Welcome to my asylum, where even the cats have Anxiety Disorder.

Don't adjust your screen, you read that correctly. Previously I have regaled you with stories of my and my daughter's bit of crazy...our anxiety disorders. Our prescriptions, our nightmares. But yesterday, I was given the strangest diagnosis from a vet I had ever heard. Mary Jane has anxiety, the kind that needs meds! What the fresh fuck? Are you serious? We had taken her in because she was coughing like 2 pack a day smoker with emphysema. That croupy sound could be heard from anywhere in the house and it was time to find out why and how we could help the poor, Zaftig baby. So she's a little on the Rubenesque side? Beauty comes in all sizes, I've told you that before.

This poor cat not only has asthma, but she is anxious. Anxiety and asthma are a lethal combination. One begets the other...begets the other. Why not? Why not have a very human issue that exacerbates your illness? Well, if you live in MY house, you may as well just grab yourself a cup of mental illness and sit right down and join the family. Take your pick: bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, or maybe a little multiple personality to spice things up. This household prefers panic attacks, but all are welcome. Line forms to the right, be sure to have your diagnosis handy for inspection. We like to keep your paperwork on file, in case. We haven't had to restrain anyone since 1994, but better safe than sorry.

To me, this isn't a curse. NosireeBOB. I like to think of it as my little blessing in disguise. Dealing with the inmates here helps me to not kill you. As annoying as the rest of the occupants of planet Earth can be, and you all irritate the living shit out of me at some point in the day, you can rest easy knowing that I won't shank you all any time soon. Why? Because not only am I medicated, but I have vast experience dealing with crazy so you will always pale in comparison simply due to the fact that I don't have to live with you. There's always an escape from you. Feeling lucky? No? Perhaps that's wise, I AM nuts. My diagnosis is also on file.  I'm not only the owner, I'm also a client.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Who here believes that...show of hands. Yeah, I doubted that bit of trite bullshit when I was but a young lass. Didn't quite understand the validity of it growing up in the house that I did. My version of it was, what doesn't kill you...means you live to see tomorrow, whatever the fuck that's gonna be. At the time, I didn't know there was a name for what sparked his episodes. Didn't know it could have been stopped. Had no clue that a simple pill could have changed my entire childhood. Back in those days, you didn't speak of such things. Mental illness was a taboo subject spoken about in whispers, like the word "cancer." And you certainly didn't tell anyone outside the house that bad things were happening inside it.

Maybe that's why I embrace my diagnosis like a well-worn, cozy blanket. Could be why I talk about it so much, why I can laugh about it and not feel embarrassed in the slightest. Hey, look at me, I take Zoloft! Woot! My kid takes Klonopin! Hooray! And now...my cat is on anti-anxiety meds, too! We is craaaaazy! And that's okay. We are no less than, no worse off, not one step below anyone else as a result. As a matter of fact, I believe we possess just a bit more awesome because we DO know our flaws, we HAVE addressed them, and still function like everyone else. Those who still, in this day and age, try to ignore what's staring them in the face, sweeping it under the rug because it causes them shame and disappointment...they are the ones who are screwed up as fuck. They are the crazy ones. You aren't doing yourself, your child, your husband or wife any favors by pretending they are normal. Normal...what a fucktarded word. What is normal, anyway?

What have we learned here? Admitting you have a problem is the first step. Mental illness affects everyone. And my house can officially be called an institution. Be not afraid, I go before you always, come follow me, and I will give you drugs. OK, maybe that isn't how that song goes, but it suited my purposes. Remember, knowledge is power and drugs are your friend. Embrace your crazy like it's a long lost friend. Unless you want to be fitted for one of those fabulous, white "hug myself" jackets with the big, shiny buckles. I know I don't. Are you friggin kidding me right now???