Broken (in the best possible way)

by Jenny Lawson

It was sort of fantastic and I continued to press the pronunciation buttons so that it sounded like an angry couple in a terrible but very repetitive insult war until Victor came out of his office and shout-whispered that he was trying to remain professional on a conference call and it was very difficult because why did it sound like an angry international mob screaming “COCKCHAFER” in our house?

PS: I used the word “genitals” too much in this chapter so I went on Twitter to ask what a gender-neutral word for junk was and I got three hundred responses in ten minutes without a single person’s questioning why I was asking. A few of my favorites that I didn’t get to share earlier: “niblets,” “nethers,” “naughty bits,” “no-no zone,” “squish mittens,” “Area 51,” “the danger zone,” “the south 40,” “the situation” (with a suggested circular hand motion near said area), “the Department of the Interior,” “crotchal region,” “fandanglies,” “groinulars,” “groinacopia,” “my hoopty,” “my bidness,” “my chamber of secrets,” “my charcuterie,” “front butt,” “privy parts,” “private parts,” “pirate parts” (which I suspect was a typo but now I’m embracing it), and my personal favorite, “the good china.” This is exactly why I love the Internet. That and the fact that it’s where those fancy dictionary robots that yell “cockchafer” at each other live. The Internet is a goddamn wonderland, y’all.

And with luck and work I will survive the thing most likely to destroy me: Myself.

It really hurt the first day but the nurse assured me that I’d quickly get used to being pummeled in the skull—which feels like a pretty good metaphor for 2018 in general—

I need to hear her take on 2020 lol

The strength it takes to shower or the energy it takes to eat? You don’t get both, so choose wisely.

But now, today, it’s saying something different. It says that the world is a terrible place … sometimes. And filled with terrible people … who can change. But suddenly I’m reminded that there are more people I know who care, who are empathetic, who fight for others in quiet and loud ways. I see that I am not alone.

I’m reminded of how lucky I am to be surrounded by people around the world who care about others. Who are here for each other. I think I knew all this before. But mental illness changes “knowing” and “believing” into two very different things, and I can breathe for a moment and know that it will be okay.

It’s going to be okay. Not perfect, never perfect … but we will be okay even when we’re not okay. Even when we want to be better than we are. It’s okay to take a breath. To love and celebrate and smile and mourn and dance and cry and start all over again.

will take my child. I will say to them, “Look. Here is the world. It’s been waiting for you.” I will say it to myself too.

and suddenly I’m almost a healthy person if you don’t look at all the bacon and vodka I’m consuming.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. I think many of us struggle with the thought that it’s okay to take care of ourselves, and it’s strange that it’s a struggle to treat ourselves as kindly as we treat the dog. The dog needs walks and healthy choices and water and play and sleep and naps and bacon and more naps. And love. I need that too. And so do you. It’s not just a gift we give to ourselves … it’s a duty. I’ll remind you if you remind me.

there’s hope for all of us.

but what I’ve learned is that I didn’t fail in responding to past treatments … those treatments failed to work for me. And that is a big difference. One we all need to keep in mind.

I’ve stopped drinking and am training for a marathon. HAHAHAHAHA. Okay, not that last sentence. If I ever exchange vodka for running-on-purpose it’ll be a pretty good sign that I’m in a cult and need rescuing.

Forgive yourself. For being broken. For being you. For thinking those are things that you need forgiveness for.

the art of sleeping completely under the covers and letting your breath heat the homemade tent you created under the blankets. Eventually you either felt warm or you passed out from lack of oxygen.

At the time I thought he was being a bit snobby but I guess sleeping in a bed made of rocks and dead people’s urine is asking a bit much if it’s not something you’re used to.

I once loudly proclaimed at work: “That’s how the dildos went extinct!” Dodos. It was the dodos.

Sent a female coworker an email attachment with “Here you ho” instead of “here you go.” Twice.

Waiting while husband was using a port-a-potty, two city workers pick it up and start walking away. Too shocked to say he’s inside.

but this rat was super obese and old and that’s why the rat’s tail CAME OFF IN HIS HAND.

it’s probably pretty mean streets out there for an elderly white rat with a beer belly.

“WHAT UP, TAQUITO!”

Candy stared at Victor with a snake stuck to her face and said, “Look what you did to me, fucker.”

He would growl at you if you did something aggressive like sit on the couch or make eye contact. Or breathe.

He was a coward, certainly, but in a way it was a team effort, because while he was gone I used Victor’s towel to clean the floor and then shaved all the fur off of a miserable cat’s butthole with his electric razor.

We Are Who We Are Until We Aren’t Anymore

If my family had a crest it would probably be bad choices and tractors, which would actually make a pretty great country song now that I think about it.

“Joy, I know you like these peanut butter crackers so I brought you extras,” and my granny beams and says, “Oh boy! I may not know my own name but I know I love these peanut butter crackers.”

“Oh how wonderful! Now when I forget who I am I can just take off my panties and hand them to a nurse and say, ‘Here. This is who I am and where I belong.’”

Someone once told me that the difference between introverts and extroverts is that introverts recharge by being alone (like any normal person) and extroverts recharge by being with others (like vampires).

living in a world that is too peoply.