Mary Katherine Backstrom - Crazy Joy: Finding Wild Happiness in a World Thats Upside Down

When you are a Bear of Very Little Brain, and you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very Thingish inside you is quite different when it gets out into the open and has other people looking at it.

The House at Pooh Corner

A s we set off together on this journey to joy, theres something you need to know.

Im just a little bit crazy.

Which is the not-so-politically-correct way of saying that I suffer from mental illness. Ive been going to therapy for roughly two decades, and in that time have collected more diagnoses than my son has Pokmon cards. Not that Im showing off my collection, but (leans in and whispers): Its impressive.

Have you ever bought a package of Pokmon cards? You never know what youre going to get. You grab a little blind bag, open the package, and congratulations, friend. You are the proud new owner of ten random monsters. Some are cute and some are scary, some are outright weird. And at the top of each card, theres a number that indicates how much damage the monster can do. Me? I have bipolar 2, OCD, PTSD, and some run-of-the-mill ADHD, too. A solid little stable of personal monsters. Damage potential: high.

Some days, I wake up and feel like Eeyore, all mopey and clinically depressed. I feel my friendship is a burden to everyone and Id rather just stay in my house. Other days I wake up bouncing-off-the-walls manic like Tigger, and theres no telling what I might do. Ive applied for a job at Medieval Times and bleached the tips of my hair. Ive adopted a wild mustang who was aptly named Trigger and tore my rotator cuff trying to wrangle him. Mania is a wild ride, but its kinda-sorta my favorite. There are two polarizing forces competing for space in my head, and mania sure beats the alternative.

If you have no experience with mental illness, this is probably hard to understand. So let me help you out Imagine you have no choice but to live your life as a character from Winnie the Pooh. After weighing the quirks and struggles of each character, would there honestly be any competition?

Nobody would choose to be Mr. Rabbit. Hes a narcissistic old coot. Piglet is a porky little anxious mess who needs some Prozac, stat. Maybe you think you would choose to be Pooh, but trust me: That would be a mistake. That whole OCD counting of honey pots would get exhausting pretty darn quick. I assume youve reached the same conclusion as methat theres only one choice in this game: the bubbliest ray of sunshine in the Hundred Acre Wood. Bouncy, pouncy Tigger.

Tigger is happy. Tigger has energy. Tigger is manic as hell.

It seems all of Christopher Robins friends are in dire need of a therapist.

But hey, who isnt these days?

It was a typical Tuesday therapy session. Me in a cushy leather chair, Dr. C at his mahogany desk. The previous week, I had forgotten my meds, which was a one-way ticket to Tigger Town. Yall, when I tell you this episode was bad it damn near ruined my career.

The whole mess started when I fired off a tweet to a local politician. He professes to be a Christian, which I obviously dont hate. But his actions were completely opposite of the gospel, and that is something I do hate. The whole thing just infuriated me, so I reached out and told him so. To my surprise, he responded. And his response straight pissed me off.

I worked all night and through lunch the next day, making plans to end his career. By one oclock the next afternoon, Id chosen a campaign manager. By three oclock Id launched my website. Momma wasnt playing around. Less than a day after our initial exchange, I returned to my Twitter account.

Good morning, Mr. Congressman. Enjoy your job while it lasts. Your seat comes up in 18 months and I am running to take it.

Yes! This is a great idea, my mania cheered me on. Mentally, my cup was overflowing with ideas and hope and potential. Physically, I had the energy of a thousand suns. Not a single part of me doubted the absolute brilliance of this plan. I sent that tweet out into the universe, then closed the app on my screen.

The tweet went viral, and perhaps I would have cared but I was no longer interested in politics. I had a newer, shinier plan: I was gonna start a food truck. One that sold buttermilk biscuits. Only buttermilk biscuits. Biscuit sandwiches, biscuit potpies, biscuit shortcake desserts. I didnt need to run for Congress; this boss babe was gonna make millions.

Dr. C listened to all of this quietly, until my story ran out of steam.

And how did this all work out for you? he asked. The question was obviously rhetorical.