I ask myself this question at least a few times a week, because the world's already insane and sometimes I just gotta check in with myself. I feel "crazy" about damn near everything, or rather, people try to make me feel crazy about it. I question myself at every turn, in part because of my anxiety, but also because I have no choice but to be hyperaware of the things happening around me due to my identity and how the world often sees me. Here's what I mean—this is usually how it goes:
*I get on the bus and get a dirty look from an old white lady*: "Am I crazy, or did this pasty-lookin, suds-havin' lady just look me up and down?"
*I get cut off in traffic*: "Am I crazy, or do I actually have a reason to beep my horn at this idiot who almost hit me trying to get from the far left lane to the far right lane before they exit in a quarter mile?"
*The government actively tries to ban abortion*: "Am I crazy, or does it truly seem like national and local government hate women?"
*A coworker makes multiple comments about my braids, and even attempts to touch them, succeeding once*: "Am I crazy, or is my person truly under attack in some way, shape, or form every time I turn around?"
*My chronic condition flares up (again)*: "Am I crazy, or does it really hurt this bad in spite of my anxiety?"
*I experience depression in waves*: "Am I crazy, or am I really just this sad?"
Every day, my brain does this. Every day, something happens or someone crosses my path that causes me to question my own judgment, stability, and sanity. And though I question many things, there's one thing I know for sure: It's exhausting.
I comb through every action every day, replaying and recreating them in my mind to assess whether or not I did the right thing or felt the right way. I have this need to not necessarily be right, but to be fair, open, and the best version of myself. I know people make mistakes, and I am no different. Yet, I'm often too hard on myself regarding the moves I do or don't make. I go back and forth with myself often, trying to correct the things I did, or at least assess them.
It also doesn't help that I'm often gaslit when it comes to how people think I should feel about things that involve my identity. Too often are microaggressions passed off as "just an instance" or "not a big deal", and before I know it, I'm being told how to react rather than the perpetrators being told how to act (word to The Vixen from season 10 of RuPaul's Drag Race—if ya know, ya know).
It's bad enough that I'm second-guessing myself. It's even worse that other people try to use this against me. Nothing's racist or sexist or the epitome of misogynoir or prejudice or wrong, ever. It's always me: I'm trippin, buggin, overreacting, and on, and on...
Hyper-visibility can often feel like you're under a magnifying glass. But not just any magnifying glass. A huge one, super-sized to the max, zeroing in on you as it channels the power of the sun to burn you to bits, because you're the ant who can't escape the glare quickly enough. Before you know it, you're asking, "is it my fault for being in this position knowing that I'm the ant?" instead of "how are you people evil enough to magnify me under the power of the sun in the first place?" Tuh. Talk about gaslit.
And the thing is this: I know, for a fact, that I'm not crazy! I've consulted with my family, friends, physicians, therapist, and most importantly myself, and we've all concluded that I'm just a human being trying to figure this whole life thing out while attempting to make the best of the things thrown my way. I guess in a world like this—where individuals and institutions alike will try to tear you down the moment they get the chance—I just need more reassurance to pull me away from the lies the world tells about me, as well as the lies I tell myself.
Life's crazy, though; I'm just not. When you get caught up in crazy, it's easy to feel like you're going mad, too. It's like being in a crowded room with a bunch of sick people: you do your best to avoid the germs, but from then on, you can't help but wonder if the tickle in your throat is because you're actually getting sick, or because you've psyched yourself out due to your surroundings. You're not sick, but your surroundings are, so you can't help but wonder if you're getting sick, too.
Well, I'm not sick. I'm not crazy. I'm a logical, wise, evolving human being who's gonna feel how I feel, period. My feelings are valid, whether I'm told so or otherwise. I have a right to get mad or feel a way or take time and space to handle my mental and physical health concerns. Though my perception is my own, I know at times it can be "off" a bit, but getting it wrong doesn't mean I'm crazy: it means I'm learning.
I implore you to trust yourself more as I attempt to do the same. Cut yourself some slack. After all, being you is one of the hardest things you've ever had to do. It's hard enough trying to exist as yourself while the entire world attempts to gaslight you into insanity. The last thing you need is to give yourself that label, too. It's not easy. I still can't help but wonder if madness is right around the corner for me, because that's just how anxiety words—your mind obsesses over things without your permission. But, I'm going to continue to give myself permission to keep pushing back, anyway. I owe that to myself, not because I have anything to prove, but because I deserve to just be without my existence being called into question. Because if y'all think I'll buckle to the will of the world without putting up a good fight, then y'all are the ones who need to check your sanity. Not I.
Comments