can change a person’s whole life. What about the words “You have Borderline Personality Disorder, and it’s a lifelong problem.” Did you ever think about our side of it? Did you ever think about what we went through when we found out?

It’s hard enough to be “crazy” on its own. We don’t need your help adding to our problems. We don’t need you to label us. We don’t need to be put down any more than we already do it to ourselves.

Words are not arbitrary. They are not flippant. They are heavy. They have such power behind them. They deserve to be considered. WE deserve to be considered.

But I’m not stopping there. This isn’t a passive-aggressive “Check yourself before you wreck yourself” blog. I’m not just cautioning you on thinking about what comes out of your mouth before you say it. Oh, no. I’m done sitting back. I’m done letting you beat me up with your tongues. All of us are.

I’m calling you out.

I am taking back the definition of who I am, because you know what? That isn’t up to you. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. All of my days were planned before I even got to this earth. Jesus Christ knew every terrible thing I was ever going to do or say, including things that I may or may not have had control over. And you know what? HE STILL CHOSE- CHOSE– TO DIE FOR ME. He loved me that much. He believed in me THAT much. I MATTERED that much. Not the sickness in my brain. Not the things that would happen because of it. ME. My soul. My eternity. And you don’t get to take that away from me. Not with any words, not with how you make me feel, and not with the things you could possibly physically do to me.

I live in constant fear. And that, I have no control over. I have dealt with it. I’m okay with it. But I will NOT live in shame anymore. I have a mental illness. Heck, I have THREE. And you know what that makes me? 1 in 4. 25% of people living and breathing have something DIFFERENT in their brains than you. And that makes them no less of a person; no more of a stereotype; no less than the other 75% of America.

I’m still not done. I don’t know that I ever will be. I will fight this disorder for the rest of my life, but I will also fight society. I will fight stigma. I will beat shame. And for that, I need each one of you to help me. I can’t do this on my own. I don’t know that many people, and it isn’t likely that I’ll ever know every soul on this planet. But I do know YOU. And YOU can do something.

Help me end this. Help me destroy this word. Maybe it’ll never go further than my Facebook page. Maybe it won’t change a thing. But I have to try. I have to say something. I have to make it known that this is a problem that has such an easy solution.

I love you. I mean that. I really do. You are living, and breathing, and you deserve to know that you matter. You are a beautiful person, inside and out- no matter what anyone says. I just wish I didn’t have to add that last part. Help me be able to change that sentence. Help me change the world. It starts with one.

 

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2 thoughts on ““The Crazy Eyes.”

  1. Hey, I;m being nosy and reading your other blogs because I really like your writing. :3 All I can say is, you are hecka eloquent and i love your “Dear Church” post. As a fellow depressed person, I understand every word of that post.

    ok, nosy person from class out

    Liked by 1 person

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