Hold On To The Crazy. The Crazy Spurs You On.

I know it is in there.

I can run at force, and lunge my shoulder in to the door. I can rattle the decaying and stained gold handle and scream, pound and shout through my tears. Let me in, goddamn it let me in.

I can sink to my threadbare knees in front of the bastard armor of thick brown wood, which blocks me from entering and claw at my face with my nails and shout please please, make it stop, just please make it stop.

I can lie down beside it, heaving sobs at midnight, beaten. The cold of the night, the slap of the concrete floor, laying claim to my wet face.

I can get up before the sun rises and plaster on my heavy smile.

A smile plastered on to a face, which is becoming more manufactured with every passing day.

I even have fake eyelashes now you know.

My own eye lashes, you see, weren’t long enough or battery enough to protect me from my own self depreciating thoughts or the preying eyes of vultures trying to catch a glimpse at the crazy woman with the cuts on her arms inside of me.

I just changed Crazy girl, to crazy woman.

Because I am no longer a girl am I.

It is a fact.

I should grow up, I should shut up, I should get a grip, I should… get Botox.

Or fillers!!!


I know it is fucking in there.

I just can’t get to it.

I can visualize it oh so clearly in my minds eye, I feel that if I could only grab a coat hanger, I could shove it under the door and coach it out with a gentle puff and huff, like one does a mini dinosaur.

Or car.

Or chip.

I know what it looks like.

I can almost certainly remember what it feels like, and I can all too easily reminisce about the way it would positively mold itself around me, like a python, ensuring every bone in my body would fill with a fulfilling tingle, a glow, an honest to god fantastic inner smile.

A taste of hope.

If I could just get to it, if I could just find a way.

The problem with medication, one of the problems with medication, should I say, other than the obvious ‘unusual’ side effects;

Included but not limited to,

  • Excessive sweating;

Which of course causes me to smell like an old tea bag minutes after I arrive, bounding and false, in to the office gates, only to find the air conditioning ‘has gone down’ and I, of course, am wearing the skin cut from a thousand sheep, (who are all now stood shivering, cursing my name, on the moors.)

  • Occasional bouts of Nausea;

Just as I walk in to a full nursery room, stinking of small children, wearing sagging and sloshy nappies and locate my child biting a beetle in half, (YES A BEETLE!) causing me to unceremoniously dump the contents of my stomach in to my new handbag on the way home, while Addy insect chomper wiggly tongue in the back, sings the theme tune to Ghostbusters. AGAIN.

  • Increased sex drive;

Before I go in to how truly magnificent The Irish One is finding this particular side effect, let me move swiftly to the next one.

  • A loss of orgasm;

Forget ‘it’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife’ for Irony. Alanis Morisette, take note.

My orgasm, however, is not what I have been searching furiously for. (When would I find the time, in between all the stomping around pretending to be happy? And besides that, Doodle is always staring at me, it is very off putting.)

No, what I have been searching for, is me.

My inspiration, my laughter, my hope, my happy vision for the future , the dreams I used to nurture.

My very sense of bloody me.

I know that behind that door.

That gate.

That grotty window that I have my nose pressed up against, struggling to see through the grime, lays a dusty and dampened room filled with boxes upon boxes of regrets. Crates filled with drunken memories I hurriedly discarded and sometimes even hid behind the screw pile labeled – CRINGE.

I know I will also have to bat away the numbers flying around the room, the numbers that of course never add up.

My virginity too, will be hidden somewhere in there. Ashamed and cross with me for throwing it away on the wrong man. A man with a crappy name and not my first love, the first love who I wanted to give it to but couldn’t.

I will also find my orgasm, smirking at me.

I will also no doubt find all the things I used to enjoy. Reading magazines, singing, dancing, cooking, drinking with friends, getting dressed up and going out, chatting, hugging, a good book, a film.

When did I even lose these things?

And of course, packed in there somewhere neatly, will be my ability to write without using brackets. (God damn brackets.)



I am in there somewhere.

Regrets, warts, awful memories, but also hope, and kindness, and hope, hope, hope.

I think I could fly through those boxes now, if I was just given the chance.

I am not proud of who I was, but I can be proud of who I can become… right?

Give me back my heart. Give back my mind. Give me back my fun.

I want to take back my life. I want to take back my heart, I know I can hold it together.

And that’s what matters.

If only I could get through the doors and… feel.

With medication I am alive.



Without medication,

I want to die.

But if I could just get in that room…

Then surely…

I could stay on the medication AND swallow myself whole again.

Give me back my heart. Give me back my life. I know I can hold it together.

I don’t know.

There just has to be a way in.

Doesn’t there?

Isn’t that where the light switch to the end of this tunnel is kept?

It just all feels so pointless.

I’m back on my knees.

Will somebody please bring me a Krispy Kreme?

This concrete floor is awfully cold.

What time should I expect you?

From what I hear, we don’t have to do this alone.


17 Comments on “Hold On To The Crazy. The Crazy Spurs You On.

  1. God, I know exactly how you feel. And I really mean EXACTLY! I live in a medicated fog and even with that there are days I want to shoot myself. And somewhere out there there is something, anything that will make me feel human again. I just wish I knew what or where it was.

    So all I can say is hang on. We’ll find it one day. Along with the big O. Mine is also missing, currently presumed dead!

    Hugs lady x

  2. I wanted to post this anonymously (because of No. 3) but twatness means I don’t know how so I will just say:
    1) Every time I get a new Mammy Woo post in my inbox I am delighted.
    2) Then I am inspired, you are just, and simply, amazing.
    3) I came off my hefty medication 4 weeks ago – freaking out.
    4) Love you Lexy-Loo
    Your friend, Alex xxxxx

  3. Another beautiful, painful, witty post. I’m so sorry for what you are going through. Even though you feel numb you express yourself so eloquently, you have a stunning way with words. You are such an inspiration x

  4. I think I’m starting to finally turn the corner from numb and nuts to old me. It’s taken far too long, but it’s happening. It will happen for you, too. And you’re right. You don’t have to do this alone.

  5. Your writing is beautiful as always.

    The meds will help you find your way back to you. I’m speaking as one who has been there. The counselling will help too – the meds on their own aren’t enough.

    If there’s anyway I can help, let me know. Meanwhile, big, virtual hugs.

  6. Lexy your writing always leaves me full of admiration for you but wishing I could do something to help. You’re definitely not alone, we’re all here for you, we just need to find that bloody key!! Hugs lovely xxx

  7. Wow…. What an amazing piece of writing , straight from the heart! Until I finished almost not breathing I didn’t realise I had tears on my cheeks. I do hope that you get out of that place, it will get better one day soon! Stay strong !
    Sending you hugs!
    Jo xx

  8. Oh, Lexi, sweetheart. She isn’t behind the locked door, she’s right there with you. But you’re hurting so much, hurting so loud, that you can’t hear her, that wonderful person that is the real true you, hidden away beneath protective layers.

    To tell you the truth, the real you probably isn’t totally fantastic. She may have spots. She actually likes brackets. Her sense of humour leaves some people cold. And there are other things about her that you don’t like, and that’s why it was safest for her to curl up small and stay hidden deep inside of you.

    I know the meds are vile. For you and me both. But, hey, orgasms are over rated anyway! As Stephen Fry said, feelings are like the weather. They can be wet and horrid and the only way to get through is pull up your hood and endure. But it is certain that the sun will return sooner or later and you can enjoy better feelings then. In time, the authentic Lexi will emerge too and you can get to know her, accept those imperfections and love her. She will love you back. It will happen.

    Stay safe.


    • As Lexy is one of my closest friends (in real-life), it’s safe to say that the real her is fantastic and she’s bloody hysterical. She could never leave anyone cold because of her funnies, and there isn’t a mean bone in her body.

      She also has flawless skin (the cow) without a single blemish, amazingly gorgeous hair and can light up a room with her smile.

      • You know what? I reckon if I knew Lexy IRL I’d agree that she is fan-bloody-tastic too. Her writing certain is, and her humour works for me every time. (Though I might object to the flawless skin!). 🙂

        What I know about depression tho, is that we don’t see ourselves the way other people see us and things get blown out of proportion. Things that other people think are quirky or just human we can sometimes see as huge gaping flaws and despise ourselves for it.

        A big part of the journey for me, and the one that is sometimes impossibly hard, is accepting myself. Other people think I’m funny, attractive, clever, compassionate… I suppose I can see where they’re coming from, but some days I KNOW that really it’s just a sham, a front, and that really I’m… well, nothing polite enough to be printed here. Actually, in my best moments I can see that it’s only a handful of flaws, which I’d barely blink at in other people, but is incredibly hard to accept in myself.

        It was probably presumptuous to think that Lexy was in that place when tearing herself apart to find herself. I responded as I did because she captured so well, a place I’ve been before. I’ve learned that self acceptance “warts and all”, can be an really big part of moving forward. And the point I was I trying to make is that the wonderful, gorgeous Lexy that she thinks is behind the door is still with her… lighting up rooms with her smile.


  9. THIS. This is how I feel but what I can never manage to articulate.
    I’ve just started new meds and have suffered two weeks of the deep hole of desperation while they built up in my system. Now I am slowly feeling less wretched but trying to cling to a shred of rationality amongst the side effects.
    It’s hard. It’s bitterly unfair. One day we will be ourselves again x

  10. Oh chick: wanting to live but feeling numb or wanting to die and feeling everything? I’d go with numb anyday.

    We’ve discussed before the inner us having disappeared since motherhood. I still don’t know where or who I am anymore. Is that a symptom of depression or becoming a mother. I have no fri**ing idea and I want me back.

    • I think it’s part of becoming a mum to some extent, you assume a whole new identity and forget to do things just for ‘you’ because there’s lots of other priorities. Can say I haven’t suffered with depression, but my confidence has taken a huge battering. Was editing hub’s CV today & it made me wonder if I should go back to my old job. Thought of it actually terrified me! xxx

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