It is no secret that mental illness runs in my family. Okay, so perhaps it just runs in my brain.
Two years ago I was having dinner with my sister, reminiscing (kvetching) about the childhood we had and the resulting adulthood in which we live. In short, during the meal we laughed about the madness in our heads and in our homes. And the thing that stuck in me is a complete summary of our hysteria from the one who taught me to tie my shoes in a single word - bananas.
She suggested that we repress and push down the crazy until we go bananas. She kept saying the word - bananas. I was cracking up. It fit perfectly and I still do not know why. I don't know the etymology behind the term being used as a state of mental instability. I can find the term dating back to the 1920's although it gained popularity in the 1970's... blah blah... possibly a reference to banana oil that is used to provoke honey bees into mating, therefore making them insatiable sexual deviants - thus mad?
At any rate, there is a little thing that we are strong enough to get through. And another thing that is perhaps a little bit worse than the first thing, or maybe not as hard. Nonetheless, we push through the obstacles and just keep pressing on until finally there is nothing left and it feels like we are slipping on the errant peels tossed under our feet as we try to keep standing.
If you allow me an interjection within my own thoughts, I am reminded of a day when my Lucy called to vent about her life being similar to a reality television game show where she just has to get from the start of the course to the end. But within the maze, she has folks shoving her with mega-sized cotton swabs or tossing wrecking balls made of sponges so she falls into a pit of jello screaming both cheers and jeers depending on their mood.
At this point I think I've made my point clear and I'm going to wrap this up because quite frankly, I'm getting to the point in my head where I cannot do one more thing.
To my sister and to my friend [and everyone interested], I have determined the bananas is not the explosion at the end when I finally have the courage to say, 'this is too much for me.' It is the all the moments when I seem to be holding it together and slipping around letting the little things build up within my heart, my head and my hands.
Now, I suppose, having come to that realization, it occurs to me that to gain peace I must figure the moments that I am not bananas to avoid the appearance of such when the explosion occurs. I am just not sure I am strong enough for that.
Two years ago I was having dinner with my sister, reminiscing (kvetching) about the childhood we had and the resulting adulthood in which we live. In short, during the meal we laughed about the madness in our heads and in our homes. And the thing that stuck in me is a complete summary of our hysteria from the one who taught me to tie my shoes in a single word - bananas.
She suggested that we repress and push down the crazy until we go bananas. She kept saying the word - bananas. I was cracking up. It fit perfectly and I still do not know why. I don't know the etymology behind the term being used as a state of mental instability. I can find the term dating back to the 1920's although it gained popularity in the 1970's... blah blah... possibly a reference to banana oil that is used to provoke honey bees into mating, therefore making them insatiable sexual deviants - thus mad?
At any rate, there is a little thing that we are strong enough to get through. And another thing that is perhaps a little bit worse than the first thing, or maybe not as hard. Nonetheless, we push through the obstacles and just keep pressing on until finally there is nothing left and it feels like we are slipping on the errant peels tossed under our feet as we try to keep standing.
If you allow me an interjection within my own thoughts, I am reminded of a day when my Lucy called to vent about her life being similar to a reality television game show where she just has to get from the start of the course to the end. But within the maze, she has folks shoving her with mega-sized cotton swabs or tossing wrecking balls made of sponges so she falls into a pit of jello screaming both cheers and jeers depending on their mood.
At this point I think I've made my point clear and I'm going to wrap this up because quite frankly, I'm getting to the point in my head where I cannot do one more thing.
To my sister and to my friend [and everyone interested], I have determined the bananas is not the explosion at the end when I finally have the courage to say, 'this is too much for me.' It is the all the moments when I seem to be holding it together and slipping around letting the little things build up within my heart, my head and my hands.
Now, I suppose, having come to that realization, it occurs to me that to gain peace I must figure the moments that I am not bananas to avoid the appearance of such when the explosion occurs. I am just not sure I am strong enough for that.
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